Shadow's Bane by Karen Chance
And, suddenly, we were running through light.
Not bright light. Most of it was provided by huge candelabras dripping wax everywhere and looking creepy. But they showed me enough to realize that Louis-Cesare was carrying me, that we’d just darted out of one of the hidden passages around here, and that we were currently tearing through a library.
And that somebody was shooting at us.
Make that a lot of somebodies.
Annnnd I was caught up.
“Put me down,” I told him, struggling.
“In a moment.”
“Why? What are you waiting for?”
“That,” he said, as we burst into a narrow hallway and leapt over a line of masters who’d just knelt in front of us.
I thought I recognized one of them.
“Mircea’s?”
“Mircea’s.”
I craned my neck around, because we were now running down the hall, so fast that it was almost a blur. But I was in time to see another squad of vamps—the ones who I guess had been following us—get held up the hard way. The two groups crashed together as we rushed in the other direction, into another room, through a fireplace, down a passageway, and out—
Into Mircea’s suite of rooms.
I knew them because I’d been here before. What I didn’t know was that they’d gotten an upgrade. Or maybe the portal swirling on the far wall had always been here, because trust Mircea to have a plan B—and C and D and E—for every occasion.
Except this one, because I wasn’t going in there.
“Let me down—”
Louis-Cesare wasn’t letting me down.
I twisted and managed to get loose, hit the edge of a table, and bounce off onto the floor.
Oh yeah.
That was fun.
“Dory!” Louis-Cesare grabbed me again, blue eyes wild. “We need to get you out of here!”
“We need to get me to the consul,” I snarled, ripping off the sheet. Which was covered in blood from a wound in my side, thanks to a certain curly-haired bastard. Who was going to rue the fucking day.
“You can kill Kit later,” Louis-Cesare told me.
“I plan to!”
“And Mircea can deal with Dorina,” he continued, as I felt around for an exit wound.
Found one, lucky me. And not through anything vital. So it was just blood loss I really couldn’t afford right now that was making me feel like shit.
I ripped up the sheet and started a basic field dressing.
“Listen to me!” Louis-Cesare caught my upper arms, and shook me.
“Cut it out!”
“Then explain to me why I shouldn’t pick you up and throw you through that portal, whether you like it or not!”
I looked up. “You do and I swear—”
“Quoi?” He spread his arms, blue eyes flashing. “What are you going to do? What do you think would be worse for me than seeing you riddled with bullets?”
I stared at him, because he looked genuinely angry, which he almost never was with me. And genuinely afraid, which he wasn’t with anybody. And genuinely gorgeous, and fuck it—I’d had a hard day.
I surged up and kissed him, and for a brief second, he was into it. Before breaking away and glaring at me. And cussing inventively in French, which was never a good sign.
“Lord Mircea can deal with this!” he repeated furiously.
“Can he?” I panted, pulling the dressing tight. “You sure?”
“His specialty is the mind!”
“So is Dorina’s. And he couldn’t detect her before, when she was just a kid and used to follow him around Venice for shits and giggles. He didn’t know she was there until she said something.”
Louis-Cesare frowned. “That was a long time ago. He is more powerful now—” He caught my expression. “And do not say that she is, too!”
“Okay, I won’t say it.” I tied off the bandage and looked around for weapons. And didn’t find any. Damn it!
Fine, we’d do it the hard way.
An iron fist gripped my arm. “You are not going out there!”
“The consul is a poisonous bitch, possibly literally,” I told him. “But if she dies, the war effort descends into chaos while those other bastards fight over a successor. And they will. You know they will.”
My brilliant appeal to logic did not appear to have much effect. “What I know is that you’re in no condition to do anything about it! Neither of us is.”
I looked him over. He had a point. “So what’s your plan?”
He gestured at the portal. “That! Get out, get you to a healer, and let your father handle this. I’ve already sent him the information. He knows Dorina is a danger.”
“He’s known that for five hundred years.” I walked over to the portal, swirling in the wall. It was a powerful one; I could feel the pull from here. I looked back at him. “Where does this go, again?”
He joined me, looking relieved. “Lord Mircea’s home in Washington State.”
“And we can get back afterward? Once this is over?”
“Yes, it works both ways. As long as the shield isn’t up.”
He glanced at a little button on the wall. Guess that was the shield. “Good to know,” I said, and shoved him through the swirling light before slamming my fist down on the button.
All right, then.
Or it was.
Until an arm snaked through the portal and grabbed me, jerking me in.
After a furious trip through a vortex of color and light, I landed in a posh office I was too pissed to take in right now, where a lying bastard of a vampire was trying to—
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
I pushed him away from what I was pretty sure was the portal’s control panel, and he went staggering back into a bookshelf. It fell over, making a hell of a racket, and a bunch of vamps ran through the door, guns drawn. And immediately looked confused.
