“Thanks. I’ll be in Shoes,” I said, snagging the lightest of the remaining carts.

Sixteen feet—I wasn’t counting the baby because so far she hadn’t proven able to keep up even with socks—need a lot of shoes. I stood up from fishing around on the bottom row, trying to find a pair of Converse look-alikes in Jesse’s size, and hit my head on somebody’s elbow. Somebody who looked like he’d escaped from Caesars Palace and forgotten to take off the costume.

“Why are you here?” The voice echoed loudly in the large space.

I looked around frantically, but nobody seemed to be paying the ten-foot golden god in the shoe department any attention. “I could ask you the same question!” I whispered.

“I came to remind you that time grows short. Your vampire will die if the spell is not lifted.”

“I’m aware of that!” I snapped.

“Then I ask again, why are you here? Have you made any progress?”

“Yes, sort of. I mean, I know where the Codex is.”

“Then why have you not retrieved it?”

“It isn’t that easy! And why do you care? What is Mircea to you?”

“Nothing. But your performance has not been as…focused…as I had hoped. This is an important test of your abilities, Herophile. And thus far you have let yourself be distracted by unnecessary tasks. These children are not your mission. The Codex is.”

“Uh-huh.” For someone who didn’t care about the Codex, he sure brought it up a lot. “Well, maybe I could do a better job if I had some help! How about sticking around for a while? And while you’re here we can get in a few of those lessons I keep hearing about.”

“I cannot enter this realm, Herophile. This body is a projection; only you can see it. And I cannot maintain it for long.”

“Then how about telling me a little more about the Codex?” Why, for example, Pritkin was willing to kill to keep it safe.

“You know all you need. Find it and complete your mission. And do it soon. There are those who would oppose you.”

“I kind of noticed.”

“What has happened?” he asked sharply.

“You’re a god. Don’t you know?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do not forget yourself, Herophile.”

“My name is Cassandra.”

“A poor name for the Pythia. Your namesake opposed my will and lived to regret it. Do not make the same mistake.”

It was more than a little surreal, even for me, to be discussing a myth with a legend in the middle of the Wal-Mart shoe department. Especially with a clerk giving me the hairy eyeball from the next aisle over. He didn’t say anything, though. Maybe a lot of his customers talked to the shoes before buying them.

“Maybe so, but it’s still my name and I’m doing the best I can. Threats aren’t going to speed up the process.”

“Find something that will,” he told me flatly, and vanished.

I sighed and fought the urge to bang my head against the metal rack and just not stop. The clerk was peering at me around the size twelves with an expression that said he was thinking about calling for security. I decided not to risk it.

I held up the red Converse wannabes. “You have these in a nine?”

Chapter 14

I slipped inside Pritkin’s room the next morning, on a mission to find that rune I’d promised Radella, and stopped dead. I’d expected it to be a quick search; for some reason, I’d assumed he would keep his belongings in military precision. Only this wasn’t it.

The bed was still unmade from whenever he’d slept in it last, and clothes were strewn on the floor like a hurricane had just blown through. And he’d been right—it did, indeed, have an odor. But I was less inclined to blame its onetime residents for that than the vile-smelling potions that lined a shelf on one wall.

The rickety-looking contraption was directly above the bed, something that would have worried me, since most of the substances he carried around were lethal. Still, I supposed he hadn’t had a lot of choice. The opposite wall was taken up with a closet, the one facing into the club by a door and the one looking out over one side of the casino by a huge stained-glass window.

The windows were Dante’s trademark, and I guess the designers had situated this one behind the dressing rooms because its Gothic splendor didn’t go too well with the bar’s tiki theme. But the result of such a huge window in such a small space was a room completely bathed in jewel tones: ruby, sapphire, emerald and pearl. They stained the comforter in watery, diffuse shades and splashed the floor with pools of light. I’d have found it pretty hard to get any sleep myself, but at least the subject suited him: a group of soldiers waving antique weaponry.

I reluctantly went to work, and was soon wondering more about what I didn’t find than what I did. Along with some wadded-up T-shirts and enough firepower to conquer a small country, I found several pairs of jeans, a new pair of tennis shoes, a few basic toiletries and some socks still in their packages. All of said purchases bought in haste by a guy who wasn’t dressing to impress. He was just replacing necessities that, presumably, couldn’t be reached because he didn’t dare to return to his apartment. With the Circle after him for a couple dozen reasons, most having to do with helping me, I didn’t blame him there. But it still didn’t explain where the wardrobe for his alter ego was stashed.

