New Blood (21 page)

“Do you see it?” He turned, and when he saw her terror, he dropped to one knee and caught hold of her hand, which hid him from view. “Amanusa, what's wrong?”

“K-k—” She could only stutter as fear paralyzed her. Why was she so afraid? She'd beaten the fear once. Beaten him. But here he was again. She smothered the panic with sheer determination. “Kazaryk,” she whispered. “The Inquisitor Plenipotentiary. He's
here.
”

“Are you sure?” Jax lifted himself smoothly onto the opposite seat, away from the window, and looked out. “Where?”

She kept her hand close to her body as she pointed. “With the army officer, giving commands.”

“Then that likely explains—Look at that Inquisitor's badge. The one just outside there.” Jax tipped his head to indicate the young man nearest their first-class carriage.

The man yawned, his top hat canted at an odd angle. The red Inquisitor's badge pinned to his coat . . . was
pinned
to his coat. With a long hat pin. It curled up at the bottom.

“He's not a regular Inquisitor.” Hope breathed into Amanusa, then leached away again. “Has Kazaryk called out all the magicians in Hungary and appointed them Inquisitors? Could he be so frightened of me?”

Something else occurred to her. “How did he get here before us? I've heard some conjurers can have their familiar spirits carry them great distances at the speed of a thought. But
Úr
Kazaryk did not seem such a powerful magician to me. Was I wrong?” Did they need to fear worse attacks?

“This train is over twelve hours late,” Jax reminded her. “Fast horses on a more direct route could possibly have beaten us here. It is possible the train was deliberately delayed.”

“Why didn't they just take us off the train when it made one of its endless stops?”

“I imagine it took some time to assemble and appoint all these Inquisitors. Budapest is a more convenient assembly point. They would have wanted an
overwhelming force to face you. They are frightened of you, remember? You left Kazaryk writhing on the floor in pain.”

But Kazaryk didn't know Amanusa had worked the magic. Jax had pretended to do it. She wouldn't remind him, though. He would probably want her to go on alone, and she refused to even think it. Still, she wondered if that deception might cause them trouble later.

“If the magic hurt him so badly, how could he endure such a ride?” Amanusa rubbed her arms. She was so cold, but she didn't think another shawl would help.

“Fear can motivate great feats of endurance.”

“But I'm nothing to be afraid of.”

He jerked his head around to look at her, only his eyes showing a reaction to the pain it caused. “Yes, Amanusa. You are. You are a blood sorceress. You are judgment upon the wicked and justice for the helpless. You are everything they have ever feared in their entire smug, selfish lives.”

“Oh.” Amanusa didn't want people to be afraid of her. Unless they'd done something wrong. She didn't like bullies. Or murderers, or, well . . . If people did what they ought, they had no reason to fear her.

Which was exactly what the Inquisition said. If a person hadn't done anything wrong, they had nothing to fear. But “wrong” tended to be whatever the Inquisition said it was. And their justice depended on whether you could pay for it.

No, she wasn't like the Inquisition. Jax was right. They
should
fear her. Because they were wicked and unjust and there were more of them than there was of
her. She had to get to that tower in Scotland and learn all there was to know about being a blood sorceress, until she was powerful enough to take them on, all the wicked and unjust people. And she would take apprentices, so that she wouldn't be the only sorceress against all the wickedness in the world. And—

And first they had to get off this train and out of Budapest. Out of the Austrian Empire.

She invoked the “don't-see-me” magic. Not enough to make them virtually invisible, but enough to avoid notice. To make them seem unimportant. Not the people the Inquisitors wanted. She let Jax help her onto the platform.

The sleepy Inquisitor stood a few feet away. He stared at them, long enough that Amanusa began to fear he could see through her spell. Then Crow burst from the railway carriage two cars up with a flutter of black feathers and a raucous cry.

The station exploded with shouts and screaming and a few blasts from soldiers' rifles before their officers got them stopped. All of the soldiers and most of the Inquisitors—including Kazaryk—dashed across the platform and shoved through the crowd to swarm the distant car. Crow flapped his way into the girders of the station's roof where he made a black spot amongst all the white and gray pigeons.

