Shatter the Earth

by Karen Chance

  I wasn’t sure that he’d thought that part out too well. What if a lady was wearing a gown made of that fabric, and passed a guy with no shirt on? What if a guy was wearing it, and got too close to a woman in a bikini? The questions were endless, unlike my patience.

  “I know it’s not a toy,” I said, my smile never wavering. “That’s why I need it.”

  “What you need is a better glamourie,” he said, turning me toward a mirror.

  And damn it all!

  “I’ve had two,” I said, peering at my cheerfully glowing eyes. “Nothing sticks.”

  “This will.” I looked away as he turned to grab something from a shelf, not wanting to see how far up the fishnet effect went, and when I looked back, he was holding out a little pot. It looked like it contained clear hair gel, but felt like nothing at all under my fingertips.

  I rubbed them together and took a sniff.

  It didn’t smell like anything, either, even to vampire senses.

  “It’s fey,” he told me. “Adjusted, of course.”

  “I thought fey glamouries always smelled like flowers,” I said doubtfully.

  “Normally. Or fish entrails, as they contain the same extract. But flowers are typically preferred.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “But this is something I’m making for the war. Unscented so that nobody knows a glamourie is being used.”

  “A glamourie for what?” I asked, because I hadn’t heard of this.

  “For making human mages look like the fey, to allow them to blend in. I used part human magic, to allow the spell to feed off the mage’s power, and part fey to ensure that it works in Faerie without having to be constantly reapplied.”

  “They’re gonna have to find some tall ass mages,” I pointed out.

  Augustine himself was something like seven feet, and so fashionably skinny that he looked like a giant had grabbed hold of his perfectly coifed blond head and his fashionably shod feet and pulled.

  “There are many types of fey, you know,” he said, taking the little pot back and gunking up my eyes with the contents. He painted circles around them, like a football player getting heavy handed with the eye black. And muttered a spell all the while, which made the stuff dry and tighten up uncomfortably. But when it finally released and he turned me toward the mirror again—

  “Oh, that’s good,” I said, surprised. He’d gotten rid of the circles under my eyes at the same time.

  “I’m thinking about bringing out a line of cosmetics, after all this war business is over. Unscented ones, to avoid clashing with a lady’s perfume.”

  “You’ll make a pot of cash,” I said, admiring my fresh new look.

  “I’ll need it,” it was grim. “The Circle pays poorly and my shows aren’t doing much better. With war on the doorstep, everyone feels awkward buying ‘pretty, useless things.’”

  I looked around the workroom, filled with amazing magic, even more so than usual since Augustine had acquired himself an assistant. I glimpsed it peering at me from behind a rack, its huge, sunburst eyes as startling as ever. It was fey, too, of a kind not much seen.

  One that was about to help us out hugely in the war.

  But there was more here than just military advantage. I fingered a nearby dress, one that felt like silk and looked like stained glass with the light shining through it. In fact, it made its own light, staining the floor around it along with my skin.

  Another had the rose window from Notre Dame on the skirt, with cathedral bells chiming softly whenever it moved. Still another was a column dress that looked like a thousand layers of white tulle, with roses climbing upward from the hem. They twined around the body of the dress, their stems making it form fitting, only to burst into bloom on the bodice. And these weren’t static blooms, either, but were constantly flowering, dropping petals with every step.

  Beautiful.

  I was tired of war, of running and fighting and crises and worry. I thought it might be nice to dress up in some “pretty, useless things” and go to a party, or hang out at a day spa, or spend the night in bed with my lover. And remember what the hell we were fighting for.

  “Beauty is never useless,” I told Augustine, and was rewarded by a rare, understanding look. And an even rarer smile.

