THIRTY-EIGHT
Back at the service window, Allen rifled the small desk, looking for what he needed. He wrapped the fragile manuscript in a triple layer of old newspapers and tied up the whole thing with brown twine. When he got someplace safe, he'd open it and take a closer look.
He climbed back through the window, went through the reading room, and let himself into the hallway beyond. He wove his way through back offices and storage rooms until he found the doorway out, an exit labeled in Czech, German, and English.
No alarms sounded. Nobody came after him.
Which way?
He headed up Petrin Hill. He remembered from the map in The Rogue's Guide that numerous paths crisscrossed the hill. He could lose himself up there in case someone followed, emerge on the other side. Some paths were well lit, others not. The Rogue's Guide had also mentioned the fact that hookers used the shrubbery as convenient hideaways for quickies. Interesting information but not particularly useful at the moment.
At first Allen stuck to the main path, which was well lit and smoothly paved. He kept heading up. He passed a young couple strolling arm in arm. Harmless, but they could still talk to the police. Have you seen a young man with a stolen alchemist diary? Which way did he go?
He turned onto a gravel path, narrow and dark, but still heading for the top of the hill. From there he could survey his surroundings and decide where to go next.
Next. Yes, that would be tricky. It was not safe to go back to his dorm; it had been foolish to go there the first time, in fact. Too easy for people to find him. And he didn't relish returning to Penny's apartment and having to explain why he'd gone off without her. There would be some hurt feelings there, but time to apologize later. Right now he needed a quiet place to examine Kelley's journal. A well-lit desk and nobody trying to kidnap, seduce, or kill him.
And while seduction was admittedly the least appalling of the options, the sudden thought of Cassandra both terrified and excited Allen, sending conflicting sensations coursing through his body.
No. Don't think about it.
He trudged up the path, gravel crunching. He panted with the exertion. Allen wasn't in bad shape, but the hill went up and up. He'd left the well-lit path far behind now, and the darkness closed in on him. He stepped off the path a few times, had to reorient himself by moonlight.
Allen heard something and froze. Had he heard footsteps, or was it just himself he'd heard? His own panting was loud in his ears. Something rustled in the bushes far back down the path. Bird? Rabbit?
Vampire?
He began walking again, took another dozen steps and stopped. Okay, he definitely did hear something. Something too large to be a bird or rabbit rustled the bushes. Allen strained his ears, heard a sniffing sound, or maybe it was heavy breathing. There! A dark shape slunk from the bushes, pausing in the middle of the path. Allen's heart picked up speed. He didn't move, held his breath. Maybe it would go away.
It moved, turning toward him. Glowing eyes stabbed him from the darkness.
It came toward him.
"Fuck!"
Allen clutched the manuscript to his chest and ran.
He ran straight up the path at first, but when he heard the rapid footfalls behind him, he realized his pursuer would overtake him quickly. He took a sharp right turn into the woods, where he dodged among the trees and low branches, stumbling over roots. How did he think getting lost in the woods would help? A sort of strange clarity told him he was panicking. Branches slapped at his face, tugged at his clothing.
The thing plunged into the woods behind him, pulling closer.
Oh, God, I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to-
His feet flew along the easiest path, turning downhill. He stumbled, and his hands flew out to grab a tree trunk. The manuscript flew away.
"Shit!"
He didn't pause, didn't even think of stopping to pick it up. He ran so hard that he thought his heart would explode. Sweat drenched him.
A howl split the night-a single note, deep and clear, rising above the hill.
Allen went cold.
He entered a small clearing, knew he couldn't run anymore. He would collapse any minute. He picked up a fallen branch and turned, backed up to the other side of the clearing, the branch held feebly in front of him.
Allen waited.
He saw the eyes first. It stepped into the clearing, moonlight giving it shape. An enormous dog. No. A wolf. Reddish-brown fur. Allen blinked. It was the same animal he'd seen so many months ago in the woods behind Professor Evergreen's house.
That's. Fucking. Impossible.
It took a step toward him, and Allen raised the branch.
The wolf threw its head back and howled again. Allen trembled. Allen waited to die as he imagined fangs tearing out his throat.
The wolf didn't budge. A moment stretched. It howled again.
Allen sensed movement down the hill, heard somebody clumsily trudging through the bushes. Allen opened his mouth to yell for help, but his voice caught, fear choking him to silence.
The wolf howled again.
Distantly, a woman's voice whined, "Okay. I heard you, for Christ's sake. I'm coming."
The wolf nodded its head, pawed at the air.
Bushes rustled to Allen's left, startling him. A woman stumbled into the clearing.
Allen's eyes popped. "Amy!"
Amy panted, held an armload of clothes. "Uphill? Is this revenge for dragging you up Zizkov?"
"Amy, stop. There's a wolf." He pointed with the branch.
"Yeah." She plopped butt first onto the grass, still out of breath. "Try not to freak out."