Jax and Amanusa watched the excitement for a few moments—everyone else was and they wanted to blend in—before making their weary way to the row of waiting cabs with all the other weary debarking passengers. Amanusa did her best to appear merely tired, rather than wiped clean and smashed flat.

“Clever, clever Crow,” she said when they were safely shut into the carriage, their trunk tied on behind.

“Must have known we needed the distraction.” Jax rapped on the carriage ceiling with his knuckles and the cab started off. “I'm concerned that the spell that hit us set off some kind of alarm with the Inquisition. It could well have been targeted specifically for sorcerers.”

“We probably shouldn't take the train out of Budapest, then. Would we have to tap the bank account again to purchase a carriage and horses?” She frowned, trying to piece Jax's reasoning together. “How could they target the spell for a sorceress, if there hasn't been one since Yvaine died? They had your blood, of course, but wouldn't using it to target you be blood magic?”

“Since I wasn't there for the making of the spell, I do not know, but it's possible—the spell could have been blended of conjury and alchemy and wizardry and told ‘Any magic that is not
this
—attack it.' Words focus the magic, if you'll recall, so there are any number of ways it could have been done.”

His voice was as calm and precise as always, but Amanusa could hear the undercurrent of frustration and annoyance. “Apologies.” She patted his arm where he sat beside her. “I should know better than to ask questions you couldn't possibly know answers for. But you know so much more about the great magics than I, I'll take even your guesses.”

“As long as you realize they
are
guesses, and do not rely on them as fact.” Jax removed his arm from her touch to part the curtains and peer out at the
street. “As for further transportation—Budapest is on the Danube. I suggest we take a boat.”

“But—” Amanusa's heart pounded faster, not quite panic, but alarm, perhaps. “Wouldn't that take us to Vienna? Didn't we talk about going directly into the German states, to Dresden? Out of the Empire altogether.”

“I consulted a map the conductor was kind enough to share with me while on the train. To go directly north to Prussia, or to Dresden in Saxony, we would have to travel as far through Hungary as we would going due east to Vienna and Bavaria beyond. And the country to the north is far more rural. Two English, or any foreigners, would be as noticeable as—as a crow among pigeons.”

So he had seen Crow in the rafters as well. Amanusa nodded for him to go on.

“A river cruise on the Danube is a popular holiday for all sorts of foreigners. We can be lost in the crowds. And we will get to the western coast and England that much more quickly. Besides—” He shrugged ruefully. “The river traffic cannot be any slower than Hungarian trains. Especially if the authorities are deliberately delaying the trains.”

“Very well.” Amanusa nodded, using the motion to keep herself awake. “You've convinced me. We'll take a boat to Vienna and decide there how to go next.”

“Back on the train, likely. Austrian trains run more efficiently than Hungarian.”

“What odd things you can remember.” If she went riding on his blood again, to poke around inside his head, what would she find this time? She wouldn't do
it, of course. Jax deserved to keep his head to himself. But she was curious.

“Think how bizarre it is for me.” He smiled at her. “All sorts of peculiar bits keep popping up from nowhere, and I have no idea how I know them.”

“We should probably try to change our appearance again.” Amanusa tried to think of everything they needed to do. “The women who dyed my hair in Nagy Szeben said it would wash out in three or four washings. Maybe if I go back to blond—”

The carriage clattered to a halt. Jax had asked for a hotel away from the train station, claiming his wife's frailty couldn't take the noise. Moments later, they were installed in a comfortable room and Jax was making up a pallet on the floor.

Amanusa thought for a brief moment about trying to convince him to take the bed. He'd been hurt by the magic assault and was still hurting from the beating as well. She could tell by the careful way he moved. But he was so stubborn, she knew she wouldn't win. And she was so tired, she fell asleep in her chemise before she got her stockings off.