  “What, exactly, did you need again?” he asked.

  ~~~

  I shifted into Pritkin’s room at HQ, this time completely invisible, thanks to another of Augustine’s creations. It used to be that invisibility—the real thing, where you didn’t see movement or an outline or anything—was impossible. But apparently not for the fey.

  Augustine had almost scared me to death creeping around my room once, wearing his Circle commissioned garment, and he’d improved it since then. Even still, the silky jumpsuit I had on took a tremendous amount of power, and would only last for so long. I had to time this exactly right, and that wasn’t really my best thing.

  I therefore hedged my bets, and wedged myself into the little cubbyhole of a bathroom, where I could observe without being in the way. And where I wouldn’t land in the middle of a fight if I mistimed this. Because, yes, I was going back to the day of the attack at HQ, to see if my crazy theory had any validity.

  But I was also trying to keep my word to Billy, and not change anything. Pritkin and I had both survived that attack, and I’d really like to keep it that way. I was here to observe, nothing more, which should be enough. I couldn’t see the assailant, but I should be able to feel any time spell he used.

  It was a good plan, and I felt pretty proud of it.

  Right until I shifted—and realized that somebody else had had the same idea.

  I almost landed in another body, which was taking up most of the space in the bathroom, since there wasn’t much to begin with. My power managed to divert me at the last second, throwing me into the shower cubicle, which wasn’t much bigger than I was. And which was smaller still when somebody launched himself in after me.

  I panicked; I admit it. I hadn’t expected an attack, being sure that the previous one had come from behind me, not from the side. Which was why I’d chosen the damned bathroom in the first place! So, I did something stupid.

  Really stupid.

  And froze time all around us.

  This time, it wasn’t a slow down or a half measure. I freaking stopped it dead throughout the bathroom, which was a problem. Although not as much of one as what was coming in the front door.

  You could tell that this place had been designed by men, if designed was even the right word, because no woman would have left the shower visible from the door. But most of the Corps were guys, and I guess they didn’t care about such things. As a result, I could clearly see the former version of me struggling to get in the room while carrying a heavy tray full of food.

  For a moment, I just stared.

  It wasn’t from watching myself, which was freaky, but so was my life. It was from the realization of just how badly I’d screwed up. The person who was supposed to protect the timeline was about to break it, when former me didn’t get attacked on schedule.

  Because present me had just frozen her attacker!

  Damn it, this was exactly what Billy had warned me about. No matter how careful you were, nobody was perfect, and sooner or later things were going to go wrong. Really wrong, I thought, staring at former me trying to find a perch for the tray, and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now.

  The answer, as it turned out, was nothing. Because a moment later, former me was attacked right on schedule, and saved only by the coat she was currently holding. Which someone hadn’t known was strong enough to stop a spelled blade in its tracks.

  Kind of like I hadn’t known that there were two guys hiding in Pritkin’s room.

  But there must have been. I could still feel the warmth of the body right in front of me, invisible though it was, paused halfway through his own attack, while the other was getting the crap beaten out of him in the room outside. Or he was until he bolted
for the door, throwing it open and darting away—

  Right about the time that attacker number two ripped through my time spell, punched me in the gut, and shifted—

  “Mircea?” I gasped, bewildered.

  It wasn’t Mircea.

  He’d smelled wrong, for one thing, a harsh, biting scent that clashed with the fey glamourie he was wearing. And for another, Mircea didn’t physically assault me! But it was somebody using the Pythian power that had no right to it, because the magic swirling around me was unmistakable.

  It was also palpable enough that I managed to grab hold of the fluttering end, just before my attacker got completely away. And pulled. Slamming him back into place a second later, using the same method that Gertie had to keep me in place in the garden.

  Something that . . . might not have been my wisest move. A time freeze is debilitating, and now I was stuck in a tiny cubicle of a bathroom with a crazed . . . something. Only I couldn’t see who or what!

  Fortunately, he was also freaking out, not seeming to understand why his shift hadn’t worked. Which was probably why he tore out of the bathroom without remembering to kill me first, that and the fact that he couldn’t see me, either! And thus didn’t know how bad of an opponent he was currently facing.

  Not too bad, I thought, clutching my stomach, even as Mircea’s hunter instincts kicked in, and kicked in hard. But they were having to battle my own shock, pain and confusion. Not to mention worry over what I’d just turned loose on HQ!

  Which was nothing, I realized, because there was still a remnant of my attacker’s magic in my fist.

  I looped it around my arm a couple times, trying to figure out what to do, since I didn’t have the strength to reel him in. But I guessed the same wasn’t true for him. As soon as he reached the end of the tether I’d accidentally created, I found myself being jerked out of the bath and across the room, like the smallest kid in a tug of war.

  Only they don’t usually play that game where there are walls to run into. Or doorframes to scrape across. Or rock-filled corridors to stumble into the middle of. I hit the hallway outside, biting my lip on a yelp, and barely avoiding crashing into the other me, who was coming back to grab some potion bombs with which to terrorize Lab Coat.

  “Sorry,” I gasped automatically, when I bumped into the little guy, causing him to jump and stare around.

  You’d think somebody who worked in an underground magic lab would be a little less twitchy, I thought.

  And then I was jerked down the corridor.

  It was a hard jerk, like trying to control a wild bronco, and sent me stumbling down the hall in the opposite direction from my other self. I didn’t understand that; shouldn’t this guy be trying to help out his buddy? But it seemed like all he wanted was to get away.

  Especially when he kept trying to shift!

  Oh, no, you don’t! I thought, and held on, jerking him back every time he made another attempt, although I shouldn’t have had the strength for that. Unless I was ripping off Mircea again, who was probably having a bad day.

  But then, so was I.

