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“No, but he acts as if he is!And he has enlisted others, oh, yes, a multitude of followers.They practically worship him, although he isn’t a god, and help him, too.No one knows exactly what he is, but he craves power, more and more, and sends his allies out to get it for him.And if you’re unlucky enough to have them come across you, well then—”

He cut off abruptly, sounding strangled.I wasn’t sure if the others heard that, too, but it kind of looked like it.Enid was pale, and the witches had clumped together closely enough to look like one body with multiple heads.

“Well, then?Well, then, what?What the fuck happens?”Alphonse all but roared.And then shut up abruptly when the noise, which had escalated along with the wind, suddenly cut out.“Shit,” he whispered.

“Let’s move,” Hansen said, and all but fled into the distance, causing the rest of us to have to run to keep up.

And run we did, because we did not want to meet HIM.But somebody wanted to meet us, that was certain.In the stillness behind us came a new sound, first distant and hard to hear but rapidly drawing closer.

Very rapidly, I thought, looking over my shoulder as everyone else was now doing.But seeing nothing to account for the low, roaring, moaning cry that quickly became so loud that it shook the space around us like an earthquake in the air.And then I saw them, but far too late: an absolute mass of ghosts, stretching across the horizon like a boiling cloud of white with grayish faces popping out here or there like flashes of lightning.

And I guess the rest saw them in my mind, or in what Bodil was sending, because—

“Shit!”Somebody said, and yeah.The damned thing looked like the mass that had carried us to Vegas, but I didn’t think it was.Because this one was angry, with some of the ghost heads snapping and biting the air, and because Hansen was screaming and trying to flee, but not fast enough.

I don’t think anything could have been fast enough as the great mass swooped down on us like a storm, breaking over our heads in an instant, and this time, there was no gentle transition.A cloud of ghosts snatched us up so fast that a few of our legs were still running in the air; it was like falling into the midst of a tornado and being swept away, helpless and thrashing.And screaming—suddenly, we were the ones making noise, not that anybody could hear it over the roar.

And I screamed with all the rest, having no idea what the hell this was, how to break free of it, or where the ghost squad was taking us in such a damned hurry.

But they were tearing over the landscape at what would have been a terrifying pace, only Alphonse was right, there were no landmarks to show the speed.Just boiling faces yelling at me on all sides until I wanted to cover my ears, only I couldn’t because hands had grasped my arms and legs and coiled around my torso.And I guessed that was true of everyone because I caught glimpses of Pritkin fighting, Alphonse thrashing, and Mircea lying there stoically, because we might need our strength.

Then we were dumped out onto a hard surface, just as abruptly as we’d been grabbed, and I looked up wildly to see—

Oh, no.

“Cassie—” That was Pritkin because he’d seen him, too.

Is that who I think it is?Mircea’s voice rang in my head.

Who do you think it is?Bodil asked because she recovered fast.Everyone else was looking disoriented, staggering about or lying on the ground with me and appearing vaguely green, although the latter could have been from the weird lighting.It was different here, maybe because of all the ghosts who were boiling over the top of us like an angry sky.

Or maybe because of that, I thought, as the eyes of the man who turned on us abruptly glowed brilliant green with necro magic.

My father, I finally answered Bodil, as the skinny blond surveyed us without favor.

He looked the same as the first time I’d seen him, in Stuart-era clothing and a floppy hat.There was a rag at his neck pretending to be a cravat, buckles on his shoes, and a rip in one of the stockings trying to hide a pair of skinny, hairy legs because he’d never cared much about clothes, even when they were part of a disguise.A disguise that he was about to use on a trip back in time in his own bid to change history, and where he would shortly meet a pissed-off Agnes and me on November 5, 1605.

Holyshit.

“Here,” Pritkin whispered, handing me the scarf he was wearing and had been using to keep from breathing in too much sand as we jounced along in the “car.”I’d had a similar one but had lost it somewhere, and quickly pulled this one over my head.Roger Palmer couldn’t be allowed to recognize me.

This was my present, but his past, a far distant past in which he didn’t even have a daughter.If he saw me now and then recognized me in 1605, it could… well, I didn’t know what it could do, but probably nothing good!In the worst-case scenario, it could change time while I was in the midst of trying to change time, which might result in my never getting here in the first place, and this future solidifying forever.

And suddenly, all the possible ways that could happen rushed into my mind, jostling each other for room and eclipsing everything else until I shoved them forcibly back out again.Only they didn’t go far.They just stayed on the edges of my consciousness, muttering fiercely, and damn, my head hurt, I thought, staring relentlessly downward and hoping Dad would pass on by.

Pass by?Bodil said, understandably confused.Why would you want that?Can he not help us—

No!That was all three of us, Mircea, Pritkin, and I, because we were the only ones who—

Only we weren’t, were we?

Fuck!Mircea said and jumped Alphonse, who had known Dad when he worked for Tony the Bastard.

“What’s all this, then?”Dad asked as the two vampires wrestled about.

“Hey!Hey, I know y—” Alphonse began right before his master’s master slugged him in the mouth.

And this time, Mircea wasn’t holding back.Blood bloomed in the air, and Alphonse went down and stayed down.Mircea had been a warrior before he was a diplomat, and it showed, although Alphonse’s inertia was probably more because Mircea had had a chance to get a mental lock on him.