Embrace the Night Page 30

  It didn’t matter if Pritkin had the Codex now or not. He’d written the damn thing. He’d known the spell to lift the geis all along, and just hadn’t given it to me. And there was no way to excuse that. He didn’t need to blow his cover. He could have pretended to find it in one of those old tomes; he could have pretended to rediscover it; he could have done a lot of things rather than stand by and watch Mircea die. But he’d said it himself: vampires were little better than demons in his book.

  And the only good demon was a dead one.

  I tamped down a surge of pure rage. I couldn’t afford to explode now. If I didn’t get that spell, Pritkin won and Mircea died. And neither of those was acceptable.

  I was still glaring at him when he suddenly grabbed me by both arms. “The map! What did you do with it?”

  “What map?”

  He gave me a hard shake, which didn’t help me think any better, if that was the intention. “The map to the location of the Codex!”

  “I thought we were bidding on the Codex itself. Are you telling me they didn’t have it?”

  “They did not wish to bring it to the auction, in case someone tried to make off with it,” he said, looking me over as though he thought I might have shoved the map down my cleavage. As if there was room for a napkin down there. “If you do not wish to suffer the indignity of a reveal spell, I suggest you give it to me now.”

  “I don’t have it! And what indignity?”

  Pritkin passed a hand over me, not touching, just hovering a few inches from the now inert silk. The dress glowed again briefly, but apparently it was out of gas because nothing happened. Nothing except that it suddenly became transparent—along with everything else I was wearing.

  “What the hell?!” I jumped behind the fence post, which along with the poor light, was enough to act as pretty good cover. It didn’t make me feel much better. “What kind of a lunatic are you?”

  Pritkin didn’t answer, although his jaw clenched a little more tightly. “Give me my property and I will reverse the spell.”

  “I told you already! I don’t have it!”

  With another brief hand wave and a muttered word, the fence post went transparent, too. I shrieked and went running down a line of wooden rails to the next stone post, Pritkin mirroring my actions on the other side. We stopped, facing each other, with the post between us. “Don’t you dare!” I said, when he raised a hand.

  “Then give me what I want!”

  “Go to Hell!”

  “I just came back,” he snarled, and the post disappeared. Before I could run again, he jumped over the fence and a strong hand latched onto the back of my neck. I struggled, but I couldn’t move, and I finally stopped.

  I felt him drop his hand and step back. He must have knocked the mud off the orb, because its light suddenly danced on the glasslike rocks in front of me. The transparent stone and the orb light startled a small creature that had made a burrow under the post, sending it scurrying away into the dark.

  I could feel Pritkin’s gaze, ruthless and uncompromising and focused as it ran over the back of my body, like a phantom touch. I wanted to shift again so badly I could taste it, but even if it had been possible, where would I go? I needed the Codex, and Pritkin had it. At least he’d better have it, or I was going to kill him. Slowly.

  “Turn around,” he said after a moment.

  I hugged the invisible fencepost, telling myself I was being stupid. Get it over with, and maybe he’ll listen to you. Just do it and don’t think about it—great advice, except that it was Pritkin and, despite everything, that made it different. Weirdly enough, I thought a stranger’s eyes would have bothered me less.

  “I don’t have the map,” I repeated, trying not to notice that it was really cold and that my body was reacting predictably.

  “I regret that I cannot take your word for that,” he said stiffly, and it almost sounded sincere. It also sounded implacable. When I still didn’t move, I felt him come up behind me. “I find this distasteful. Do not make it more so by forcing me to search you physically.” His tone left me in no doubt at all that he’d do it.

  I took a deep breath. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “What?” He sounded confused. I guess they didn’t have that saying in English yet.

  “Do the reveal thing on yourself and I’ll turn around.”

  “I’m not hiding anything!”

  “Neither am I! And fair is fair. Or are you just looking for an excuse to do that search?”

  Pritkin muttered something that sounded fairly vicious. “My clothes are warded! Even if I wished to accede to your demand, it would not work on them.”

  “Then strip.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He sounded almost polite suddenly, as if he believed he couldn’t possibly have heard right.

  “Take them off.”

  “And let you curse me without protection?” I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear the sneer in his voice.

  “You’ll still have your shields,” I pointed out. “And if you’re so worried that I might overpower you, keep your weapons on.” There was silence for a long moment. “If you’re any kind of gentleman, you’ll do it,” I added, getting desperate.

  I held my breath, sure that it wouldn’t work, that he couldn’t possibly fall for that old line. But I guess it wasn’t so old in the 1790s, because the next moment I heard more muffled swearing and the soft sounds of clothes being pulled off. “Very well,” a pissed-off voice said after a few seconds. “Now will you turn around?”

  “How do I know you really did it?”

  “Are you questioning my honor?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Let’s just say I’m not feeling especially trusting. Make the post opaque again, and come around front. If you haven’t lied to me, I’ll step out from behind it and we’ll get this over with.”

  Pritkin didn’t bother to swear this time. The rocks suddenly went opaque and he stomped around in front of the post. He was carrying a gun in one hand and still wearing a knife in a sheath strapped to one calf, but he hadn’t bothered with the rest. I guess that was meant to make a point about how unlikely my beating him in a fight would be.

