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“Enough.” He helped Kit back to his feet. “You need to learn to guard your tongue.”

“Who is it?” someone asked, and Kit only then noticed that they had a girl with them. She had the torch that had been menacing him in one hand, and a war mage in the other, whom she was dragging through the forest as if he weighed nothing. And when he tried to mutter a weak curse at her, she casually smacked his head into a tree.

Kit blinked, because she hardly looked able to beat up anyone, much less one of the Corp’s annoying servants. She was a diminutive, deceptively sweet looking creature with unbound dark hair and a sadly stained dress that might once have been blue. She was also something else, but he didn’t know what.

She looked human, and there was warm blood flowing in her veins; his senses picked that up at once. But she also had small fangs, which she flashed when grinning at him. And suddenly, a frisson of pure fear ran up his spine, harder and more panic-inducing than that which the ghosts had caused.

He found himself backing away and hissing through his fangs, caught halfway between a desire to flee and to attack. The conflicting messages tangled up his feet and he hit the ground again, fighting with himself as the trio looked on. The auburn-haired swordsman was frowning, the girl looked derisive, and Mircea, damn him, just sighed and extended a hand.

One that Kit batted away and got to his feet on his own, thank you!

“Dory,” Mircea said before he could ask. “She is dhampir.”

Kit stared at the girl for a moment, as caught off guard as if Mircea had introduced him to Satan himself. Who could be prowling these woods tonight for all he knew! And then he ran in the direction of the elusive scent, because he didn’t have time for this!

Only to be caught before he’d gone ten yards. And surprisingly, it was the girl who was fastest, appearing in front of him out of nowhere sans both war mage and torch, and making him want to cross himself. Only he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction!

“It won’t help,” she said, eyeing his aborted motion. “I’m not a demon—”

“Close enough!”

“—but I have killed a few. Want to see how?”

“Get away from me!” Kit said, finding his skin crawling when she reached down and grasped his hand. And unlike Mircea, she didn’t let go, even when he struggled.

“Release me!” he snarled.

“Release yourself, if you’re able. But then, you already used your master’s power, didn’t you?”

“And can do so again!”

“And I can rip your head off and spit down the neck hole.”

Kit growled, more than ready to find out how many of the rumors that he’d heard about dhampirs were true, but the swordsman stepped in between them.

He wasn’t carrying the torch, either, although there was light. Kit spotted the subdued war mage acting as torch bearer and standing a little way off. He was caged by nothing that Kit could see, yet was neither attempting to attack or flee. Kit scowled at him, because he knew the feeling.

Mircea somehow managed to get what he wanted from everyone, whether it was to their advantage or no. But not this time! He had a greater purpose this night than to be the bastard’s lackey!

And, surprisingly, the swordsman seemed to agree.

“The mage is useless,” he said to Mircea. “And unless this creature has seen the witch, we are wasting time.”

“Ah, but I do believe he has,” Mircea said, squatting beside Kit, and cocking his head in the way that Kit was beginning to despise.

“Stay out of my mind,” Kit warned him.

“I wouldn’t dream of invading your thoughts without permission,” the bastard said, with a perfectly straight face.

“And you made this resolution when?” Kit snarled.

“Wait. Isn’t he supposed to be here?” the girl asked, looking confused.

“Oh, no,” Mircea said. “In this time period, he is supposed to be drinking and wenching and fighting his way around London—and quite human. The fact that he is here, and in this form, makes me believe that we might finally have found someone who has seen Mistress Morgan—”

Kit hissed, and Mircea’s gaze sharpened.

“Then you have seen her.”