Page 139 of Time's Fool

“Of course, I’ve seen her! How the devil do you think I got here?”

“Where is she?” It was suddenly intense—and stupid, for how did one fight a witch? Kit had no idea what they thought they were going to do if they located her, but if the swordsman wanted to wave his weapon at Morgan, more power to him. As long as they left Kit alone!

“Back that way somewhere,” he threw out an arm. “Or she was a few moments ago—”

“In the same body as before? A war mage with a bushy beard?”

“No. That one’s heart gave out on her, or so I assume. He is dead, in any case. And she had not yet taken another body when I left.”

The swordsman cursed. “Then we do not even know who to look for, or to ask people about!”

“Not that they’ve been overly useful,” the girl said, glancing at her captive. “Go.”

But the man had been completely cowed, and merely looked at her dumbly, like an animal ignoring an open gate in a fence, for it has never been allowed to go there before. She sighed and took the torch from him, and smacked him on the backside with it to hasten his journey. “Go!”

He fled.

“Morgan is in ghost form, then?” Mircea persisted, pulling Kit’s attention back to him. Kit nodded. “Yet you said that you had seen her?”

“I—she is bright. Enough to be visible.”

“She has some of the demon’s energy left, then,” the girl said. “And likely more than me, as I expended much of mine in the fight. This is going to be bad.”

“Nonetheless, we have no choice,” Mircea said, his jaw tightening. He looked at Kit. “You must help us find her—”

“I’ve helped you enough, and look where it’s gotten me! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my own witch to find!”

“Mistress Gillian?” Mircea asked as Kit started to get up, only to find the dhampir’s hand back on his arm.

“Let me go, you vile—”

“Careful,” she instructed. “I’m sensitive.”

“And I’m—” Kit began, and then stopped himself. But not to avoid another conflict with the creature, which he was more than ready for. But because it had come again, just the barest hint on the breeze, and damned easy to miss except that his whole being had been searching for it!

“You scent something,” Mircea said.

“Yes! Now order your creature to let me go, or I will put a fist through her face!”

“You would die before your hand twitched,” the swordsman said.

Kit stared at him incredulously. “Does it look like she needs the help?”

The bastard shrugged. “No, but I have taken it for a past time.”

Kit briefly wondered what kind of fever dream he was having. And what he had done to deserve this. Then decided he didn’t care.

He used a street fighting technique to break the bastard’s kneecap with a sudden strike and to kick dirt in the girl’s face as he spun back to his feet—

And was piled onto by both of Mircea’s cursed helpers before he could make the next tree trunk!

“Let him go,” he heard Mircea say, about the time that the girl—vicious little cat that she was—kicked him in the head.

“Quoi?” the swordsman said, as if he hadn’t heard properly.

“It appears that Mistress Gillian has run off. If my suspicions are right, Morgan will be chasing her. If we want one witch, we need to locate the other.”

Chapter Forty

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