Claimed By Shadow

Page 56

Usually, I get a tingle up my spine when I see a vamp, but there was nothing this time. I wasn't sure whether that was because I was in Augusta's body, or because my brain was too busy screaming to focus. There was a strong sense of wrongness emanating from the vamp like nothing I'd ever felt. It was like the danger in the room had coalesced into a red mist, as if there was blood in the air. It went well with his dead white face and burning green eyes, the color of emeralds on fire. It did not go well with Augusta's instincts, which were practically begging me to run.
The two vampires flowed through the motions of battle like it was silent, deadly poetry. Even with Augusta's senses I had trouble following them, their blades were striking so quickly. The sound of clashing metal echoed around the theatre like machine-gun fire, and every time I blinked they'd moved yards away from where they'd just been.
I clutched the curtains, watching with my stomach in my throat as Mircea flung himself to the ground, barely evading a savage slash from his brother's sword. He flicked his own saber at his assailant's ankles, but Dracula leaped, clearing the blade easily. By the time he landed, Mircea was back on his feet and they were off again.
" 'Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.'" I had been so intent on the combat, I hadn't sensed the Stoker's arrival until he started quoting.
"What do you want?”
"I told you before, dear lady—your help.”
"I'm busy," I snapped. Dracula flipped over his brother's head, his sword slashing downward, and if Mircea hadn't moved even faster than Augusta could see, it would have been over.
"Is it your plan to stand by and watch as they kill each other?" Dracula's blade had nicked Mircea's left arm, splattering his shoulder and chest with red, and I didn't think it would be the last time. Mircea was rumored to be a better-than-average duelist, but it looked to me like his younger brother was the faster of the two. It was a tiny difference, a fraction of a fraction of a second, maybe caused by the wound Dmitri had inflicted the night before. But sooner or later, it would be enough. And if Mircea lost, I somehow doubted Vlad had prison in mind for him.
"Who would have thought," the incubus murmured softly, a silken whisper in my ear, "the old man to have so much blood in him?”
Their shadows flickered in and out of the scenery, soaring against the back wall in a deadly dance. Something clicked as I watched them. I'd seen this before. It was the same scene as in my vision—the one that ended with Mircea's ghastly death. I swallowed thickly and turned to the incubus. "What's your plan?”
He pointed out a very familiar-looking box behind the curtains. I grabbed it with a sense of profound relief. I'd been wondering what to do about Myra since I'd left my box in a backpack somewhere in Faerie. She might be playing for the ultimate stakes, but I wasn't thrilled about having another death on my hands. Even hers.
"What's your interest in this?" I asked when I returned with the trap.
"The same as yours. We have much in common, I think. We both love dangerous creatures.”
"You're Dracula's lover?" It looked like Stoker had gotten one thing right, after all. Only he'd put succubi in his novel. A nod to nineteenth-century morality, I guessed.
"I have waited many years for my master's release," the spirit said, "but it will profit neither of us if he is killed shortly thereafter. The Senate knows he is near—I spent most of the night laying false trails, but they will not work for long. They are coming. My master does not believe that imprisonment is better than death, but I feel otherwise.”
Things suddenly made more sense. "That's why you helped me at the ball. You wanted Mircea alive so he can trap Dracula.”
The spirit blinked Stoker's eyes at me. "Next year or next decade, I will find a way to free him again. As long as he is alive there is hope.”
"So you want to trap him to save him? He won't thank you.”
"Perhaps; perhaps not. What does it matter to you?”
He had a point. And with Dracula safely tucked away, Mircea would have no reason to hang around this death trap. I held out the box. "Okay, so tell me how to work this thing.”
A couple of minutes later I was crawling behind the scenery, the box in my pocket and doubt in my mind. If the incubus was playing me I was in a lot of trouble; if not, I was still in a lot of trouble, but at least one problem would be solved. Of course, I should have known better—I never get one mess cleaned up before another makes an appearance.
This time was no exception. Myra flashed in so close to the fight that she might have been skewered had the two opponents not broken apart at just that moment, pulling back from an impasse. Dracula did something that caused Mircea to stumble—it was so fast I didn't see it—and he whirled to face the new threat. But before he could run her through, a dark shape plummeted from the rafters overhead and would have landed on him like an anvil if his reflexes hadn't been so sharp.
"Pritkin!”
He caught sight of me. "They're coming!”