  “Now keep your part of the bargain,” he said through gritted teeth. Or maybe he’d clamped them to keep them from chattering. He did look cold, I thought with no sympathy whatsoever.

  I sized him up as green eyes glared at me past a curtain of red-gold hair. He made no attempt to cover himself. How noble. Then I got a good look at him, and my eyes widened. Despite the temperature, he didn’t really have any reason for modesty.

  “As soon as you turn around,” I finally managed to say. He started to argue, but I raised an eyebrow. “It’s only fair.”

  Pritkin threw up his hands, but he did turn around, flashing those fascinating dimples. This time I didn’t pause to admire the view. As soon as his back was turned, I grabbed his clothes and the orb, tore open a ley line and disappeared.

  Chapter 22

  It hadn’t been difficult to snag the line with the orb’s help, especially when I already knew where it was. Getting anywhere, I soon discovered, was a little harder. With Mircea, I’d thought of the lines as rivers of power, but this one was more like the rapids, with bumps and currents and eddies battering me every which way.

  The bubble of protection provided by the orb kept the energy stream from frying me, but that was about it; there was no steering wheel, no seat belts and, worse, no brakes. I was slammed against first one side and then the other, before the thing flipped totally upside down, dropping me the length of my body before I was caught by the bottom of the sphere. It was the carnival ride from Hell, and I didn’t know how to get off.

  I gathered my stolen booty into a wad and hastily tied my skirts around it to keep it from getting slung all over the place. Then I set about trying to figure out how this thing worked. Through trial and error, I found that I could maneuver the small circle of protection by pres
sing on one side or the other of the orb, although it was nowhere near as easy as Mircea had made it look. A small rotation could cause me to go careening off in that direction for what felt like a mile. I quickly learned to scale back my movements, caressing the orb with tiny motions of my thumbs.

  It was about as easy as trying to guide a plastic beach ball through the incoming tide using chopsticks, but slowly I got a little better. I managed to position myself close to the side of the line, which is where people seemed to enter and leave. The current was rockier there, not as stable as in the middle of the stream, and I got buffeted about even more as I tried to bump the bubble back into my world.

  The ley line seemed to have a kind of skin stretching over it formed of extra-thick bands of power that made leaving even trickier than I’d expected. Every time I pushed at the line, it pushed back, forcing me to have to spend time maneuvering back into position again. But finally I managed to rock just the right way and half of the bubble cleared the energy field.

  Which is when things went from bad to really, really bad.

  The orb kept my feet and legs in place, suspended in the bucking, whirling energy stream, but I guess it didn’t operate beyond the confines of the lines, because the part of me that was outside was totally exposed to the elements. I found myself hanging upside down, my hair blowing in a fast breeze, as I tore over the darkened city. My eyes were flooded with tears from the slap of frigid air, but if I squinted, I could see the Seine glittering far, far below, twining through Paris like a silver snake. I’d forgotten: ley lines didn’t always follow the ground.

  I couldn’t scream, there was too much air in my face, and I could barely see. The pouch I’d made of my skirts ensured that they weren’t in my face, but it kept bumping into me, hard enough to hurt. Damn it, what had he been carrying, anyway?

  Even worse, although whatever gravity field the line exerted was keeping me from plunging to my death, it wouldn’t hold once the orb slipped completely free. It didn’t feel like that would be long in coming, because more of my body was coming into view all the time and I didn’t know how to stop it.

  I also didn’t know how to use my rudimentary shields as a parachute, even if they were strong enough to bear my weight, which I doubted. War mages apparently learned all kinds of uses for their personal protection, but as I’d once reminded Pitkin, I wasn’t one. I watched the pulsing river of power all around me and wondered if I’d just completely screwed myself. Then the ley line took a sudden plunge, like an invisible roller coaster, and headed straight for the ground.

  I did scream then, although the sound tore out of my throat and away before I could hear it. My ears were filled with rushing wind and vertigo, as the line twisted and turned and suddenly headed back up again. For the next few minutes, it climbed and dove, spun and plunged, until I was so dizzy, I didn’t even know which way was up anymore.

  Dangling by only one leg, my body almost free of the small protection the orb afforded, I saw a huge, dark shape rushing toward me. I could see the line up ahead, and it was climbing again, high, so high, over the city that, if I fell, there would be nothing to catch me. Whatever the shape was, I had to grab it.

  I pulled and yanked, freeing myself by inches as the dark blob grew bigger. It was a building of some kind, but I couldn’t make out details. My hair was in my eyes, obscuring what little vision the wind and panic-induced tears had left me. I put a hand out blindly, and out of nowhere, a horned creature with a bored expression jumped in front of me.

  My foot slid free of the line, and all my weight was suddenly hanging from my arms, arms that had grabbed the monster in a death grip and weren’t letting go. My feet swung out over nothing, before slamming with the force of inertia into the side of something hard. The impact caused a shudder to rack my body, and for a moment my grip loosened. But the creature never moved, never so much as twitched, and carefully, I renewed my grip.

