Marissa Day (19 page)

And in her mind, it was as if a curtain fell away. She could see.

She stared up at a steeply pitched ceiling smeared with dust and cobwebs. A filthy skylight with a rusted latch showed the clouded sky brightening with the slow dawn. She felt pain, and thirst, and Corwin.

Corwin. His wrists and ankles were weighted down with heavy manacles, and their edges cut into his flesh. A cotton cloth had been wadded into his mouth. He was furious, with his situation and himself, and he most definitely did not like the look of those rust-colored smears on the wall.

Then he lifted his head.
Darius?

Corwin,
Darius answered.
Where are you?

Darius ignored him.
Where are you?

Darius!
A wave of fear and fury accompanied the cry, so strong Miranda staggered. But she righted herself and held steady.

I’m not going to stop, Corwin
. Darius’s reply was implacable.
So you might as well help us see.

Miranda understood she would be able to answer and she bolstered her reply with Darius’s unyielding strength.
No. Why can’t you free yourself?

We’re wasting time,
Darius cut him off.

The stream of invective Corwin released was truly impressive. But Darius did not flinch.

This unleashed another series of oaths. It was so strange for Miranda to see them this way. She had come to think of Corwin as the leader of the two of them, but now she understood their true balance was much deeper and more complex than that.

Can you reach him, Miranda?
Darius asked her.

Miranda drew the power into herself as she might draw a deep breath. She stretched through Darius toward the presence that was Corwin in her mind. She stretched until she felt a sick, burning pain rise up in her, and she knew she was in danger of breaking in two, but she still couldn’t touch him.

Enough, enough
, said Darius.
We’ll have to get closer.

No!
cried Corwin.
It’s too dangerous!

But again, Darius ignored him.

“Miranda.” He said her name aloud, and it was strange to hear his voice with her ears rather than her mind. “We are going to have to ghostwalk.”

“What is that?”

“We are going to quite literally walk through walls. It is not an easy thing ...”

“I should think not.” She gave him a small smile and saw an answering spark of approval in his eyes.

“This is how we found you that first night. It was more difficult then because we had no Catalyst to bring us power, and we were both weak. Your part in this is to keep the channel open and steady, and remain focused on Corwin. The stream of power will link us and him, and I will be able to follow it from here to where he is. Do you understand?”

She didn’t really, but she also knew there was no time for questions. “I am ready.”

Darius wrapped her arm around his, as if they were to take an afternoon stroll together. Miranda vaguely wondered what would happen if Mother came up to check on her, or if Louise did. But it hardly mattered. Corwin was in danger and she would not let him, let them, down.

Power swirled and shimmered in her veins. Miranda drew it in through her skin, through her breath, and she poured it forth into Darius. In her mind, she saw Corwin lying bound and in pain. She felt his presence in body and emotion. She knew precisely where he lay, but not what lay between.

Then she felt Darius lay his will against the stream of her power. His intent mingled and merged with the stream. It was equal parts command, plea and prayer to the whole of the universe.

Before Miranda’s eyes, the walls of her bedchamber turned to soft mist. She could see the garden, the street, the next house, and through that to the next, and the next.

All the way to Corwin.

Darius began to walk, holding her so tightly Miranda had no choice but to walk with him.

It was like dreaming. It was like flying. There was a roaring in Miranda’s ears that blotted out all other sounds. People were shadows; objects were fleeting as thoughts. The only real things in the whole world were Corwin, Darius and the stream of magic that stretched like a lifeline, from her and through her, tying them all together. It was current and guide, at once pulling them forward and showing them the way to Corwin. Corwin alone and furious at needing rescue. Corwin praying they were not too late. Wanting them both, and wishing he’d been able to turn them away.

Miranda’s skin was cold but her spirit burned hot. She was terrified and she was elated. She forced both emotions away so she could concentrate on drawing down the power, and on Corwin.

Darius moved beside her, his concentration making a stone channel to shape the flow of her power. She felt his arm, felt his mind. Her sense of distance was gone. She had no anchor, no reference point. All things were equidistant, even though she was aware that they moved.

The word jolted through her, and Miranda slammed her mind and being closed against the power. Pain tore through her and she toppled against a solid, plaster wall. Miranda reeled backward, her slippers skidding on splintered floorboards.

They were back in the normal world, solid, heavy and graceless. Beside her, Darius was bent nearly double with his arm thrown across his stomach like a man with a severe cramp. She tried to move toward him but her body seemed so foreign to her she staggered and sprawled full length onto the floor.

Beside Corwin.

Corwin, who stared up at them both, his face apoplectic as he strained to force words out around the cloth that gagged him.

Miranda reached out one trembling hand, pulled the sodden cloth free and tossed it aside.

“You
idiots
!” roared Corwin. His chains rattled as he squirmed and shifted closer to her. “Miranda! Can you speak?”

“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” she said, although she was far from sure. She panted, swallowed, and panted again. She ached and felt weak as a kitten. It was worse than the aftermath of the influenza.

“Darius, you fool! I told you ...” But Corwin broke off as Darius lifted his head and stared at him with fever-bright eyes.

“Shut it, Corwin,” Darius said through gritted teeth. “We’re rescuing you. You can call us any name you like afterward.”

