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Interest rapt, Westvane watched the magical current swirl in her aura. Driven by preternatural power, molecules buzzed like fireflies, bouncing off her shoulders, breaking apart only to rearrange into a new pattern. An elaborate deception. Misdirection designed to do one thing — disguise the threat she presented and throw him off.
Like one of the lake lizards in his Parkland, she changed her colors, camouflaging her gifts, masking her power, allowing none of her true nature to shine through. If he was full-blooded Assenta, instead of a hybrid, the strategy might have worked. But despite her effort at evasion, he saw through to the heart of her.
His magic allowed him to perceive hers.
“Nice try, Door Master,” he murmured, tired of the stalemate. “But you cannot hide what you are. Not from me.”
“Hiding?” She tilted her head. Blonde hair tied into a tail at the back of her head swung, brushing her shoulder, stirring the air, shifting the charm-spell into another gear. Her power butted up against him, pulling at his senses. Westvane clenched his teeth as magic disrupted cold temperatures, dusting her aura in blue shimmer. “I’m not hiding. I’m standing right here.”
“Don’t lie to me. You’ve made a choice.”
“You think?”
“I know it. Not a smart one either.”
Annoyance puckered her brows. A muscle flexed in her jaw as she held her hand out. Her fingers curled into a flicking motion… and pure challenge. “My phone.”
Westvane glanced down. He’d forgotten he’d taken the toy away. “Come and get it.”
She scoffed. “What — and get close enough for you to take a whack at me? I don’t think so.”
“You can’t stand out here all night.”
“Wanna bet?”
He snorted before he caught it and smothered the sound of amusement. Such a pain in the ass. She might be small, but despite himself, he liked her spirit. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Right,” she said, sarcasm in her tone striking like a whip. “’Cause you’re namedSlayerfor nothing.”
“No. The title’s well-earned,” he said, returning her temper with honesty. “I’m simply stating the facts. I have no intention of harming you.”
“Seriously?”
“How will I navigate Earth Realm if my guide is dead?”
“Something tells me you’d manage.”
“True,” he said, beginning to enjoy the verbal battle. “But as a rule, I never make things harder than they need to be.”
“How very practical of you.”
“Practicality is a virtue.”
“When it comes to killing people.”
“In everything.” Might as well give her fair warning. He always took the path of least resistance. Unless, of course, he needed to make a point — like he so often did with Lyonesse. “Have I reassured you?”
“No.” A look of consternation on her face, she studied him like a strange object.
His shoulder blades began to itch.
Westvane clenched his teeth. The little witch. She was tapping into his glamor, making his magic react to hers — and making it harder for him to keep his wings tucked safely beneath his skin. Even as he fought it, the clawing sensation grew. He felt his muscles split beneath his marmot-skin jacket. Flexing his mind, he turned his attention inward, sealing the seam, forcing his wings to stay under wraps. He refused to lose control. Not now. Not in front of her. Not when he was so close to getting what he needed to begin his hunt of the Wendigo and secure his freedom.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “To hunt that thing?”
“Good guess.”
“As I said — I’m batting a thousand tonight.”
