The ghosts looked at me, then at each other. Some shuffling was done until one was pushed out of the throng. It was a young man, maybe eighteen, dressed in an outfit that looked like a poor relation's version of Louis-César's. It was blue wool and he had a brown hat in his hand with a jaunty yellow feather sticking out of the broad brim. I guessed he'd been a dandy in life, since his cravat was very frothy, his wig was long and curled to within an inch of its life and his buff leather shoes had comical, big yellow bows on them. Pretty colorful for a ghost; based on experience, I guessed he'd been dead a year or less.

He gave a bow, and although it wasn't as courtly as Louis-César's, he used the same phrase. "A votre service, mademoiselle."

Great, just great. I looked at Tomas, who was kneeling by the woman, checking her pulse. "I don't suppose you speak French?"

He shook his head. "A few phrases, but nothing that would help here." He looked bitter. "I am rarely allowed at Senate headquarters."

"Since when do they speak French in Vegas?"

He looked at me impatiently. "The European Senate is based in Paris, Cassie."

"I didn't know you were with them."

"There are a great many things you don't know."

I didn't have time to figure out what he was talking about. I regarded the young ghost with some annoyance. As grateful as I was not to be back in Louis-César's body, I missed having access to his knowledge. "We don't speak French," I told him.

The young man looked confused, and some more shuffling was done. Another man, older this time and dressed more plainly in simple fawn-colored knee pants and a navy blue coat, was pushed forward. He hadn't bothered to cover his bald head with a wig, and he looked like the no-nonsense type. "I was a wine trader in life, mademoiselle. I often had reason to visit Angleterre; perhaps I may be of service?"

"Look, I don't know what I'm doing here. Or where this is. Or what you want. Some information would help."

He looked puzzled. "Your pardon, mademoiselle, but we also are at something of a loss. You are spirits, but not like us. Are you angels, sent at last in answer to our prayers?"

I snorted. I'd been compared to a lot of things in life, but never that. And Tomas sure as hell didn't qualify, unless fallen angels counted. "Um, no. Not really." The younger man said something and the older one looked shocked. "What'd he say?"

The man seemed embarrassed. "He fears for his lover's life, that she will die as he did, as we all did, in this place of everlasting suffering. He said that he would not care if you were from le diable, from Satan himself, if you come bearing hope of vengeance. But he did not mean it."

Looking at the anger on the young man's face, I doubted that. "We're not demons. We're… it's complicated. I just want to get her out of here before the jailer gets back. Can you tell me where I am?"

"You are in Carcassonne, mademoiselle, the very gate of Hell."

"And that's where? I mean, is this France?" The man looked at me as if I'd asked him what year it was, which had actually been my next question. Screw it. I didn't have time to explain to a ghost that, no, I wasn't actually crazy. At least, I didn't think so. "Never mind. Just tell me where to take her. They're going to kill her—she's got to escape."

"No one escapes." He looked let down. "Are you not here to avenge Franchise's death?"

I was getting a little peeved. I don't have a lot of patience anyway, and what I'd had was pretty much gone. "I'd rather she didn't die in the first place. Are you going to help me or not?"

Something I said got through to the young man, because he began to speak rapidly to his companion. The woman came around while they were arguing back and forth, and I patted her arm, since there was nowhere below her wrists that I could touch without hurting her. She looked at me with wide eyes but didn't say anything. That was just as well; neither of us was in any shape for twenty questions.

The older man turned to me, looking disapproving. "Even if we help you, she may die as others have done. Would you forgo vengeance because she lives a few days?"

I lost it. It had been a long day and I was absolutely not standing there getting lectured by a pain-in-the-ass ghost. I already had Billy Joe for that. "I am not the freaking angel of death, all right? I'm not here to get revenge for you. If you want it, go get it yourselves. That's what ghosts do. Now either help me or get the hell out of my way."

The older man drew himself up indignantly. "We cannot avenge ourselves, or we would already have done so! This castle has been used for torture for centuries, and something has been done to it, some spell laid, making it impossible for us to interfere. Do you really believe we could have stood by, letting such atrocities happen, if we had a choice? If you are not a spirit, then you must be a powerful sorceress. Help us! Help us, and we will be your slaves." He got down on one knee, and suddenly, the whole group was kneeling. This was completely unfair.

