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Her forehead wrinkled. “It means nothing to me.”

“It meant nothing to anyone until it was destroyed,” I said. “But perhaps that was a test? For something bigger?”

“We need to know,” she pronounced gravely. “I think you should go back to the Pythian archive and research this mystery village,” she said to Rhea. “I will stay here with Lord Mircea and see if we can trace Morgan. We know which coven she’s with, so that should give us a starting point, at least.”

Rhea did not look like she thought much of that idea. “I don’t like to leave you alone—”

“I’ll be fine. Look at my stalwart defenders,” she said, and spread her hands at us.

I looked up, a half-eaten herring between my teeth, and Rhea sighed. “Really don’t,” she said.

“Yes, but we need that information,” Hilde insisted. “We also need to know how the deletion of an entire village has affected the timeline. Dory is right; Morgan should be trying to avoid unnecessary deaths, in case any changes to the time line change her life, as well—”

“She has been,” Mircea put in. “She spared my men—most of them—when she did not have to.”

Hilde nodded. “That would make sense. The removal of a vampire, who can live for centuries, would cause more of a ripple in time than the death of a human. But any life can be important.”

“Then why destroy a village?” Rhea said, repeating my question.

“That is what we need you to find out,” Hilde told her pointedly.

The young woman didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. And a moment later, she disappeared, as if she’d never been there at all. The only sign of her passing was the smoke from the tobacco lovers, momentarily outlining the empty space where her body had been.

I looked at Mircea, who appeared equally shocked. And then I was even more so when Hilde sighed and leaned across the table. “Thank God,” she said fervently. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“Never leave?” I repeated. “Did you want her gone?”

She sighed. “Rhea is a charming young woman, and she has come a long way in a very short time. But she is still a bit . . . by the book. And I do not think that attitude will serve us well in this instance.”

“This is more dangerous than you led her to believe,” Mircea guessed.

“Of course, it is! A time-traveling, body-stealing witch would be problem enough, but she is also holding another witch in thrall. She should not be able to do that, and certainly not for this length of time. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that the demon may have lent her power.”

“For what purpose?”

“I do not know; I told you truly there. And with our Pythia unavailable . . . well, we shall have to make do on our own.” She shot him a look. “I hope you are as bold as it is said, Lord Mircea. This may require breaking a few rules.”

Section II: London and Paris, 1595

Kit and Gillian

Chapter Ten

Fine July days were rare lately, when it had been entirely too cold and rainy for the season. But today had dawned bright and sunny, roses were nodding over the top of a crumbly stone wall, and Kit Marlowe was whistling a tune as he rapped smartly on the door he liked best. A beautiful redheaded witch answered, which was usually lovely but not now.

“Have you no servants?” he demanded, pushing them both inside and closing the door quickly behind him.

“You know I do. You sent them,” the pert miss replied.

“And what, pray tell, are the lazy vagabonds doing if not receiving your callers? And checking to see that they mean you no harm?”

“No one wishes me harm except in your head,” she said, trying to see what he was holding behind his back.

Kit deftly moved this way and that, making her wait for it. Partly for the enjoyment of seeing her flush with exertion, her skin turning a charming rosy hue to match her curls, and partly for genuine anger at his men. He had sent them to guard her life, and they were nowhere in sight.

“Tell me where they are first,” he instructed, and she sighed.

“If you must know, my washerwoman is down with a fever and couldn’t come today.”