Darius dropped heavily onto his knees and crawled across to Corwin. “Give me your hands, you ungrateful sod.”

“Takes one to know one,” muttered Corwin as he rolled onto his side.

“What are you going to do?” Miranda pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

Darius pulled from his coat pocket a delicate loop of copper that looked startlingly like a hairpin. After a couple of tries, he was able to stick the ends into the keyhole of the manacles that bound Corwin’s wrists.

“There are some substances like this iron that cannot ever be made to yield to magic,” said Corwin. “Therefore, it behooves us all to become good with some more basic tools. Like lockpicks.”

Metal scraped softly against metal, and Darius’s mouth shaped silent curses. Miranda held her breath. At last, there came a soft
snick.
He hauled the iron cuffs away from Corwin’s wrists and tossed them aside with a look of disgust on his face. Then he set to work on the chains at Corwin’s ankles.

“Thank you.” Corwin sat up. His wrists were swollen and bleeding, and now Miranda could see his face was not just filthy, but pale. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” he said as he saw her look of concern. “Iron also interrupts the natural flow of magic in a Sorcerer’s body. It is most unhealthy.”

The second set of manacles
snick
ed open. Darius yanked them off and sat back on his heels, breathing hard. A sheen of perspiration stood out on his forehead, but his color had returned.

Blood stained Corwin’s ruined stockings, and as he leaned forward to try to chafe his ankles, he trembled.

“Can I help?” asked Miranda. Corwin shook his head, but Darius made a face.

Miranda set her jaw and without asking permission seized Corwin’s wrist and, shaky as she felt, opened the channel for the magic again.

It was like kissing him, pressing her passion against him before he was ready. But she felt him yield, accept, respond. He opened to her insistence, and she felt the power, the essence, begin to flow once more. It was an effort, for she was so tired, but she could feel the relief in him, feel his health return, and that was all she needed to find her own strength again.

“Enough now, Miranda,” murmured Darius.

This time she was able to close the channel slowly. When she came fully back to herself, she felt as if she had just run a great distance, but no worse. Her sight was clear; she could breathe. In front of her, Corwin’s color had returned and the skin around his wrists was whole.

“Thank you, Miranda,” Corwin whispered. Then he looked to Darius. Miranda’s heart swelled to see the love burning in the eyes of the two men as they regarded each other. “Thank you, Darius.”

Darius nodded once. “Let’s get out of here.” He crossed to the door. “More iron.” He produced the picklock again.

“Who did this to you?” Miranda asked Corwin as Darius set to work. But Corwin shook his head.

“Never saw the ba—... man,” he said ruefully. “Our opponents are very clever. This whole time they’ve been using non-magical means against us. Basic tricks, basic locks, basic violence.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “Makes us look like fools, because we’re busy looking for grand sorceries and Fae magics, not footpads.”

Darius straightened up and tucked the picklock away. He pulled on the handle and the door opened with a long, loud groan. He winced. “Well, if anyone else is in this house, they know we’re here now.”

Corwin grabbed Miranda’s hand. “Straight out the first door we find, then no stopping. For anything.”

Before she had a chance to answer, Corwin dragged her out the door into the dingy corridor and started down the narrow stairs, with Darius following close behind them.

It was a servants’ stair, she realized, steep, cramped and poorly kept. The advantage was it ought to take them all the way down to the cellar floor of whatever house this was, to its kitchens and back doors. Corwin led them at speed, making no allowances for the awkwardness of her dainty slippers or skirts. Miranda gritted her teeth, gathered her skirts up to her knees and concentrated on staying upright.

They reached the first landing and turned the corner.

Someone screamed.

The sound reverberated through the door to the main house, a woman’s scream of pain and fear. Miranda’s head jerked up and she immediately dodged toward the door. But Corwin held her in a grip of iron.

“Ignore it,” he ordered, and pulled her down the stairs behind him.

“But ...”

“He’s right,” said Darius. “Even if it’s not a trick, it’s a trap.”

But the scream came again, and again, piercing straight to Miranda’s heart. She tried to believe Darius and Corwin, but how could they be sure? She couldn’t leave a woman, a girl maybe, behind in such pain.

They reached the next landing. “Stop!” screamed the unseen woman. “Oh, God, please! Stop! Help me! Someone, help me!”

Miranda couldn’t stand it. She wrenched free of Corwin’s grip and darted through the door.

She found herself in a long, richly decorated hall.

“Help me, please!”

Miranda snatched up her skirts and ran. Behind her, she heard Darius and Corwin calling her name. She ignored them both and darted through the open door at her right hand.

It was a bedroom, but the furnishings had all been covered with white dust cloths. On a bed that had been stripped of its curtains lay a woman. She was stark naked, her arms spread and tied to the posts with rags. She screamed when she saw Miranda.

“It’s all right, it’s all right! We’re here to help,” Miranda cried as she darted forward. “Corwin! Darius!”

“Miranda, no!”

But Miranda’s hand was already on the nearest knot. The woman gave one more heart-wrenching shriek, and vanished.

All the bindings went suddenly slack., Miranda stared stupidly at the empty mattress. Corwin’s hands seized her shoulders and hauled her backward, just as a strange, shifting shadow fell across her. Miranda lifted her gaze up to the hollow, evil eyes of a monster floating in midair.