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He suddenly shoved her back, stood up, and walked to a table that held an assortment of items. He picked up a black leather pouch and hefted it in his palm, as if it were full of gold.

“I got this beauty at the same time I got the paint set,” he said, lifting it up to show her. “And it came in handy when I was attacked on my way home.”

She wondered if whatever was in the pouch was what Marchant had used against Theo to immobilize him before he turned him into a goat. She found there was room inside her for a little more fear.

“What is it?” she asked. Might as well hear the bad news.

He loosened the strings at the top, dipped his fingers in, and suddenly flicked the contents straight at her.

It felt as if ice coated her face, pushing into her nose, her mouth, sucking away all her air.

She lifted her bound hands to her throat in panic, trying to brush whatever coated her skin away, and then saw lights in front of her eyes as she crashed to the ground.

She fought for breath, trying to suck in some air, and a tiny trickle kept her from blacking out. With a high whistle she managed to drag in some more, and it got easier and easier.

When she could finally breathe normally again, she continued to lie on the ground, eyes closed, just happy that her lungs worked.

“How many times can you use it?” she managed to pant out.

He suddenly went still, and came to stand beside her. “It never runs out.”

She smiled at the lie, which she could hear in his voice.

“Sure it can, old man.” She coughed a little. “Just like the things you draw with the paint set last forever.”

“Tell me where the curse is.” Suddenly Marchant was crouched beside her. “Four months ago, someone sold me things that looked steeped in magic, but they faded so fast. And since I handled them, I’ve been ill. I think there was a spell on one of them to kill me off so I couldn’t come looking for him, to deal in the usual way with people who cheat me.”

“When did you work that out?” she asked, coughing again.

“A few days after I got home. I started to feel sick and then I saw the things I bought were almost completely faded.” The whites of his eyes did look yellow, now that she was this close to them. “Tell me where the spell is, little girl.”

“You want me to help you, yet you hit me, you take away my air. I’m doing nothing for you, old man.” She pushed up to sitting. “Can’t you see it yourself, anyway?”

His mouth thinned. “No. That’s clearly part of the spell. I don’t know how he did it.” He brandished the now-closed pouch in front of her face. “I don’t care if I use this up, I’ll take your breath as often as I have to to get your cooperation. Now, where is the spell?”

She hesitated. She really didn’t want to go through being suffocated again. But she wouldn’t admit there was no spell on him. “You have to draw things that have a realistic chance of being found in the world,” she said. “Not like that poor excuse for a bird you painted. Rope or string works well.”

He sat back on his heels, wanting to argue about her decision to talk about the paint set, but also very much wanting to use the paint set.

He leaned on the wall to help him stand, which told her his injuries were still bothering him, and then he went over to the table, opened the box again and drew a squiggly line on the page.

By the time Melodie had gotten to her feet and walked over, it had dried.

Marchant exclaimed in delight when a piece of green string appeared.

“Start counting,” she said.

He did, slower than she would have, and then lifted the page when it disappeared as if to check it wasn’t hiding below.

“I was lied to.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “You draw something.”

She wiggled her fingers at him again, and he stood, indicated she sit in the chair, and once she had, he loosened one of the rope loops so she could slide her right hand free.

She pulled the paper toward her, and something made her draw a knife. Something hot, and dark, and vengeful.

Theo was probably out there, waiting to pounce as soon as the door was unlocked and opened, but just in case, she would deal with Marchant now.

Maybe it was because she used blue and yellow as the colors that he didn’t realize the significance, but as soon as the knife appeared on the page she snatched it up, twisted in her seat, and stabbed him.