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“Don’t stun her,” the older woman said, and only then did I see a wand in the younger witch’s hand. It had not been there a moment ago.

“Why not?” she asked. “We have enough problems—”

“She’s with the vampire.”

“So?”

“So that is Lord Mircea—”

“I know who he is!”

“—and whilst he might not be a senator yet, he has influence. Influence we may well need.”

“We don’t need help!” the younger witch said, only to have the older one merely look at her.

And then spread her arms to indicate the fiery street; the war mages on the other side of the shield she’d erected, scrabbling to break through; the spells going off everywhere as witches and mages clashed in knots all over the bridge, including on the tops of some houses; and the bunch of cackling maniacs who had enchanted some more brooms and were using them to fly by overhead, dropping potion bombs on the men.

The girl bit her lip. “We . . . might need a little help,” she admitted.

“A drink and a chat, Lord Mircea, whenever you’re free,” the older woman called, as if he wasn’t fighting for his very life.

But she must have noticed something that I hadn’t, because the next second, Mircea managed to expel the spirit of the witch and it flew straight at me instead. But dhampirs are not humans or vampires. We are a strange cross of both, yet neither.

And whatever she saw in me, she didn’t like.

I snarled at her and she veered off—just as someone sent a spell hurtling at the shop behind us. It hit the front, where some of the wares were displayed, setting a bunch of felt hats, taffeta purses and leather gloves on fire, and sending the rest scattering across the ground. And me dropping into a protective crouch as there’d been no time for anything else.

It worked; with the only damage I suffered being burns on my back because I wasn’t wearing my usual leathers. But I could deal with that. More problematic was the feel of cold steel against my throat as soon as I stood up.

Because the witch’s spirit had found a home—in the body I had protected!

It was no longer frozen; I guessed the spell had had time to wear off, or to weaken enough that she could break it. And it had suffered no damage otherwise, as I had put it carefully behind the counter. And even closed her eyelids so that the damned bitch’s eyes didn’t dry out!

No good deed, I thought, as Morgan’s knife bit into my skin.

“How do you like it?” she asked, her voice a sibilant whisper in my ear.

“Not . . . all that well,” I said, trying not to swallow.

She laughed. “I will enjoy feeling the spill of your blood over my hand, and your weight sagging in my arms. I will enjoy it very much.”

“Freeze her!” the old woman snapped. “Force her out of that body!”

“I just did a major slowdown!” the younger witch told her. “I can’t!”

Morgan licked my cheek in a parody of affection. “Wouldn’t matter,” she laughed at them. “I have more.”

The old woman cursed, and the younger, for the first time, appeared less than sure of herself. “Hilde?”

“I’m thinking!” But the old woman looked like she was thinking the same thing I was.

And I was damned if I was dying like this!

But a voice rang out, just before I made my final play. And to my surprise, it was Mircea, getting up from the ground where he’d just fought off a possession, and standing straight once more. And I had to admit, in that moment, he looked damned impressive.

His fine clothes were singed and muddy and torn. His once gleaming hair was wet and plastered to his skull. And there was a burn mark on one cheek that I hadn’t noticed before, a sign of just how close something or someone had come to turning him into a human torch.

But he was standing, and he was holding out something that flared blue against the night.