* * *
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.
I felt him move this way, having seen her come in and realizing that something was wrong. But he didn’t know what yet, didn’t see the threat. And even if I’d wanted to try the explanation I’d rejected earlier, there was no time.
Not for him.
I hesitated, because Mircea had warned me against this. Do not contact her directly, he had said. Do not force a reintegration lest it all start again, and you damage her as you once did. Let it happen naturally. . . .
But there was nothing natural about what we were. And he underestimated her; he always had. She wasn’t a child anymore, but a woman hardened by combat and toughened by experience. And she would hate me for this, for leaving her out of the decision, for letting this murderer succeed.
As I would hate myself.
Dory, I said, and felt the shock reverberate through her.
* * *
* * *
My head snapped up, and my eyes stared blankly at a slur of faces, some surprised, some intrigued, some horrified as they realized that a dhampir savage had been allowed to roam freely among them.
I didn’t care.
Because the voice came again.
Dory . . .
I swallowed, and then jerked to the side, so that a vamp who’d been jumping for me slammed into the pillar instead. He sprang off, embarrassed and furious, and I elbowed him in the face, grabbed him by the hair, and smashed his head a few times into the heavy silver tray a frightened human servant was holding like a shield. And when that still wasn’t enough, I kicked him at a senatorial guard, who sent me a nod of thanks before introducing the guy repeatedly to the wall.
I barely noticed, being too busy staring into the air, because I persisted in the idea that I was going to see Dorina.
But I couldn’t see her.
She was me.
And she was talking—oh, yes, now she was talking, in a flood of words and images and feelings, so much, too much.
“Stop it!” I yelled, and staggered into someone—
Mircea.
I stared up at him, and knew my pupils were blown wide by the change in his expression. “What is it?” he growled, although he already knew.
“She’s talking,” I said in wonder. “She’s finally talking—”