“The money’s no problem; safe passage neither,” he mused, lighting up a long pipe. “But the license, that’s another thing. We don’t need ‘em.”
“But humans do. And that is what I must appear to be. I was almost recaptured twice on the way here.”
I glanced over my shoulder, but all I saw was the sailor who’d stepped in the puddle of sick. It had somehow smeared onto his hose, too, which he’d stripped off a hairy leg. Now he was balancing precariously on one foot, hose in one hand and boot in the other, looking bemused. It looked like he’d started the night’s revelry a little early.
“Aye. ‘Tis the way of the world, lass,” Sol said, with the air of someone imparting great wisdom. “Power shifts and we have to shift with it, if we want to keep our heads.”
“Thank you for that,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Now can you get me a license or not?”
“I can. But I’m thinking ye’ll not be needing it where ye’re going.”
It took my tired brain a vital few seconds to catch up. Then I glanced at the counter, where Fulke should have been, and found it empty. Goddess teeth!
I sprang for the door, cursing Solomon’s filthy hide, only to have it slam open and a group of mages rush in. Fulke’s traitorous hulk was visible just behind them and there was no question where he’d been–or why. The Circle’s men would have had me before I could turn around, but the sailor took that moment to pass out on the lintel, causing the mage in front to trip. And the others ran into him in their eagerness to get at me.
The accident bought me a precious moment and I turned toward the main room, intending to run out the back. I might have made it, if Solomon hadn’t kicked my legs out from under me. I rolled and brought the staff up, only to have Fulke leap from the doorway and make a grab for it.
“No!” Sol screeched. “Don’t touch it, ye idle-headed lout!”
Fulke was not the swiftest thinker, but he’d spent years suffering under his father’s lash for the smallest infraction. He jerked his hand back as if burned and I whirled on Sol, who dove for the door in a move that belied his age. He scuttled behind one of the mages, a young sandy-haired blond, who surged back to his feet and grabbed the staff.
I hadn’t uttered a spell, hadn’t even formed one in my mind, yet power pulsed under my fingertips before spilling down the wood like liquid. The mage froze as it flowed onto his hand, spread up his arm and covered his body. And then he started screaming.
I jerked back, but he didn’t let go. Instead, his hand came away with the staff, in a stringy, gooey mess that in no way resembled flesh any longer. The small, pale finger bones melted through the slimy mess and rattled against the floor. I stared in horror from the shining arm bone hanging out the end of his flapping sleeve to his face, where round eyeballs lolled in fleshless sockets as the skin dripped down his bones.
He stopped screaming about the time he collapsed into a heap of clothes and spreading ooze. But I could still hear it in my head, a high-pitched, half-hysterical sound that I vaguely realized was in my own voice, and then someone grabbed me. I looked up to see the sailor, who had apparently sobered up quickly.
“Run!”
Sage advice, had there been anywhere to go. But the appalled silence of a moment before had disintegrated into utter chaos, as the drunken patrons of the bar met the small contingent of mages in a tangle of thrashing limbs, shrieks and curses. One of the latter shot by my face, close enough to singe my hair, and caused the sailor to jerk back with an oath.
Having been in more tavern brawls than I cared to recall, I hit the ground and started crawling. The Spaniard was built on a slant to match the bank of the Thames, with an extra story on the river side. The lower level was used for storing whatever illicit merchandise Sol was dealing in this month, and had a convenient ramp leading down to the water. If I could get to the staircase, there was a chance I could get out before the Circle noticed I was—
A curse sizzled over my head before exploding against the wall in a shower of sparks. It looked like they’d noticed. I picked up the pace, only to catch sight of Fulke waving his arms and looking panicked.
“No! No fire spells, no fire spells!” he bellowed, loudly enough to be heard over the din. No one else paid him any attention, but then, they didn’t know what Sol had downstairs. I didn’t, either, but when Fulke picked up the monkey and ran for the entrance, leaving the till behind, I decided I didn’t want to find out.
I reversed course, hoping to slip out the front door in the chaos. But my hair had come loose from its fastenings and someone stepped on it, slamming my head down into the rough hewn boards and making my ears ring. And then someone else’s boot made contact with my ribs, hard enough to knock the wind out of me. Worse, it jolted the staff out of my fingers. I scrambled after it, through a forest of legs and spilled ale, and managed to get my hand on it—
And looked up to see a mage leveling a flintlock at my head.
