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“He should have destroyed you last night,” the fae added without emotion.

“Which begs the question of what else there is to say,” Tamsin snapped, her temper rising. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Lord Mordred is curious. He is not accustomed to setbacks.”

As if Tamsin had lived just to spite him. She bit back nervous laughter.

The fae regarded her coolly. “Accordingly, he generously offers safe passage to you so that he might learn why you survived his power.”

“How thoughtful.” All the aches from last night throbbed in reminder of how close Tamsin had been to extinction. “Why didn’t he come himself?”

“I am less threatening. You are more likely to respond favorably to me.”

“Really?” Tamsin asked, unable to stifle sarcasm. “Are we going to exchange tips on manicures and boyfriends?”

“How you approach this is your decision.”

Tamsin sat back, keeping the movement relaxed. She was sure Mordred had the books she wanted, but she wasn’t about to walk through his front door. “I think I’ll decline your invitation to visit.”

Nimueh’s eyes glinted dangerously. It was the first sign of emotion Tamsin had seen. “I have been given my orders.”

Tamsin’s mouth filled with the copper taste of fear. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair, forcing herself not to flinch. “I’ve heard of you. You’re in the old stories, the one they called the Lady of the Lake. You gave the sword Excalibur to the king.”

“And?”

“You don’t seem like the same person at all.”

“I’m not,” Nimueh said, almost sounding wistful.

Tamsin’s chest felt tight. “Whatever it was Merlin did, surely it can be undone.”

“Do you think we have not tried?” The fae’s voice sank to a whisper. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the desk. “Do not waste time seeking our redemption.”

Pity wrenched Tamsin, but also fresh fear. “Maybe the Round Table can help you.”

“Do you cling to the dashing Sir Gawain?” Nimueh’s voice was still soft, but the flicker of sadness was ironed away, as if it had never been. She pushed away, holding her hands out in a gesture of negation. “Do not be fooled. He despises your kind. You would be far wiser to ally yourself with Lord Mordred and tell him what you know of the lost tombs.”

Tamsin barely heard Nimueh, because now she was conscious of the fae’s power winding around her like a deadly, strangling vine, sapping her will. She could almost see it, a twining tendril of light sliding with a serpent’s grace. The touch of it was silken, but it was also hideously strong. When it finally caught her, she would be unable to refuse anything Nimueh asked. For a fleeting, horrible moment, she saw herself handing over the invoice with the clue. Walking into Mordred’s lair and becoming his pawn.

The snake of power was a thousand serpents now, tendrils weaving a web that would strangle her will. Nerves finally cracking, Tamsin pushed away from her desk and jumped to her feet. “Stop it!”

Nimueh’s elegant brows arched. Her magic still tickled and scraped against Tamsin like tiny crawling feet, straining to pierce down to her soul. Tamsin brushed at her skin, although she knew it did no good. “Get off me before I make you regret it,” Tamsin said with more bravado than she felt.

“Really?” Nimueh raised an elegant long-fingered hand, then clenched her fist. The weave of magic drew tight.

Tamsin gasped, instantly suffocated, and felt the power burrowing into her. Rage swept through her like sudden fire. Grabbing that white-hot anger, Tamsin pushed Nimueh away with her power, sending her skittering backward. Then Tamsin followed up with a blast of power. The fae slammed into the door and grabbed the knob for support as her heels skidded on the tiles.

“Well done.” Nimueh pushed her long, pale hair away from her face and blinked, her expression almost surprised.

The magic crawling over Tamsin’s skin faded. She should have been relieved but knew it was just a change of tactics.

Nimueh raised her hand again, this time to snap her fingers. Tamsin heard the heavy boom of the front doors of the church slamming closed. “Don’t worry,” said the fae. “The moment I arrived, the visitors and your docent had a sudden desire to go see the tourney. You and I are alone.”

Tamsin listened. She could hear no voices, but something rustled outside the office door, making a thin, dry, leathery sound. She sat up slowly, terror rising when she heard the scrape of... Was that claws? “You lie. There is someone else in the church.”

“Not someone,” Nimueh said calmly. “A helper of a different kind. You seem to need persuasion.”

Tamsin’s palms went clammy. “What have you done?”