Wait, you mean Geena and I might both have been chosen?
I sensed something in both of you the moment you entered the Chamber of Ten, Volpe admitted. Your mind-touch, that gift, makes you more sensitive to ethereal powers, but the bond of love between you and Geena … there is precedent.
This isn’t just a guess, is it? Nico thought. I can feel it in your mind. You believe we’ve both been chosen.
I do.
I hope you’re wrong. I don’t want this.
The city chooses the Oracle, not the other way around.
The words weighing on him, Nico reached a wider part of the alley, where moonlight splashed in between the tops of buildings. He hewed close to the rear of a stone structure that had once been a school but was now being gutted and transformed into apartments. The demolition phase had ended but new construction had yet to begin, so the place looked as if a bomb had exploded inside, crumbling the walls and blowing out doors and windows.
A crane sat silent and dark behind the shell of the old school and Nico slipped into its shadow, glanced around to be sure he had gone unobserved, then darted through the arched entry, rubble shifting underfoot.
So this direct approach you’re talking about, Nico thought, you just want to let them find us? If you don’t know the extent of their magic, you cannot be certain you can overcome them.
No, I cannot, Volpe agreed. Which is the reason for our stealth.
Nico continued onward, moving quickly and quietly through the skeletal building to the staircase. He took the steps two at a time, ascending to the third floor, then he crossed the empty space to what had once been a window.
Beyond the gaping hole where the window had been was a stone balcony, and beyond the balcony a tower of metal scaffolding the workers had erected weeks ago. Crouched low, he crossed the balcony and climbed over onto a wooden platform on the scaffolding, and from there he could see across a narrow gap—only five or six feet—into the tall French doors of his own balcony.
Hidden from the moonlight by the upper levels of the scaffolding, he knelt and studied every available glimpse into his apartment. Only shadows lurked within. His home seemed a gray limbo of a place, silently awaiting his return. After five minutes on the scaffolding, he opened his mouth to say as much to Volpe, but before he could get the words out, he saw a shape separate itself from the darker shadows within and move across his apartment before settling again into a corner of the living room that would be out of sight of anyone who might foolishly come through the door.
“Jesus,” Nico whispered.
Hush, Volpe thought, coming forward to seize control again. A passenger in his own mind, Nico could read Volpe’s thoughts for the moment at least. The magician could see better in the dark, and a look at those windows from Volpe’s perspective showed Nico there were two men inside. Reaching out with his mind, he could feel them—
No! Volpe cried in his thoughts.
What? Nico demanded, feeling the magician’s panic.
Volpe shook his head. Never mind. Whoever those men are—lackeys and cutthroats, I would imagine—the Doges are not with them.
So what do we do? Nico asked.
Volpe grinned darkly and shuffled back to the edge of the balcony. He rose to his feet, ran to the edge of the scaffolding, and hurled himself through the night, twenty-five feet above the stinking alley below.
In his mind, Nico screamed.
XIV
VOLPE SAILED across the gap between buildings. At the last moment, he feared he would not clear the top of Nico’s balcony and began to thrash in the air, lifting his feet. He made it by an inch. His feet touched the balcony but momentum hurtled him forward and he brought his arms up to shield his face—Nico’s face—as he crashed through the French doors.
Wood splintered, glass shattered, and Volpe heard Nico screaming inside of him. Glass shards sliced his shoulders and arms and stabbed his thighs as he stumbled forward, but he managed to keep his footing.
There were two men inside the apartment, one in the kitchen and one sitting on the edge of the sofa. Murderous thugs but not seasoned killers; he could see that instantly, and it confirmed a suspicion—the Doges had not had time to enlist more competent help.
The pale man on the sofa stood, but Volpe had rested well and the fool might as well have been moving in slow motion. The one in the kitchen swore in some Slavic tongue as he slid a knife from a hidden sheath, even as the other fumbled behind his back, reaching under his jacket for a weapon.
Gun! Nico cried in Volpe’s thoughts, and instantly the magician saw in Nico’s mind what such a weapon could do.
Volpe dropped, snatched up a long sliver of broken glass, and darted at the pale man. Even as the gun came up, he swung the glass dagger and slashed open the gunman’s throat. Blood sprayed in an arc, splashing Volpe’s face, and the dying man pulled the trigger twice. The weapon had been silenced, the shots making only a muffled pop. One bullet went wide but the other punched through his shoulder, spinning him around in a spatter of crimson.
Volpe continued the spin, shot his hand out, and pulled the gun from the pale man even as he collapsed to the floor. He tore the weapon free, feeling in Nico’s thoughts for how it was to be held, and then he pointed it at the Slavic killer even as the man rushed him with a long, wickedly gleaming blade.
The Slav faltered, arrogance and bloodlust battling logic in his brain.
What are you doing? Nico shouted in Volpe’s head.
What must be done! Now be silent.
Volpe faced the Slav covered in blood, only some of it his own. The bullet hole seared his flesh with pain, but already it was diminishing, closing. Nico knew he had not suffered from earlier wounds as much as he would have because of the magic coursing through Volpe’s spirit, and the magician’s connection to the soul of the city. But it had taken powerful ritual magic to purge his and Geena’s bodies of the plague, and heal all their other injuries. He wondered why it had become so simple and immediate now … but even as he wondered, he found the answer in the touch of Volpe’s mind, could see the truth. The bond they were sharing—two spirits in one body, like the bond that Volpe shared with the city—had strengthened. The old magician’s power was building back to its true strength.
“Listen carefully,” Volpe told the Slav. “You still live because I needed one of you alive and your companion posed a more immediate threat. There are things I wish to know. Things that you will tell me.”
The Slav scowled and spat on the floor between them.
Volpe inhaled sharply. “You are very stupid.”
He thrust out his free hand and twisted his fingers in the air as though gripping the reins of a horse. To Volpe, the Slav seemed no less an animal, a beast to be controlled.
The thug straightened abruptly, arms flailing. Awareness lit up his eyes with panic as he recognized that he no longer controlled his own body, and he tried to fight. Eyes narrowed, snarling with the effort, he brought his knife around in front of him and took two staggering steps forward, murder in his eyes.
Nico whispered in Volpe’s mind. Is this magic?
What do you think? Volpe thought.