“Thanks,” I told the nearest, and grabbed his gun.
“Urm,” he said.
“Extra clips?”
“I—not on me—”
“Hit the kill switch, damn you!” Louis-Cesare snarled at them, even as he went for it himself.
Before he could reach it, I dove back through the portal, landing hard on the other side—with someone’s hand around my ankle.
And was promptly jerked back, my body feeling like candy at a continent-spanning taffy pull, until it popped out the other side again.
“Son of a bitch motherfucker!”
“Language,” Louis-Cesare said grimly, from down near my foot.
I kicked him in the mouth.
I felt bad doing it—it was a nice mouth—but I didn’t have time for this.
“I don’t have time for this—let me go!” I yelled, while a line of perturbed-looking vamps just stood around, uselessly. “Grab him!” I told them, because he wasn’t letting go. “And get me some extra clips!”
The guy who’d lent me the gun looked conflicted. “Are . . . are you going to use them to shoot Louis-Cesare?”
“Probably not,” I said, broke his hold, dove for the portal, and got tackled again halfway through.
The forward momentum kept us going anyway, landing us back in Mircea’s bedroom—only to find another bunch of vamps in there, and they didn’t look conflicted at all.
Shit!
Of course Marlowe would know there was a portal. And of course he’d send a group to secure it. The sneaky son of a bitch!
I did some bullet riddling, which pissed them off but bought us time, and then Mircea’s boys ran in the door and a trashing of the room commenced. That’s two in one night, I thought dizzily. I’m on a roll.
And then Louis-Cesare dragged me back through the portal again.
“This . . . is getting . . . godd
The Washington State vamps were still just standing there, watching us and looking like they wanted to intervene. But when it was a case of the boss’ daughter and the boss’ nephew, it was a conundrum. I decided to help them out.
“Get in there!” I pointed a toe, which was all I currently had loose, at the portal. “We’re getting our asses kicked!”
And then Louis-Cesare grabbed me the wrong way, I screamed, and he let go—for half a second. But that was enough. I slipped out of his grip, flung myself through the portal, and arrived in time to see—
Fuck!
We were getting our asses kicked!
But then the cavalry arrived, bursting through the portal behind me with a yell, followed by a furious ex-boyfriend who was stunning when he was angry.
And right then, he was livid.
He snatched up one of Marlowe’s guys and threw him at a window, only we didn’t have a window. “We. Are going. To bed!” he roared at me, loudly enough for everyone to stop fighting for a second and stare at him.
“Not in front of the children,” I said, snatched a nice Persian carpet from under his feet, and watched the portal grab him when he fell backward.
And then I grabbed one of Mircea’s guys. “Controls?”
He pointed at a desk.
I slammed my hand down on the actual button, shot one of Marlowe’s guys in the face, and ran out the door.
Knowing Louis-Cesare, I’d just bought myself maybe thirty seconds.
I intended to use them.
Chapter Forty-six
My Sire was here. I felt him before I saw him, the brush of his power spreading out over the great hall like ripples in a pond. Small ones, subtle ones. Ones no one else seemed to notice.
Feelers; he was looking for me. And he was good—he was very good—and he knew my power signature like he knew his own. I stayed very, very still.
The young vampire I was riding looked around, from his less-than-dignified place on the floor. He appeared somewhat bewildered, the panic having cleared his head. He hadn’t planned to come here, into the audience hall, which, frankly, terrified him. He’d been on an errand when I’d suggested a shortcut, one he was now deciding he could live without. He scrambled to his feet and fled, forcing me to make a hasty decision.
Hoping the minor hop would go unnoticed, I jumped to a passing human who was carrying a tray of glasses. Magic swirled all around us, from the little sparks off gowns and coats, to the background hum of the wards, to the multicolored clouds that sparkled everywhere. Surely, no one could see through all that—
Dorina.
A flash of dark eyes in a thunderous face flicked across my inner eye.
I batted it away and jumped, right before a couple of guards grabbed my very bewildered ride, spilling his champagne. They took him away, while I rode a low-level master in another direction. It was more of a risk, but his magic somewhat cloaked my own. I hid in the haze of his power, staying quiet, wishing I dared try to influence him, even though it probably wouldn’t have worked.
But I couldn’t risk finding out, not with Mircea so close.
I could see him now, dark, lean, and dressed in a sleek tuxedo instead of the velvet robes he was entitled to. He looked strangely human among the glittering throng, like a raven among peacocks—ah. He hadn’t planned to be here tonight.
He was supposed to be at the apartment in New York, charming the mages who made weapons into making them for the Senate. And into finding ones powerful enough to be of use in Faerie. He was to lead the assault on the fey that was soon to come, and wanted to be sure of a steady supply of arms. But then something happened. . . .
