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“You know I don’t speak Italian, my dear,” the older man reproved.

“The Game of the Goose, they call it, where you roll the dice and move a goose about a game board, helping the poor creature to reach the center square and safety. It’s all the rage—”

“A goose. How appropriate,” Anthony murmured.

“—people even bet on the outcome.”

“Ah, well, I’ll bet on you, my dear,” the older man said flirtatiously, and Kit wondered if he was going mad.

“Do we have to get all of him over the finish?” Anthony asked. “Or will part do? He appears to already be missing a bit.”

“All or nothing,” his Lady said, a little viciously. “And five hundred francs per point.”

“Well, that makes things slightly more interesting.”

“But what makes a point?” the young woman asked eagerly.

“This,” his Lady said, and no, no, no, Kit tried to argue—mentally, since his heart was still firmly lodged in his throat, making speech impossible.

But she didn’t hear, or didn’t listen. And the next moment, the staff fell slightly and jerked hard to the rear, despite the fact that he hadn’t told it to. Putting them behind the creature rather than under it, and just missing a massive, dangling foot.

But they did miss it, and the creature failed to react.

“She didn’t see us,” Gillian said, clutching his arm.

No, but she was still close enough to hear, although not Gillian’s tremulous whisper. It was the babe who took that moment to give a cry, having finally noticed its mother. Who abruptly whirled in the air, almost before Kit could blink, and stared at them from all of six yards away.

“Sacré Dieu,” the young man said. “I thought you had it.”

“Hungghh,” Kit said, which as last words went, was fairly pathetic. But it was the only thing that managed to get out of his throat.

And then his hand jerked up and a blast of power roared out of it, surprising both him and the dragon.

“How did you—what was that?” Gillian cried, as the creature reared back in shock, as if it had just been punched. But Kit hadn’t used his gift, or even had the presence of mind to think about it. But now that he did—

“Well, he does have some spirit, don’t he?” the older man said approvingly, as the long neck shot out like a striking snake—and was met by an invisible fist.

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” the old woman opined.

“Well, you could help, you know,” the young man said, leaning over the table as Kit desperately landed blow after blow, none of which did more than buy him a minute hesitation.

And a considerably more enraged dragon.

“I don’t like violence,” the old woman said. “You know that.”

“You make a terrible vampire,” he informed her, whilst the long neck shot out again and again and again.

And the last time, Kit missed.

He had a chance to see the massive head blocking out the night, the huge, glowing eyes shedding a hellish light onto his face, the glistening maw opening—

And the great jaws snapping shut perhaps an inch away from his nose, because his conveyance was suddenly flying rapidly backwards. He hadn’t told it to do that, either; didn’t even know how. And judging by her screams, neither had Gillian.

“Point to me!” the young woman said gleefully, clapping her hands again. “Oh, this is such fun!”

“Looks like the two ladies are ahead,” the older man said, not sounding overly bothered by it.

But Anthony was another matter.