 

T
HEY WERE OFF
in the morning. Amanusa's face burned like fire at the realization that Jax must have removed them. Thank heaven he wasn't there to see her blush. He wasn't anywhere in the room. She blushed all the harder for being grateful he'd been magically gelded by Yvaine. And felt horribly guilty for it, both for Yvaine's cruelty and her own gratitude.

It was only at that moment that Amanusa realized
why
Yvaine had gelded him. Jax said he needed
permission for—for
that.
Her vision went dark. She smelled rank sweat, but before the memory of hairy, naked, heaving flesh could sweep over her, she reached for the magic and it burned the images away.

She grasped for other images, other bits of sensation. Soft lips over her own. Jax's lips, caressing hers in her first real kiss. The outlaws had—had taken her, but they had never kissed her. A man kissed his sweetheart. He didn't kiss a whore, and that was what they'd made of her. But Jax had kissed her.

Though they had never spoken of her early time in the outlaw camp, Amanusa knew Jax knew about everything. And still he had kissed her. Sweetly. Reverently, and yet with a fierceness that had touched some deep-down ferocity inside her and pulled the magic forth. His hand cupping her face had made her feel safe and protected, and when he'd thrust his other hand into her hair to grip her head and hold her still for his kiss, she had somehow sensed the iron control he maintained over himself.

It allowed her to let go. To release her fears and her own control and relax into his, because she trusted him to contain whatever she let loose. Sensation and emotion and magic went racketing all over the place so that she scarcely knew what she felt, whether physically or internally. She knew only that she
felt.

If a mere kiss could feel that way, no wonder it created magic. And no wonder Yvaine did not want Jax doing—
that
—if it would not benefit her and her magic. Amanusa knew enough about the last sorceress to be confident of that. The old besom.

Amanusa hopped out of bed and rushed into her clothes. On the dresser, near her father's razor which Jax had been using, she found a note written in a strong, slashing hand. “I've gone to book passage and do some shopping. Back soon. Stay in the room.”

She ordered up breakfast and hot water, and used her time waiting to wash the henna rinse out of her hair.

When Jax returned, his arms piled with packages, she was staring at herself in the mirror, struggling not to scream.

“What's wrong?” he asked as he crossed to the window to peer out. Crow cawed back at him.

“Look at my hair,” she wailed, throwing her hands up. “It's
pink
!”

“It isn't
very
pink.” He tried, but he was obviously unequal to the task of dealing with a woman upset over the state of her hair. “Just the tiniest bit pink—perhaps if you wash it again?”

“I've washed it six times. If it hasn't come out after six washings, I doubt it's going to come out at all.” She wanted to rip her hair right out of her head. She would do it too—if being bald wouldn't make her even more noticeable than being pink.

“Come and see what I've bought,” he said, carefully changing the subject. He paused a moment. “Maybe it won't look so pink after it dries.”

If she weren't so angry over her horrid pink hair, she would laugh at Jax's attempts to be helpful and soothe her, without turning her wrath on him. “We can only hope,” she grumbled, not feeling any happier, but the excess anger had bled off and she didn't feel quite so ready to explode.

The new purchases did much to improve her mood. So did the fact that her hair did look less pink when it dried, and even less so in her new dress. She still tucked as much of it under her new bonnet as she could when they left the hotel, Crow sulking in the cage Jax had bought for him.

On the way to the river docks, they saw a makeshift Inquisitor, backed by a quartet of soldiers, march up the steps into one of the grand, downtown hotels. A shiver ran through Amanusa as she realized they were getting out just in time. The attack must have signaled to the Inquisition that a sorceress had arrived in Budapest.

She saw another Inquisitor strolling down the street ahead of them, pretending to idle along while watching the traffic intently. They were searching for her.

Where was Kazaryk? Coordinating the search in some official building while nursing his saddle sores, she hoped. She didn't see him here.

She touched Jax,
feeling
for the protective blanket of magic around him. It was easier to
feel
for it on him than fumble to find it around herself. She found only the faintest remnants of the spell clinging to him. It couldn't be enough to hide them.