  I was being dragged through a low-ceilinged, underground tunnel by a crazed lunatic, while being thrown into walls, and worse, into war mages. Who didn’t stop to think that, hey, I bet that’s an invisible Pythia wrestling with a time thief, maybe I should help her out—oh no. They did what war mages always do and tried to blow me up!

  I managed to shift a potion bomb to the other end of the hall, de-age a snarling Doberman back to a puppy in mid-leap, and freeze a whole raft of bullets being sprayed across the corridor, creating a sort of leaden cloud in the middle of the hallway.

  Which I then plowed through with my face.

  Even worse, the little hits of power I was getting through the bond weren’t enough to let me end the stalemate. I couldn’t shift someone I couldn’t see; I didn’t have enough power to freeze the whole corridor; and I couldn’t throw something lethal in a hallway full of allies! All I could do was hold on, feeling like someone who had managed to hook a great white shark and was being towed through the water after it, unsure of who had just captured who.

  But I had to figure out something soon, or I was going to lose this bastard—and possibly my head!

  I ducked under a massive tree root, which was just hanging down into the corridor for some reason, like a weird decoration. Then tripped over another pushing up from the floor, and landed on my face. And got pulled along for half a dozen yards before my quarry rounded a corner, and the brief slow down allowed me time to stumble back to my feet.

  But that was the only advantage. This part of the complex was darker and appeared to be deserted. Even if I wanted to try to get any war mages to listen to me, there weren’t any.

  But there was something else.

  The little dots Pritkin had showed me, which the Corps used as markers for problem areas from the last attack, glowed brightly in the gloom. And they were everywhere down here, spotting the walls, ceiling and floor, so thickly that it looked like the whole place was polka dotted. I guess small side tunnels weren’t considered priorities for clearing, meaning that this one had just been marked and left . . .

  It had been left.

  I stared around, trying to spot something that wasn’t indicating a collapsed doorway or a spilled potion. Or a brilliant red dot warning of unexploded ordinance, because I wasn’t trying to kill the bastard, damn it! I needed—

  That, I thought, spotting a black dot on the corridor wall up ahead, like a flake of obsidian. It was glinting in the light of one of the randomly spaced lamps down here, dark and shiny and mysterious. Because I still didn’t know what that color meant.

  And there was only one way to find out.

  I gathered my strength, tightened my grip, and set my feet.

  And jerked.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I said I’m fine,” I told the medic, who was hovering around me.

  “With . . . with all due respect, Lady, you do not look fine,” he said, his voice low, probably in the hopes that it would encourage certain other people to follow suit.

  It did not so encourage.

  “She looks bloody awful!” Pritkin yelled, and even from across the large room we were in, it was loud.

  I sighed.

  “Give me a mirror,” I said, and the medic dug one out of his bag.

  It was the small type that they used to check to see whether you’re still breathing, but it worked well enough. It showed me back a perfectly made up face, freshly powdered, with plump, healthy cheeks and normal blue eyes sans bags of any kind. I looked like I was ready to go to an award’s show after spending a day at the spa.

  Until I angled the mirror downward slightly. And, okay, that was bad. That was actually kind of horrible. Because Augustine’s jumpsuit was still in place, except for the skullcap, making me invisible below the neck. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except that the neck in question had rivulets of blood dripping everywhere.

  That was probably from having my head and face dragged across gravel-studded floors for what felt like half a block, I thought grimly, wondering what I looked like under the glamourie.

  I decided I didn’t want to know.

  But as it was, I looked like I ought to be decorating a shelf at Madame Tussaud’s, fresh from the guillotine. It was probably why the medic looked so spooked. And why Pritkin’s welcome upon my arrival, back in my proper place in the time line and pulling what looked like a levitating iron maiden, had gone so well.

  My ears were still ringing.

  And my neck, I saw with irritation, was still bleeding. Great. “Do you have any wet wipes?” I asked.

  The young mage just stared at me. I poked him; I didn’t have all day. He jumped, and quickly pawed through his bag some more.

  There were only five left in the packet and I used them all, including running a few over my face, which of course didn’t change. But the wipes came back pretty damned red. The same color I was seeing when I go
t up and walked over to the prisoner.

  He was not fey.

  He was better.

  Which was probably why Jonas looked like Christmas had come early.

  The silver-white mane currently looked like a troll doll’s, one that an enthusiastic toddler had been carrying around by the hair for a few weeks. The effect was heightened by rosy cheeks, bushy eyebrows, and a pair of coke bottle glasses, the latter of which magnified the already large blue eyes into owl territory. Jonas could be strangely cute at times, especially when he was looking jovial.

  And right now, he was beaming.

  Pritkin wasn’t, but he was having his own version of a good time. A bloody pair of knuckles hit a face that looked worse than mine, because that was not the first time that had happened. Not that it mattered. Nobody looked at the face when the eyes were that crazy.

  Or should I say, eye?

  Jonathan, AKA the Circle’s most wanted, was looking a little rough. For one thing, the scar that Emma Lantham’s cat had given him still pretty gruesome. He seemed to have rescued the eyeball somehow, but it glimmered out of an area of torn up flesh, the skin healed but lumpy and bumpy, like a permanent eye-patch.

  For another, he was pasty pale, his blond hair limp and sweaty from our run, and his body rail thin. The glamourie he’d been using had been stripped off him by some irritated war mages, using spells strong enough to have left him smoking slightly. He was slumped like a half-stuffed rag doll in the chair the mages had thrown him onto, after taking him out of the maiden, which is what the black dots had indicated.

  Luckily for me, the snares that had been deployed during the attack a month or so ago dealt with more than just the body. They also drugged the shit out of anyone who fell into them, which was why Jonathan couldn’t currently shift. Just as well; after that damned time stoppage, I was whipped.

  But there was still a job to do, so I womaned the hell up.

  He grinned up at me, his teeth red from a badly split lip. “That’s right,” he sing-songed. “That’s how you’ll all look before long. On a pike, on a pike, on a—”