I tore away, chest heaving, cold air prickling along my bare arms. I hunched my shoulders against the chill and gulped down a noise that absolutely was not even a little bit like a moan. "Would you please not do that?" I whispered. It was hard enough to think as it was, without him sending my hormone levels to join my blood pressure.

"Why?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

"Because we're not…we don't…It's complicated, all right?"

Mircea was able to convey more by a small facial movement than I'd gotten from some entire conversations. At the moment, he had sarcastic eyebrows. "Dulceata? the only time I have ever left such a mark was to punish or to claim."

"Maybe I—"

"And when it is punishment, I do not feed from the neck."

I swallowed and shut up. I wasn't going to win this way. If I kept on talking, it wouldn't be long before he'd have the whole story out of me. And maybe that wouldn't matter but maybe it would. Because there weren't too many people who could contemplate the kind of torture he faced and not be tempted to try to avert it. He wouldn't succeed, but he would almost certainly alter time in the attempt.

I glanced around, but there was no one in view. I could see because of the light emanating from a couple of stuttering lanterns on either side of a nearby doorway. It was attached to a house that stood shoulder to shoulder with those on either side, a long row of four-story medieval dwellings listing together like old drunks. None of the others had lanterns, or shadows moving against the curtains at their windows. That, plus the fact that my power tends to take me where I need to be, meant that this was probably the place.

"There's a party in there tonight," I explained, trying for calm when my every nerve said now and hurry and it's in there. The idea that the Codex might be only a dozen yards away was enough to make my thoughts a little tangled even without Mircea's help. "A couple of dark mages are about to auction off a book of spells. We have to get in there and buy it or steal it or get it before anyone else does or—"

Mircea suddenly jerked me against him and pushed us both back against the wall. "Not the time—" I began, then the air crackled and tore, like all the lightning in Europe had decided to descend on us at once. There was a rush of wind and the world tilted horribly. A second ear-numbing crack and a flash of impossible purple light later, and an ornate barge sat in the middle of the narrow street, so large that its hull almost brushed the buildings on either side.

I stared at it, afterimages from the sudden storm dancing around the reality of a huge ship just blatantly blocking the road like that. I had only time to think, yeah, this probably is the place, before Mircea was dragging me into the shadows of an almost nonexistent alley between two inebriated buildings. His gaze was furiously intent. "Where are we?"

"Paris, 1793," I managed to gasp, not sure he'd be able to hear me. I'd had to lip-read to understand him, because of the symphony of mostly percussion instruments that had taken up residence in my ear canals. "At least, I hope so."

Mircea was silent for a moment, that lightning-fast brain doing some catch-up. "Why?" he finally asked.

"I told you. We're going to a party."

From over his shoulder, I watched a ramp extend outward from the barge until it touched the icy street. It was red, like the hull, where a rich crimson formed the background for great coils of gold and blue and green that my recovering eyes finally identified as an elongated dragon. Its carved snout formed the prow of the boat, with its front claws each holding a glowing golden ball, positioned almost like headlights. Its long, snakelike body ran down the side to end in a barbed tail near the prow. There were no oars or sails or other evidence of propulsion systems, not that much of anything would explain how it had gotten landlocked between buildings with no water in sight.

Four large men in gold armor came down the ramp. Their suits were covered all over in little scales, mimicking the ones on the dragon. They took up places on either side of the ramp, two by two, holding up long spears like an honor guard. Then, from the dragon's belly, floated a tiny chair holding an even tinier woman. Her impossibly small feet were wrapped in satin lotus shoes, and I didn't have to ask why the levitating chair, because no way could those minuscule things have held even her weight.

At first glance, she looked helpless, like an overdressed doll that had to be moved around by her attendants. The image contrasted starkly with the power that radiated from her like a small supernova, flooding the street with an invisible but almost suffocating force. The guards were for show; this beauty didn't need any defenders.

"Who is that?" I managed to croak.

"Ming-de, Empress of the Chinese Court—roughly the same as our Consul," Mircea whispered, his breath frosting the air in front of my face.

I watched the jeweled dragons on Ming-de's dress coil and twist and writhe in ways that I initially thought were due to the flickering lantern light. But no, a small gold one scurried along the hem of her gown, bright as fire against the crimson silk, and I realized they had minds of their own. "But how did she get here?"

"Ley-line travel," Mircea said, as the whole party proceeded indoors in a stately procession.

"What?"

There was another flash, of green this time, and a crash loud enough to make me jump. I blinked, and when I looked again, a large gray elephant complete with gold howdah was standing behind Ming-de's barge. The elephant didn't appear to have as much room as it would like, and it let out a thundering trumpet of protest. A guard's head poked up from the back of the barge and shouted something, then the huge ship lurched forward a scant few feet until it hit a lamppost and had to stop. It was starting to look like a party where the hosts hadn't thought enough about parking.

After a moment, the elephant knelt and an Indian couple got out. They were wearing gorgeous outfits of peacock blues and greens, although nothing seemed to be moving. Between them they had on as many jewels as I had in my little bag, and the sapphire on the guy's turban alone was as big as my fist. But they didn't have to denude themselves for the auction; when they headed for the door, a small flying carpet bobbed along in the air behind them, carrying a chest. I felt my stomach fall. If these were examples of the bidders I was up against, I was in trouble.

"Okay. What is going on?" I demanded.

"Maharaja Parindra of the Indian Durbar. Like our Senate," Mircea explained. "I believe the woman is Gazala, his second."

"But how did they get here?"

"They came through the ley lines."

"You said that before. Not helping."

Mircea quirked an eyebrow at me. "You have never surfed a ley line?"

"I don't even know what that means."

"Really? Remind me to take you sometime. I think you will find it…exhilarating."

I stared at him and tried really hard to remember what, exactly, we were talking about. His mouth pursed into an odd almost-smile, his earlier intensity forgotten or, more likely, masked. "I will be happy to elucidate later. But for now, I would appreciate a more coherent explanation of our presence here."

"We're going to bid on a spell book. You just saw our competition."

Mircea gave me a skeptical look. "I know Ming-de well, but only because I was once the Senate's liaison to her court. And I have met Parindra but once, because both have a reputation for rarely traveling beyond their own lands. If they wanted such an item, they would send a servant."

"Well, obviously they didn't," I said, rummaging around in the remains of Mircea's jacket until I found a handkerchief. I wiped away as much as I could of whatever he'd thrown at me; luckily it had mostly dried and a lot of it dusted off. "At least it doesn't smell," I said sadly.