"Um, what's your name?"

"Pierre, mademoiselle."

"Okay, Pierre. I'm not a witch; I'm a clairvoyant. You probably know more magic than I do. I can't undo a spell for you, any spell. All I know is that woman is going to die very soon if we don't get her out of here." He didn't look satisfied, but the young man beside him had had enough. He darted forward and started pulling on my hand and babbling so fast that, even if I'd known French, I probably wouldn't have understood him.

Pierre regarded me unfavorably, but he did agree to translate after some prompting by the younger ghost. "There is an underground passage, mademoiselle, from the foot of one of the towers to the river Aude. It has long been an escape route in times of trouble. Etienne can show you."

I looked dubiously at Tomas. "Can you carry her?" He nodded and moved to pick her up. His eyes widened slightly and he stumbled before getting to his feet. "What is it?"

"She weighs more than I expected." He frowned. "We must hurry, Cassie, or my strength may fail entirely."

I agreed and tugged at the door handle. It finally opened after a few false starts—I kept putting my hand through it. I could solidify enough to manipulate things, but Tomas was right—it was getting harder. I was panting by the time we made it to the corridor, but there was nobody to hear. Guess all the torturers were on a coffee break. Unlike at Dante's, though, I knew for a fact that people were around, and that they were coming soon.

The young ghost faded in and out as we started down a different flight of stairs from the one I'd used last time. This one wasn't any brighter, but the yellow feather in his hat had that good old ghostly luminescence and we followed it as if it was a candle. I didn't stub a toe this time, although I was soon wishing I hadn't skipped my jogging session so often. Simply walking down the stairs was starting to feel like running a marathon. I began to have sympathy for Billy Joe's bitch sessions every time I asked him to bring me something.

By the time we got to the bottom of the staircase, I was whipped. I started to lean against the wall but stopped when I almost fell through it. "How much farther?" The young man didn't reply, only motioned me forward desperately. I looked around, but the chorus hadn't come along. I wasn't upset. They seemed more interested in hurting somebody than in saving a life, something that didn't endear them to me.

We stumbled into a passage so dark that the only light came from the bobbing feather on our guide's hat. It became steadily more damp as we continued, to the point that we were soon sloshing through puddles we couldn't see, which I hoped meant we were getting close to the river. The damned tunnel seemed endless, and decades' worth of cobwebs caught in the woman's hair, but I didn't have the energy to brush them off. Finally we emerged on the other side, but only a tiny crescent moon and the spreading Milky Way arching over us gave the scene any light. Night without modern electricity is damn dark, but it seemed almost bright to me after the tunnel.

Tomas' strength gave out a short time later and I had to help him. We put the woman between us and all but dragged her along narrow cobblestone paths. I didn't want to risk hurting her, but sticking around wasn't a good idea, either. I knew what that psycho jailor had planned. Even if she died in the escape, it beat the hell out of burning to death.

The city that surrounded the castle was seriously creepy at night, with the rows of houses leaning so far over the road in places that neighbors on opposite sides of the street could have shaken hands. We jumped whenever an owl hooted or a dog barked, but we kept going. I tried not to look back at the hulking outline of the castle, with its conical roofs making ominous black shadows against the dark sky. I hoped whatever destination Feather had in mind was close. It took a lifetime, it took forever, to the point that all I could do was concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over. Finally, when I was about to have to call a halt or collapse anyway, I saw a tiny light in the distance, so dim that I thought I'd imagined it at first. It slowly grew brighter and coalesced into a candle sitting in the window of a small house. Feather didn't materialize, maybe because he was as worn out as I was, but I summoned enough energy to knock on the door instead of putting my fist through it. Finally, it opened and light spilled out, looking unbearably bright after the darkness. I scrunched up my eyes and, when I opened them, I was looking into Louis-César's worried face.

Chapter 8

I was lying on the ground. It took me a second to realize that I was both back in my correct time and back in my own body. I would have cried with relief if I'd had the strength.

Billy Joe coalesced over me and he looked pissed. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that? I got trapped in there! I could have died!"

I didn't try to sit up, since the asphalt seemed to be doing a pretty violent version of the hula beneath me. "Don't be a drama queen. You're already dead."