I finally picked up a small wooden case on the nightstand. I’d deliberately left it for last, hoping that I’d find the rune tucked into a sock and not need to pry into something that practically screamed personal. If I hadn’t needed the damn thing so badly, I’d have been out of there like a shot. As it was, I reluctantly opened the lid.

There was no rune in sight, just a few yellowing letters and a badly faded photograph. The woman it depicted was wearing a dark hat and a high-necked dress that made her face stand out like a pale thumbprint. It was pretty indistinct, but she looked young, with regular features and light-colored eyes. She was pretty, I decided—or would have been if she’d been smiling.

I turned the box over, but if there were any hidden compartments, I couldn’t find them. It was just a plain pine rectangle, without even a lining that anything could have been hidden under. I flipped the photo over. It had a studio’s name on the back: J. Johnstone, Birmingham.

Pritkin had mentioned once that he’d lived in Victorian England, which made him a hell of a lot older than his thirtysomething appearance, but what with the fighting and the running and the almost dying, I’d never gotten around to asking him about it. And he’d never mentioned any family. I didn’t know if the picture might be his mother, his sister or even a daughter. I realized with surprise that although I could have written a book about the mage, I didn’t know much about the man at all.

Billy drifted through the door, interrupting my thoughts. “Did you get it?” I asked eagerly. He spread empty hands and I sighed. I put the letters back unread—a quick feel had been enough to show that the rune hadn’t been tucked into one—and centered the box carefully back on its square of dust-free wood. “What now?”

Billy gave me a look. “You know what now. You searched this room; I ransacked the den downstairs. And he wouldn’t stash something that valuable just anywhere. He’s got it on him.”

It was worst-case scenario, so of course that had to be it. “How are your pickpocket skills?”

“Depends on whether he’s paying attention. I lifted a rune for you once before, but only because you two were so busy yelling at each other that he didn’t notice. You’ll need to cause a distraction.”

Great. Normally, picking a fight with the ever prickly mage wouldn’t have been a problem, but now…“I don’t think so,” I said fervently.

“Then you may want to get gone, ’cause I passed him on my way here.”

I stared at Billy blankly for a second, then what he’d said registered and I lunged for the door. It was exactly the wrong thing to do, especially when I could have shifted, but I panicked. The knob turned under my hand and, before I could breathe, I was back on the bed, a hard chest pinning me down and a knife at my throat.

I blinked nervously up at the mage, his face splashed with color from the rainbow spilling over the bed. Blue light limned his pale hair and caught on his cheekbones, making him look oddly alien for a moment. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

The cold edge of the blade had dented my skin, disturbingly close to the jugular. I swallowed. “Trying not to move?”

Pritkin pulled away, scowling, the knife disappearing almost magically. “You should have given me some warning if you planned to come ’round. What if I had rigged a snare?”

I didn’t answer, being too busy trying to figure out why, yet again, he looked so different. He shrugged out of the old brown leather coat, revealing a sun-faded green T-shirt and a pair of jeans. The jeans were pale blue, worn thin and smooth as silk, and loose enough to barely cling to the muscular swell of his hips. They were, in other words, the exact opposite of tight and black. His hair had also lost the spiky trendiness from the lobby. It appeared freshly washed, with bangs that needed a trim flopping into his eyes. The rest of him should have followed it into the shower: there were dark smudges all over his arms, popping the veins into relief, and one along his cheekbone.

“What have you been doing?” I asked, sitting up.

“Researching.”

“In a coal mine?”

“Obscure magical texts are seldom found on hygienic computer files. Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?”

I looked away before answering, having a hard time separating the regular, everyday Pritkin with the ill-fitting coat and the stupid haircut from the man who had kissed me. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me, after that scene in the lobby.”

“What are you talking about?”

I didn’t reply, having just registered a fact that felt important. As usual, Pritkin’s T-shirt was crisscrossed with belts, sheaths and holsters. The guy was a walking arsenal, with almost every kind of portable weapon known to man. Except for one.