"Oh, shit.”
I looked around but saw no hordes of vamps. But Pritkin had his full arsenal out and his shields up, not something he did lightly. I finally got a chance to see Mac's handiwork in operation. The sword that slashed and danced around the mage's head had the same design as the one I'd seen Mac painstakingly carving into Pritkin's skin. But it was larger— easily half as long as me—and as solid and shiny as a real weapon. It also appeared to pack quite a punch. One swipe at Dracula threw him back almost ten feet, and if he hadn't deflected the blade, it would have bisected him.
Suddenly, Dracula and Mircea were fighting side by side, their own feud forgotten in the face of the new threat. Luckily, the two brothers were so busy concentrating on the mage and his bevy of flying weapons that they didn't notice me. Unluckily, they forgot about Myra, too, who had shrunk back from the fight, and her hands were clenched as if she held something. I reached her just as she threw the sphere in her left hand, and felt the effect slam into me like a tidal wave. Oh, joy. Little Myra had got herself a null bomb.
We went down in a tangle of Augusta's voluminous skirts, Myra screaming and me swearing. The thing in her other hand turned out to be another sphere, this one dull black and about the size of a softball. I didn't recognize it, but if it was magic it wouldn't work right now, so I ignored it. Myra raked her nails down my cheek, almost resulting in Augusta going through eternity with a less-than-fashionable eye patch. I turned my head at the last second, avoiding the worst, but the scratches still hurt like a bitch.
"Girlfriend," I told her, blinking to clear the blood out of my vision, "you so do not want to fuck with me today.”
Her eyes got big, then her expression turned murderous. "You!" Myra didn't seem to like it that I'd been able to appropriate a stronger body, because she went for my throat, her reaching hands formed into claws. I managed to wrestle her hands off with minimal damage to either of us, but all I got in return was a snarl and a kick that caught me in the shin.
I slapped her hard enough that her head shot back and her eyes briefly lost focus, buying me a few seconds to check on the fight. The magical sword had disappeared and a few of Pritkin's knives were on the ground, their animation lost to the null's effects. The vamps had dealt with the others by simply allowing them to burrow so far into their flesh that they couldn't pull back out again. Both of them were a bloody mess, but they would survive. I was a lot less sure about Pritkin. He had his revolver out, but steel bullets wouldn't do much against master-level vampires, even assuming they connected.
Billy suddenly walked out onstage, in my body but with his usual swagger. He was looking up and so was Myra, and she was laughing. One glance and I knew why—the rafters were suddenly swarming with vamps. They poured in from the roof, the windows, the doors—my God, there had to be a hundred of them. I stared in stupefied awe, Augusta's voice in my head telling me what I already knew. We were screwed.
A vamp dropped in front of me, plummeting the three floors from the rafters without even missing his footing on the landing. Before I got a good look at him, Billy reached into his pocket and tossed something at us. I caught a glint of gold as a tiny shape arced in the air, and then it changed.
Mac's eagle swooped down in a beautiful dive, gray feathers a blur against the dark theatre, but those glittering eyes just as bright as ever, and the vamp was suddenly not there anymore. A scream, a thud, and he landed in front of me again, this time missing a good chunk of his throat. He was a master—he'd live—but he wasn't going to be doing any fighting anytime soon.
The vamps attacked in a swarm, flooding the stage, and Billy threw the remaining wards into the air in a glittering arc. A wave of spitting, hissing and howling beasts tore into the vamps. A miniature tornado took out half a dozen, tearing along a rafter, tossing bodies everywhere before fading away. A snake the size of an anaconda dropped around another vamp's neck, winding its coils over his eyes, causing him to stagger blindly off the stage into the orchestra pit. A huge wolf jumped on one, snarling and tearing huge chunks out of his torso, while a spider the size of a Volkswagon had another wound up in silk, hanging him from the rafters with an air of pleased concentration.
Myra brought my attention back to earth by attempting to stake me. Luckily, Augusta believed in whalebone—and lots of it—for stays. I ended up with a bruised rib and Myra with a blunt stake. I grabbed it out of her hand. "I'm already Pythia! There's no changing it!”
Myra only laughed. "I already killed one Pythia," she said viciously. "What's one more?”
"You killed Agnes?" I almost let her go in surprise. Not that it surprised me that she was capable of it, but what about the prohibition? "Then why are you after me? Even if I die, you'll never be Pythia!”