Her eyes opened, she looked up, jumped to her feet, and held out the blood-smeared dagger as if she might actually use it to defend herself. But there was nothing to attack, and even the laughter faded until I thought I’d imagined it.
Her tunic flapping around her legs, she turned back to her place on the circle and raised her arms. Shouting, she repeated chants from the ritual with a tone of defiance. More smiting of our enemy, along with words of banishing.
The only way I knew it was over was when she sat heavily, dropping the knife and putting her head in her hands. The smoke remained, drifting upward, and I continued to see patterns, whorls and spirals reflecting the shapes drawn on the floor. The torches still burned, and the stinging smoke and weight of expectation remained. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
We stood around the circle, blinking at each other.
“What happened?” I said finally, breaking the quiet with the suddenness of shattering glass. Felt stupid doing it, but somebody had to say something. “Something happened, right?” I couldn’t be sure anymore. Maybe I was still tranquilized and dreaming all this. Except I didn’t think my imagination was that good. My nose flared, picking up the scent of fresh blood. The mouse carcass, little more than bits of flesh and mangled fur, still lay in the middle of the circle. The smell made me oddly hungry.
“What did you learn?” Enkidu asked. Demanded.
Zora looked exhausted. She held her hands, stained with blood and soot, like they were newly discovered treasure. Like she was surprised this had worked, heaven help us.
“Zoroaster?” Kumarbis prompted, and at this she looked up, nodded. She crept to the center of the circle and retrieved the piece of paper, read the bloody pattern smeared on it, and nodded.
I expected a fortune-teller’s vague pronouncement. A brooding man seeks your destruction, great changes loom in your future, your lucky numbers are two and twelve, and so on, yadda, whatever.
Zora spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone. “He’s in Split, Croatia, in the old town, the ruins of Diocletian’s Palace. Very near his own origin. A place of healing and power for him. He thinks it’s a place of safety, so his defenses are few. This is very good for us.”
“How the hell—” I clamped my teeth shut before I could finish the outburst. Zora knew, the ritual worked, they were right.
Kumarbis laughed, the low victorious chuckle of a supervillain, though he probably didn’t hear it that way. “We have him. Finally, we can stop him. Thank you, thank you all.” The vampire’s eyes were half lidded, his lips curling back, showing fang. He might have become emperor of everything, as happy as he looked.
If Zora could use magic to find Roman, then maybe she really could stop him by zapping him with magic from five thousand miles away …
We have to get out of here. This is crazy. Kumarbis might have been right, but Wolf still didn’t trust him. He knows where we are, he knows what we’re doing.
Zora had opened a door, and the door allowed access both ways. If we’d found Roman, he could just as easily find us. The urge to flee became fierce. Antony hadn’t been dumb, he hadn’t been reckless. He wouldn’t have confronted Roman if he hadn’t thought he had a good chance against him. And he’d lost. What chance did we have?
The others didn’t seem worried. They began to march out of the ritual space and back to the antechamber. Zora moved like a queen in her palace, her chin up, her tunic flowing around her, gold ornaments glinting in torchlight, as if they sparkled with their own light. Were they really gold, were they really ancient, or were they some cheap knockoff posing as ancient sacred artifacts? And did it matter, if they really were magic? The questions made me tired.
She retrieved the coin from the ritual space, returned it to Kumarbis, and processed with him back to the antechamber. The high priest and his acolyte, so imperious and serene, so sure of themselves. He was righteous, she was proud to follow him. We, the pack of lycanthropes, followed.
Back in the main chamber, Kumarbis turned and bowed to us all. “Dawn approaches. I must leave you. Tonight, our final ritual commences. We are close, so close. Thank you, all of you, for your help, your power, your blessing. Zoroaster. Sakhmet. Enkidu. Regina Luporum.” He bowed again, eyes closed, head bent low. The show of gratitude was profound, genuine.
It almost made staying mad at him hard. Almost. He believed. He really, really believed.
“Wait a minute,” I said, my words dropping like a china plate on a tile floor, breaking the mood, causing even me to shiver. I had to get out my thoughts, no matter how awkwardly. “You’re right. I see that now. You’re right, you really can do what you say you can do. I believe you.” Saying it felt like I was giving over part of myself, carving out a piece of my own flesh. Admitting they were right about me. “But you’re missing something.”
“We’ve overlooked nothing,” Zora insisted.
“Zora,” I said. Wincing, I revised the thought. “Zoroaster. The one who speaks for Zoroaster.” I was absolutely no good at this ritual thing. Regina Luporum, hah, not even. “You opened a door, you saw Dux Bellorum—but doors open both ways. He can find us just like we’ve found him. He’s in Split right now laughing at us.” I flashed on the memory of my first day here, grabbing Sakhmet’s hand through the slot in the door, desperately holding on in our tug-of-war. Roman could do that to us.
But everyone looked at her. Even Kumarbis looked at her, waiting for her response.
Her expression wrenched itself into a kind of fury, puckered, glaring. “We’re safe here. I’ve protected this place, I’ve cast many spells, I’ve built many shields. No one can find us, no one can harm us. We’re safe!” She spit the words, and her face flushed. In her robes and finery, she looked like she was playacting. I couldn’t laugh, though. I felt a little sorry for her.
Kumarbis looked back at me. “You see? We are safe. Tomorrow, we can strike.”
“Antony!” I said, making his name an exclamation. A call to arms, however incomprehensible. But I had gotten their attention. “My friend Antony. He was Master of Barcelona, but he was one of us—one of my allies in the fight against the Long Game. Like Ned, Alette, Anastasia, Marid … Rick.” And what would they say if they could see me now? God, I could really use some help here … “Antony knew that Roman was in Split, and he went there to kill him. He thought he could kill him. He failed. He was destroyed. You can open a door to try to kill him, but you’ll be going in blind. He will defend himself.”
“And so will we,” Kumarbis said, just like that.
“Before he died, Antony said Roman was in Split looking for something, an artifact or a spell or something, called the Hand of Hercules. Maybe it’s a weapon, maybe it’s something else, I don’t know. You say you know Roman better than anyone—do you know what it is? Hand of Hercules, the … the Manus Herculei—”
Kumarbis’s eyes widened in a show of recognition
.