"Guns jam and misfire with the application of the right spell," Pritkin said curtly, "and occasionally without it. They also aren't effective against every enemy. Spells, likewise, can be countered by shields, stronger spells, or by incapacitating the caster. Neither method is adequate on its own, particularly when, as in your case, the potential enemies come in so many varieties."

I narrowed my eyes. "Meaning what?"

He slapped the flat of an old-fashioned training sword against his leg. Its blade was wood, but it still made a loud thwacking sound. "Meaning here we have it. Swords and sorcery."

"No, there you have it. I'm not a war mage." I'd agreed that I needed to get in better shape and to learn how to occasionally hit what I aimed at, but I hadn't signed up to be sorcerer's apprentice.

"No. You're not. Which is why you almost died yesterday."

"Um, no. I almost died because your father decided he didn't like me talking to Saleh. Something we should discuss sometime."

"I knew you were up to something at that flat."

"Yes, thanks. Not the point."

"What did he tell you?" Pritkin demanded, giving me a weird and very creepy sense of déjà vu.

I just stared at him until he cursed and twisted, hiking up the corner of his sweatshirt. The bright colors of the tattoo reassured me slightly, although I assumed they could be faked. "Maybe we need a code word," I said doubtfully.

Pritkin muttered one that I decided to ignore and shoved a sword at me. I immediately dropped it because, despite being wood, it was roughly half my body weight. It hit the floor pommel-first with a dull, ringing thud. "You can't be serious."

"It's the smallest I have. We'll get you something more appropriate later. And you evaded the question."

"No, I didn't. Saleh didn't say much. He was too preoccupied by the fact that your father killed him." I wondered how many more times I was going to have to bring up the family connection before Pritkin took the hint. Not that under normal circumstances it would have been any of my business, but almost getting the life sucked out of me wasn't normal. Not entirely unknown, but not normal.

"There are some creatures who cannot be killed," Pritkin said, ignoring me as usual. "You encountered one yesterday. Your instincts were good, but throwing potions at that one normally does nothing more than annoy him."

"He looked a little more than just annoyed to me."

"Because you somehow managed to hit him with perhaps two dozen spells, half of them corrosive to demonkind, all at the same time. I doubt if anyone else has managed as much." He shot me a look. "I would like to know how you did it."

"I stopped time. By accident," I said, as his eyebrows rose. "Agnes showed me once that it was possible, but she never had time to teach me how."

"Can you duplicate it?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it. Not without knowing what I did in the first place." And not without spending a day in bed, paying for it afterward.

"You were lucky, then," Pritkin said grimly. "Next time you may not be."

"What do you want me to do? Freak out?"

"No, I want you to learn what you can do to banish him or any demons who might take an interest in you!"

"And why would they do that?" I asked, suddenly wondering if freaking out didn't make sense after all.

"Why does anyone? You attract trouble like a magnet."

I scowled. "Don't even try it. This wasn't my normal bad luck calling and you know it. That demon was your father and you didn't even warn me about him!"

"I'm warning you now. A decapitation won't kill him, but it will force him back into the demon realm for a short time, perhaps a few days. Anything that causes catastrophic failure of the body he has assumed will do as much, but his shields can stop most attacks, including gunshots. And unlike most demons, he is not affected by direct sunlight. He has to drop his protection to feed, however, which gives you a moment of—"

I kicked my sword against the wall. "Pritkin!"

"You need to pay attention to this! I can't be everywhere, and even when I am" — he took a breath, as if the admission pained him—“there are some things from which I may not be able to protect you."

"I don't expect you to. But I do expect to be told the truth."

"We didn't come here to talk." He picked up my sword and shoved it back in my hands.

Maybe he hadn't, but it had definitely been on my agenda. I couldn't force the truth out of him, though. And in his case, I didn't think reminding him of my office was going to do much good. I raised the sword, getting two hands on the pommel and wishing for something less likely to result in back strain. It was about the only body part that didn't already ache.

"You want to fight, fine," I told him. "But if I prove I'm halfway competent at this, you have to answer my questions for a change."

Pritkin didn't even bother to respond, except by attacking. I twisted out of the way before the blow could land, a crotchety voice echoing in my ear, its scathing comments familiar, almost soothing: You don't have strength, girl, and you never will. Don't depend on it! If you don't need to block, don't. Your opponent may be stronger than you, but he can't hurt you if you're not there. A second later, my sword was aimed at Pritkin's jugular, putting him back on point.

I found myself staring at cool green eyes that were suddenly assessing. The tension seemed to crank up a notch without him moving a muscle. I kept a proper distance back, which, since our swords were the same length, was close enough to be able to strike but far enough away to need only one large step forward to attack. He slowly circled me, footwork perfect, never crossing his feet or giving me any chance to unbalance him. I hadn't seen him fight with a sword before, but it looked like he'd also had a few lessons.

I mimicked his movements, my governess Eugenie's mantra in my ears: speed, timing, balance. Slide your feet across the ground, don't jump about like a frightened rabbit! I was a lousy shot and was beginning to doubt that I was ever going to get much better. But I did know the basics about swords. Eugenie and Rafe had sparred with me often enough growing up to ensure that. Eugenie had defended the lessons to Tony by claiming that they were more exercise than combat training.

She'd lied.

Watch for the shift in weight, the drop of a shoulder, the slight tensing of muscles that precipitates an attack. And above all, don't think! Don't think about your opponent, who he is or how well he fights or what you believe is going to happen. You don't know. Be confident but not overconfident. Stay open, flexible and ready to act or react.

Pritkin's blade swept down, then suddenly reversed its stroke as he stepped into a perfectly balanced thrust. On every wall, his mirrored self lunged with him—at empty air, because that feint was one of Rafe's favorite moves and I hadn't fallen for it. He recovered almost immediately, pivoting out of one pattern into another, far too fast for me to get behind him.

Hit the person, not the sword! It isn't the sword that's trying to kill you. And remember, taller opponents have a longer reach, but they often leave their legs exposed. It isn't only torsos and heads that are targets, girl! I made a slashing move on a downward arc, and got a glancing hit on Pritkin's left calf as he danced out of reach. I doubted it would even bruise, but with a real sword, it might have drawn blood.

Eugenie could have taken his leg off with it, but I didn't have her skill. Despite her best efforts, I never would. But unlike Rafe, she had never pulled her punches. We'd fought with wooden swords, too, which was how I knew they hurt like hell when they hit. And she'd had no compunction about spanking me across the shins or backside with the flat of her blade if I was giving less than my best. Over the years, along with a lot of bruises, I'd accumulated rudimentary skill that, it seemed, hadn't completely deserted me.