I stared at it stupidly, still stunned and breathless. I had the staff, but didn’t have the energy left to use it. And this man was either better versed in Druid magic than the other, or he’d seen what had happened to him. Because he carefully kept out of reach as he prepared to blow my head off.
But then his face paled and the gun dropped from his fingers, his eyes going dead before he hit the floor. I stared past him at the sailor, whose hand was outstretched but didn’t hold a weapon. And then he grabbed me around the waist and hurled us at one of the windows.
“No,” I gasped, “there’s no—”
I cut off as we crashed through the old wooden shutters and out into thin air. A few dizzying seconds later, we landed hard on the ramp Sol used to roll barrels up from the water. Only we rolled down it, straight into the slimy waves lapping at the bottom.
That turned out to be fortunate. The side of the tavern blew out a moment later, in a rush of heat and noise that sent blazing boards scattering far into the night. The sailor cursed and ducked under water, although most of the pieces went flying over our heads to flame out against the Thames.
“—land down there,” I finished. I gazed numbly at the merrily burning building--for a brief moment, until a heavy hand grabbed the back of my neck and I was jerked to within an inch of the sailor’s face.
But it wasn’t his any longer. It suddenly smeared, like someone had taken a cloth to a dirty window. Parts of it became streaked and blurry, while others went missing entirely. In their place were bits and pieces of another picture: the jaw line became stronger, the cheekbones became more pronounced, and the unkempt beard was replaced by a neatly trimmed goatee. But the cap of dark curls and the outraged expression remained the same.
“You,” the vampire told me viciously. “Had best be worth this kind of trouble.”
Chapter Two
An hour later, I was in hot water again, but this time, I was enjoying it. The vampire had a small ship, the Bonny Lass, which had been anchored not far from the tavern. We’d swum out to it in order to avoid any of the Circle’s men who had survived the explosion, and were now in the process of washing off the river stench.
At least, I was. I doubted that even someone as wealthy as the vampire appeared to be had another luxury like this aboard. I leaned over to refill my wine glass, then settled back against the soft sheets cushioning the wooden tub. And sighed.
The sigh soon turned into a yawn, the hot water lulling me into sleep I couldn’t afford. I had somehow kept hold of the staff in the confusion, but I’d lost the ring. I needed to find some other source of funds and do it quickly. Elinor was safe with friends, but she wouldn’t stay that way for long. Neither of us would, as long as we remained within the Circle’s reach.
The question was: where to go?
Being a witch in her majesty’s most Protestant England had once been considerably easier than life on the Continent, where the Inquisition had been joined in its efforts to wipe out magic users by a group of dark mages known as the Black Circle. Having been excluded from the magical community for years, they lusted after its demise and their own subsequent rise to power. And their magic combined with the Inquisition’s numbers had insured that the number of real witches meeting a fiery end had recently shown a dramatic increase.
As a result, a flood of magical refugees had started arriving in England, determined to rebuild their power and retake the continent. Anyone who resisted the new order imposed by this “Silver Circle” was suspect. But members of the once powerful, independent covens or—worse—outlaws who refused to abide by anyone’s rules but their own, were anathema.
I was the Circle’s worst nightmare, for I was both.
No, neither the continent nor England was safe for a coven witch these days. I’d heard the Circle had few allies to the East, where the Asian covens paid them little respect and no heed. Of course, they might have no more for a couple of penniless refugees, but I could try.
It was a sound plan, I decided, even as the thought of leaving for good caused another pang. It wasn’t sadness, wasn’t even anger, although both of those were present. It was more of a soul deep feeling of wrongness. England was home; England was ours.
I pushed the thought angrily away. I couldn’t fight these kinds of odds; no one could. But I could live. I could see to it that my daughter lived. Against the Circle, that was the only kind of victory anyone could expect.
“You are supposed to be relaxing, yet you look as though you’re planning another battle.”
My eyes flew open to see the vampire standing beside the tub, watching me with faint amusement. He caught the hand I raised to slap him, which I belatedly noticed was holding my wine glass. He refilled it as I stared at it, wondering how it had ended up empty again.
No wonder I was tired.
“A gentleman would have announced himself!” I told him, pressing against the side of the tub.
“And a scoundrel would have joined you.”
I started to make the kind of reply that deserved when I caught sight of his right hand. The ruby gleamed black in the low light, but with glints of red fire. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had rescued something from the evening.