In a moment, he was back, using a knife he took off a passing mage to pry at one of the orbs in the dragon's claws. "What are you doing?"

"I promised to take you through the ley lines. It seems I will keep that promise sooner than I had thought." With a flick of the wrist, the orb came loose in his hand. Ming-de floated gently up the ramp, which pulled in after her. The whole ship began to shake, and slowly rose off the ground, like the hot-air balloon it wasn't.

"Wait!" I raised my voice to be heard over the sound of a couple dozen spells hitting the barge all at once; it looked like the mages weren't too pleased at Ming-de's early exit. "I don't understand!"

"I will explain later. But if you wish to catch the mage, we must move quickly."

"But ley lines are massive energy sources!" The way the pixie had described them, they were a cross between a volcanic eruption and a nuclear reactor. "We can't go in there!"

"I assure you, we can," Mircea said, putting an arm around my waist as the shuddering barge cleared the rooftops.

"That wasn't what I meant," I said shrilly, as he jumped up onto the narrow railing around the barge, balancing us there with a complete lack of appreciation for little things like rickety construction, pissed-off war mages and, oh, gravity.

"Hold on."

I shook my head violently. "No, see, every time you say something like that, we end up doing something really—" Mircea crouched slightly and his muscles tensed. "Listen to me!" I shrieked. "We can't—"

And then we did. Mircea jumped into what for a second was only thin air, then we were swept sideways into a rushing maelstrom of light and color, like being in the middle of bloodred rapids all pelting madly for a waterfall the size of Niagara. Flashes of blinding light exploded all around us, while molten channels of pure energy raced alongside and arced overhead. There was so much for my mind to take in that it was a moment before I realized we weren't frying.

"We do not have shields like the mages," Mircea said, looking euphoric, "but entering a ley line, even merely skimming the top, without them is madness. The energy forces would consume us in an instant."

"Then why aren't they?"

He pointed out a faint golden bubble of energy glowing softly all around us. Next to the pulsing swirl of the ley line, it was almost invisible. "The stronger mages can use the lines for rapid transport over short distances with merely their personal shields. Longer journeys require something more substantial."

I stared around, amazed, as the energy stream rocketed us forward. "How did you even know this was here? There was nothing visible."

"Not with the eyes, perhaps. But you could sense it, too, if you knew what to look for." I was impressed for a moment, until Mircea suddenly grinned. "Or you can do what most of us do, and carry a map."

"But you don't have a map."

"I lived in Paris for many years; I long ago memorized the lines' locations," he admitted. "I used them all the time."

"You carried around something like that?" I gestured at the orb in his hands. The thing was as big as a soccer ball.

"There are pocket-sized shields, although they don't give such a smooth ride." A particularly large eddy in the electric current sent us spinning off to the left for a moment.

"Smooth?" I asked, clutching his arm to keep from falling.

"Oh, yes." Mircea caressed the little sphere lovingly while somehow bringing us back into the center of the stream, where it was slightly calmer. "I will hate to have to return this." He grinned at me again, obviously exulting in the wild ride. "It's more than a shield. It can also help you find the lines, by glowing brighter when one is near, and can open a fissure if placed directly in its path."

"But how are we supposed to find the mage in all this?"

Mircea pointed to a whirlpool of light up ahead. "Someone exited the line there, not long ago. I did not notice any other ley-line activity before his, did you?"

"I don't know." Between the spells and the duel and the whole thing with Pritkin, half a dozen could have been activated at once and I probably wouldn't have noticed.

"We will have to risk it," Mircea said. "Hold on."

"You know, I am really starting to hate that—"

And then we were falling, careening for the side of the line through a maelstrom of light and sound. For a moment I thought something had gone terribly wrong. But with a sudden absence of color and a resounding boom, like a peal of thunder, we were once more standing on solid ground.

"The Latin Quarter," I heard Mircea say, while my eyes fought to adjust. The shifting, brilliant colors of the line left pulsing shadows on my vision, like fireworks against the deep black of the sky. "This area is a warren of small streets even in our time. This will not be as simple as I'd hoped."

I finally managed to focus on the only remaining source of light, the orb in his hands. It was glowing softly, although if it was still putting a shield around us, I couldn't see it. Of course, I couldn't see much of anything else, either. Beyond the small puddle of light, all I could make out were buildings rearing darkly on every side, reaching for the great span of the galaxy overhead.

"How can you tell where we are?" Even with vampiric sight, this was dark.

"That particular line runs through central Paris and the Ile de la Cité. And I can smell the Seine."

Good for him. I could smell mostly layers of garbage that lay rotting in the gutters despite the cold weather. My shoe squelched in something slimy that stuck to my sole and sent up the vinegar reek of decaying fruit. Horse manure and the sharp scent of human urine were everywhere, as if the streets had been drenched with them. Somehow, the swashbuckling movies never mention that sort of thing.

"This way." Mircea took my arm, which was a good thing because the cobblestones were uneven and what parts weren't covered by a thin layer of ice were slimy.

The dark, winding street was too quiet, and so narrow that I constantly felt like someone was about to lean out from the shadows and grab me. Considering Pritkin's preference for offense over defense, there was at least a chance that someone would. But we came to the end with no problems, and discovered a slightly brighter scene lit by a sliver of moon: the Seine, with the soaring towers of Notre Dame beyond it. The light snow of earlier in the evening had melted on the cobblestones, turning them into an icy mirror that reflected the huge cathedral perfectly. Unfortunately, they did not also reflect Pritkin.

Mircea's head lifted, as if scenting the air. All I could smell was rotting fish and evidence that maybe clean-water laws hadn't come into effect yet, but Mircea must have been able to filter those out. He started for the gaping mouth of another street, but before we could get there, a nearby hay-filled cart burst into flames. It sat beside the road, burning merrily for a moment, then hurtled straight at us.

Mircea pushed me out of the way, but lost valuable seconds in the process and ended up not quite clearing all of the flying bits of hay. I'd seen him handle fire before with aplomb, but there must have been something different about this one—maybe some potion residue still clinging to it—because it didn't go out. Instead, it caught on the heavy fabric of his shirt and started to spread.

He tore off the shirt and flung it into the river, where it hissed and went out, but by then the fire had spread to his hair. Before I could reach him to try batting it out with my hands, he was suddenly gone, and I heard a splash. I whirled around to see ripples spreading over the water.

A moment later, his head broke the surface. The fire was out, but I didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief before a knife slid against my throat. I froze.