"What?"
Amy pointed at the wolf. "Look."
The animal began to shake, going into rapid convulsions. It made pained sounds, whined and growled. Its back arched. Limbs began to stretch and elongate horribly, its muzzle distorting and flattening into a face.
Allen could not imagine a more horrifying sight than this creature melting and deforming, redefining itself, fur melting into flesh, this monster growing more familiar by the second. A scream. Human.
She lay momentarily in a fetal position, then stood on shaky legs, hands going to mussed hair.
"Penny," breathed Allen. "Oh, my God."
Allen's world tilted dramatically. So many questions.
Penny stood naked, white and curved in the radiant moonlight.
THIRTY-NINE
Jackson Fay checked himself and the girls into a suite at the opulent Carlo IV hotel. He would plan his next move in comfort. He would need to locate Evergreen. He would need to determine if the man was a threat or not, prepare both defensive and offensive spells. Better to be over-prepared than under.
But at the moment, he was famished. Room service brought three carts of food and two chilled buckets of champagne. Fay had been embezzling from the Society for three years in preparation for his break with them.
Clover gulped a glass of champagne like it was ginger ale. "This beats the hell out of the service tunnels underneath Zizkov."
Sam reached for a shrimp cocktail. "Yeah."
"I could get used to this." Clover stuck a cigarette into her mouth, flipped open her Zippo.
"Don't smoke," Fay said.
Clover froze, the flame halfway to her cigarette. "Sorry?"
"I don't like the smell," Fay said. "You have your own room. Smoke in there."
She shrugged. "Right. Okay. I'll suck a quick one. Back in a minute." She went into her room and closed the door.
"She smokes too much." Sam popped a shrimp into her mouth, chewed as she refilled her champagne glass. "Is there a spell for lung cancer?"
"Maybe we should discover one." Fay sat back in his chair, looked at Sam. Long legs, tan. Athletic. Not very feminine in T-shirt, denim shorts, and hiking boots, but he could tell there was a good figure under there, and now that he'd eaten, Fay contemplated satisfying other needs.
He stood and plucked the rose from the vase on one of the serving trays. Classy place. Fay would never live in middle-class mediocrity again. He would always have just exactly whatever he wanted. This he vowed to himself.
Fay used the rose thorn to prick his finger, raising a drop of blood. He peeled off one of the rose petals, mashed it between his thumb and forefinger, then mixed the blood with it until it turned into a pink paste. Sam saw none of this as she hovered over a dish of caviar.
"Let me refill your glass." Fay took it from her, slipped the paste into it, then poured champagne on top, muttering words under his breath. He handed it back to her. "Drink up."
She smiled. "Thanks." She sipped, smacked her lips.
Immediately her eyelids grew heavy and a dreamy smile spread across her face. She took a step closer to Fay, a soft purr coming out of her.
"I think you should take off your clothes," Fay said.
She nodded, set her champagne glass aside. She pulled off her shirt, to reveal heavy breasts held back by a sports bra. She unclasped it, let them fall. Brown nipples poked out like pencil erasers.
"Very nice," Fay whispered.
She smiled, unzipped her shorts and let them fall, stepped out of them and peeled her white cotton panties down over her hiking boots. Her pubic hair had been cut into a narrow line.
He cupped a breast, ran a thumb over a nipple. Sam gasped pleasure. He reached down to her seam, and she closed her eyes, moaned.
Fay thrilled at the moist warmth. Being the most powerful wizard on the planet was going to work out just fine.
Clover threw open a window, puffed the cigarette as she gazed upon Prague from her third-story window. Not a lot of traffic this time of night, but this part of the city never did shut down entirely. It was actually a pretty neat town, she thought. If she hadn't been here on Society business, she would probably have found a number of ways to amuse herself. Maybe catch the night scene, scope out a few bands.
But then again, she wouldn't have been here in the first place if it hadn't been for the Society. She'd jumped at the opportunity. What in the hell would she have done with her life back in Evansville, Indiana? Jesus.
It was the Society that allowed her to go places, do things, be part of something. She couldn't help thinking she'd bungled things with Allen Cabbot. She puffed, frowned, promised herself she'd do something to make up for it. Prove to Fay and the rest of the Council she wasn't a fuckup.
Wouldn't it be kick-ass to get promoted, learn some of the big spells, get in on the real secrets? Damn right. That would be cool.
She should probably get back to Fay. She didn't want to seem ungrateful. But the bed looked so comfortable. It would be easy just to fall into cool sheets, catch a few hours of shut-eye. She'd been awake nearly the entire time since fleeing Zizkov, only stealing a quick catnap here and there.
Clover went to the vanity mirror and looked closely at her face. There were dark circles under her eyes, and not the cool kind she did herself with makeup sometimes. Real dark circles. She thought her face suddenly looked ashen too. As a matter of fact, it was getting paler by the second, and wrinkles were forming. What the hell?