Caedmon, the one who wanted our gift. He had been pressing his suit, while Mircea had been finding arguments to stave him off, to keep us here. And was now wondering why he’d bothered.
I felt a sharp pang at that, the longing of a child for the father who’d never wanted her, who had locked her away—
His head turned abruptly in my direction.
I cursed myself. Stupid! Stupid! I knew better. Emotion was the easiest thing to read, especially if that emotion involved you. He’d laid a trap and I’d fallen into it, and now he was coming this way.
The master I was riding smiled, and bowed. He felt honored; I did not. I had been careless, and now we were being surrounded.
Mircea’s vampires, so easy to pick out in a crowd, their power ghostly white against all the richer colors, started converging on all sides. They looked like spectral angels, perhaps vengeful ones. I looked desperately around for an advantage.
And found it above my head, in a swirl of angry magic from several arguing vamps. Not nearly as big as before; the room was still somewhat cowed from the lashing the consul had dealt the other master. But displeased, quarrelsome. Offense had been given and apology was demanded.
So I jumped, not out this time but up, into the angry clouds, and looked down through the glittering swirls of their power at the master I’d just left, who was bowing lower now and wondering what the great man wanted from him.
The great man wanted me, but didn’t find me. He was angry, but hid it well, making small talk with the vamp while mentally searching the surrounding area. He was worried; he knew what I could do, and better than the rest. I wanted to talk to him, to explain, but that . . . did not always go well. Sometimes he listened; many more times he did not.
And this time, I could not take the risk.
I also couldn’t hold free flight for long, and started looking around for an avatar.
And found something else.
* * *
* * *
One of the main advantages of being a dhampir is the natural camouflage. We register as human, even to high-level masters who ought to know better, unless they have something approaching Mircea’s facility with the mind. Fortunately, few do.
Unfortunately, all of them are able to smell blood, especially freshly spilled, and I was covered in it. And I didn’t exactly have time for a shower and change. So there was no hope of switching places with a human servant, grabbing a tray of drinks, and just waltzing my way into where I needed to be.
Of course not, I thought grimly.
That would be too easy.
And then there was the small matter of being out of time. Dorina didn’t fuck around. When she decided on something, she went for it, and that little party in Mircea’s rooms had held me up. I needed to get to the consul and I needed to do it now.
So I ran, but not through the dark-as-pitch passageways. I didn’t know them and didn’t have time to figure them out. And, anyway, Marlowe had probably flooded them with his people by now.
Of course, he had people on the main thoroughfare, too, the one cutting a swath from the entrance hall along the front of the building, forming an extended audience chamber. They were so thick there that this had to be it, had to be where the consul was holding court. I couldn’t see her yet, because of the length of the damned thing, and because there were a crap ton of people everywhere. But I could see Marlowe’s masters.
And vice versa.
They were already headed this way, and they were fast, but so was someone else.
And I didn’t mean me.
“Stop them!” I told a nearby guard, one of the ones dressed in Roman-looking armor that were standing at attention everywhere, guarding the Senate. They were there for show more than anything else, standing around all night trying to look shiny and not too bored. But they were bored, and the nearest was now looking hopefully at me.
“Protect me, goddamn it!” I told him. “Do your job!”
They did their job.
I started for the great hall at a dead run, and from every side, Marlowe’s masters jumped out at me. And looked everything from comi
Meanwhile, I ducked between masters, dodging the knives Marlowe’s boys had switched to, because I guess they didn’t want to spray bullets into the crowd. There was no time for subtleties, or apologies for the drinks that went flying or for the important types who got elbowed or for the outfits worth the price of a house that were splattered with hors d’oeuvres. There was only time—
For nothing, because somebody grabbed me.
But it wasn’t Marlowe.
Dorina had been hovering in the air overhead, and had dropped down on top of me like a bird of prey taking a mouse. Suddenly, I was seeing everything through the garbled vision of two sets of eyes. And even more worryingly, I was running again, correcting the stumble I’d taken when she took me and fumbling at my belt for the gun and—
Oh, no you don’t!
* * *
* * *
I’d finally spotted the creature, riding a nearby woman. It had been startling, disturbing. A black miasma that crouched over her like a malevolent shadow.
But I could do little about it as I was. My freed consciousness was extremely limited in ability, and was only slightly better with an avatar. To attack the creature enough to drive it out, to force it back inside its own body, I needed mine.
And, to my surprise, it came running into the gallery a moment later, chased by what looked like an army of vampires.
One of which was quickly attacked by another.
I stared for a moment, at the sight of senatorial guards flowing out to protect a dhampir.
Then I dropped down to join her, and to finish this—
Only to discover that she was fighting me.
I felt our hand spasm, dropping the gun we’d been holding, and our feet falter, sending us stumbling into a column. She was trying to take us to the floor, to ground us until one of the dark-haired master’s servants could subdue us. Or, worse, until Mircea could.