  After a few seconds gasping for breath, I peered through a curtain of tangled hair to see a leering, doglike face sticking out its tongue at me. I blinked at it, but its expression didn’t change. After another few seconds, my brain caught up and informed me that whatever my hands were clutching, it wasn’t alive.

  I was suspended from a stone gargoyle that looked out over what would probably have been a panoramic view of Paris had it been daytime. Below, tiny lights occasionally lit up bits of the world between the shadows, and a sliver of moon danced on the Seine. I was on top of Notre Dame. Somehow I’d come full circle.

  My arms were tired, my shoulders ached and it was a very long way down. With a lot of muffled swearing, I hauled my body over the side of the parapet and dropped onto the floor. My knees gave way and I abruptly sat down, clinging gratefully to the heavenly feel of a non-moving surface. The stone floor was cold and wet with half-melted snow, but for a second I seriously thought about kissing it.

  The stars seemed to be spinning around above me, so I sat there, panting, until they stopped. The orb had landed a few yards away, and I watched it pulsing its strange light against the high stone wall of the parapet. At least Pritkin couldn’t follow me, I realized, and the idea cheered me up immensely.

  I started searching the area for Pritkin’s clothing, which had scattered everywhere when I landed and the knot in my skirts came loose. I collected it into a small bundle in front of me and set about carefully examining each piece. I’d gotten away with a pair of woolen trousers, a white linen shirt with drawstring ties at neck and wrists, a potion-studded belt, a pair of sturdy leather boots and some warm woolen socks.

  I regarded the latter with a twinge of guilt. I hadn’t expected him to be so literal, to even remove his footwear. Apparently, he’d believed that a bargain was a bargain, and I hadn’t made any exceptions to my demand. Or maybe he’d felt bad about subjecting me to that. Maybe he’d thought he deserved a few cold toes, at least…Okay, no. Probably not. But still, the socks made me feel a little bad.

  Not bad enough to keep me from putting them on, though. The boots were too large, but I pulled them on as well, lacing them as tight as I could. I’d lost my shoes somewhere over Paris, and I wasn’t going to search for Mircea barefoot.

  I looked through everything twice, then went back through it one more time, checking every seam for hidden compartments. I even held the little potion bottles up to the light, just in case he’d somehow stuffed a slip of paper into one of them, but no dice. The map wasn’t there.

  Of course not, I thought furiously. I’d hoped that he’d been so ready to assume I’d stolen it that he hadn’t checked thoroughly before accusing me. But it looked like he’d been telling the truth. He really had lost it. And that meant it could be anywhere: still on the barge, trodden underfoot in the battle, or dropped as he dangled from his shields ten stories above the city. I would never find it.

  I got up on tiptoe and leaned over the parapet, to see if anything might have fallen below. For the most part, the sky was brighter than the city, with buildings casting black shadows that wiped out everything in their path, like big slices of the world were just gone. But the famous rose window glowed as brightly as a searchlight against the black sky, illuminating the cobblestone expanse in front of the main doors of the cathedral. Nothing was there.

  I was still standing there, trying to think what to do, when a brilliant yellow flash lit the night sky. I looked up to see half of an enraged, naked war mage leaning out of a ley line, his hair whipping across his livid face as he shot straight at me. I yelped and stumbled back, cursing myself. It looked like Pritkin wasn’t as exhausted as I’d thought. And with his shields intact, he didn’t need clothes or toys to access the ley lines. I scooped up his weapons in my transparent skirts and ran for it.

  He landed right behind me, his eyes wild, his hair smoking from the energy that had leaked through his overtaxed shields. For the first time he looked like his father’s son. I looked around frantically and spied a single wooden door inside the bell tower. Mercifully, it wasn’t locke
d.

  I saw Pritkin for a split second as I spun around to close it, silhouetted against the dim gray arches leading out to the parapet. He was almost to the door already, just a few steps behind me, as if he hadn’t even broken his stride in leaving the line behind. I didn’t try reasoning with him; his expression told me how well that was likely to go over. I slammed the door in his face, threw the bolt and fled.

  The winding, claustrophobic staircase was so narrow that my dress brushed it on either side, and it was completely black except for the orb’s dim glow and occasional tiny elongated windows that showed slivers of the slightly less black outside. I could see maybe two steps in front of me as I wound my way downwards, trying to hurry without slipping on stones that were already slick with hundreds of years of wear.

  I heard a crash behind me, and burning bits of wood cascaded down the steps along with a lot of sparks. It looked like Pritkin had used a fireball spell on the door. Luckily, the curves of the staircase shielded me from most of it, while he had to traverse a minefield of fiery splinters in bare feet. Unluckily for me, he seemed to manage it just fine.

  He grabbed me when I was barely halfway down the stairs, and the impact made me lose my footing. We tumbled, half falling, half rolling down the narrow, twisting spiral. I’d been holding the contents of his potion belt in the folds of my dress, and as I fell, little vials were slung everywhere. Some tumbled along with us, while others exploded against the walls, flooding the stairwell with a pungent stench that immediately brought tears to my eyes. Something must have splashed on Pritkin, because he cursed and let go.