An old woman's face replaced her own, emerged from the mirror.
"Motherfucker!" Clover stumbled back, fell onto the bed, and scooted back all the way to the headboard, her arms flung up to fend off the apparition.
"It's me, Clover," the old woman said. "Do not be alarmed."
Clover blinked, looked more closely at the pale figure, who hovered, mostly transparent, the rest of the room visible behind her. Wait. Clover knew this lady. "Margaret?"
"Yes, child. Where are the others?"
"Sam is here," Clover said. "We can't find Amy. Where are you?"
"I've gone beyond," Margaret said. "But I managed one last spell, something I set up ahead of time just in case. You must listen to me, Clover. Jackson Fay is a traitor. He has betrayed the Council. He murdered Blake and me."
"That's impossible."
"Why else would I appear to you in this fashion?" asked the ghost. "Fay has betrayed us."
"But he's in the other room right now. With Sam."
"Flee, child. Go while you can."
"But Sam."
The ghost began to fade. "I must warn others. My time is limited. It's... difficult to judge time where I am. I think I've only been this way a few short hours, but another part of me feels as if I've always been here. So gray and silent. I must go."
And she was gone.
Clover sat on the bed, stunned.
Sam. Clover could not-would not-leave without Sam. She went to her backpack to search for something she'd prepared several weeks ago, a spell she'd been afraid to try. Now was the time.
She found the plastic baggy, opened it, put the contents into her pocket. Ash. It seemed only like simple ash, but it had been prepared, with so many ingredients-herbs, a goat's heart, and the crushed bones of a cripple. She'd had to do a little grave robbing for that one. It had all been mixed and blasted in an iron furnace. If she could catch Fay by surprise, fling it in his eyes and say the words-yes, it might work. He'd be paralyzed for several hours-or maybe only seconds. The old book hadn't been clear. It was suicide to go against a wizard like Fay toe to toe, but that's not what she had in mind. She just wanted to slow him down, give herself and Sam a chance to get the hell out of there.
She went to her bedroom door, put her ear against it but heard nothing. She turned the knob quietly and pushed the door open barely a sliver so she could take a peek.
She clapped her hand over her own mouth to stifle a surprised gasp.
Sam reclined naked on the couch, arms and legs spread, a clear invitation. Fay approached her. He was naked too, his erection pulsing at Sam, bobbing as he stepped closer to mount her.
Clover backed away from the door, searched the room with her eyes, and saw a large ceramic vase. She grabbed it, hit the door at full speed on the way into the next room. Fay looked up, startled, then backed away from Sam, his eyes momentarily showing surprise, then narrowing to anger. Clover raised the vase over her head with both hands, grunted, and heaved. It flew.
And cracked square against the center of Fay's forehead, ceramic shards flying in every direction.
Fay cursed, stumbled back over a coffee table, and crashed into the room service carts. A tumult of dishes and silverware. Fay lay groaning, tangled in the tablecloth.
Clover was at Sam's side in a second, grabbed her arm, yanked. "Come on!"
Sam only looked up at her, that dreamy expression on her face.
"Damn it!" Clover grabbed the closest ice bucket and dumped it on Sam's head. "Snap out of it."
Sam screamed, sputtered. "What the f-fuck?" She looked down, saw herself naked, and yelped.
Fay lurched to his feet, a gash on his forehead bleeding freely. He wiped the blood out of his eyes and glared rage at Clover. "Bitch!"
Clover shoved Sam. "Run!"
Sam jumped up from the couch, sprinted for the door.
"I don't think so." Lightning leaped from Fay's outstretched fingertips, crackled and struck Sam in the back. She froze for a split-second as the entire room went white. Then she collapsed, eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open, smoke rising from her dead body.
"You son of a bitch." Clover spun on Fay. She reached into her pocket, came out with a handful of ash, and flung it into his eyes, the long-memorized command words tumbling from her mouth.
Nothing happened.
Fay bent down, grabbed a napkin from the wrecked room service cart, and wiped the ash from his face. Then he began to laugh.
No. Clover shook her head, couldn't believe it. I did everything right. I know I did. It should have worked.
"Surprised?" Fay asked. "Poor little girl can't make her magic work."
Tears welled in her eyes. No. There had been a mistake. This wasn't right. Sam. Was Sam really dead?
Clover turned, ran for the door.
Fay cut her off, grabbed an arm, twisted it behind her back. Pain lanced up through her shoulder, and she went rigid. Suddenly there was a blade at her throat. She wept, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
"You spoiled the party," Fay said. "Now, why would you do that?"
"I... I..." What could she say? Oh, Sam. Poor Sam.
"I would have let you join in," Fay said. "Would that have been so bad? All I needed was a ride from the airport, and if you're not going to provide me with any entertainment, then I'm afraid you're no longer of any use, young lady."
Clover drew a breath for a scream, but nobody ever heard it. Fay's blade bit quick and deep.