“Yes,” she said, before I could ask. “He came to see me, too. And stayed . . . for a while.”
“Because he wanted something, the same thing he always wants. The same thing he’s asked of every Pythia for six hundred years.” I whirled on Gertie. “The same thing he asked of you. I can tell you what that was. Can she?”
I gestured at Jo, who backed up slightly to keep from getting hit, while everyone looked at her.
“Well?” Gertie demanded. “What of it?”
“I—this is ridiculous,” Jo said, still smiling. “I . . . receive so many petitioners. We all do. You can’t expect me to recall one man out of thousands—”
“Not a man,” I said, advancing on her. “And Lord Mircea is memorable.”
“Can’t argue with that,” someone said.
“Every Pythia for six hundred years has received the same vampire with the same request, soon after their accession if not before. And not for a fleeting visit. He comes to charm, to entice, to bribe if necessary, anything to get what he wants. What does he want?”
“How would I know?” Jo snarled. “He didn’t come to see me yet—”
“No, he didn’t, did he? He might butter up another acolyte, but you—you were just a political appointment, there to round out the court and buy the Circle a favor. He wouldn’t waste time with you—”
“You lie! She lies!” Johanna looked around at the sea of faces, but didn’t seem to find it helpful this time. “I—I just took the throne. That’s why I’m having so much trouble with—”
“Just took the throne, yet ye already have an heir?” Lydia asked, black eyes steady.
“It’s true, I swear. We do things differently in my time—”
“But Lord Mircea doesn’t,” I said, driving home the point. “He does the same thing he’s always done, the same thing he’s done for centuries, and visits each Pythia in tu
rn to beg for one thing. The return of his wife. I know that because he came to me, too. Because I am Pythia, you are a rogue, and this is over. You are beaten, Johanna!”
“Nobody beats me!” she snarled, and lunged.
The next thing I knew, I was skidding on my back, but not across burning ice. The ice cave of a room had disappeared, flashing out in a wink. To be replaced by a vast, echoing field of—
Nothing.
I skidded to a stop, which took longer than normal, because there was no friction and nothing to grab on to. Just blackness, stretching to infinity. Deep and dark and with no discernible horizon. Just a few, faint, almost invisible to the eye—
Sparks of light.
I tried to scramble to my feet, staring at what looked like distant fireflies, but weren’t. And almost fell over, because I didn’t have feet. I didn’t have anything. I looked down to see a ghostly outline of my body shining in the darkness, but brighter, because I wasn’t a ghost.
But I was close.
“Johanna!” I screamed, but she was nowhere to be seen. Nothing was, except the vague illumination I was throwing on the ground, the light of my spirit etching the darkness. Because she hadn’t just knocked me out of time—she’d knocked me out of my body, sending me into the Badlands as a disembodied spirit. I didn’t know how.
Even worse, I didn’t know why.
And then I figured it out.
I heard a roar, deep in the distance, but loud enough to make me jump. And something pale as milk appeared on the horizon, shining like a beacon. Something huge—a giant figure, even at a distance—and rapidly getting bigger. Something man-shaped that was striding and then running this way, only it wasn’t a man. It wasn’t anything like a man, and it never had been.
Even before I killed it.
And then it was on top of me.
I looked up, up, up, to what a second ago had been an empty void, but which was now filled with—
A foot.