“Stand up!” he barked. “Drop me knife and put your hands above your head.”

He didn’t expect obedience and he wasn’t disappointed. But the man was quicker man Wizard expected a man interrupted in such a game to be. He turned, rose, and attacked in one motion. Wizard made me perfect counter, a kick that would take his attacker in the chest and keep his knife at a distance.

It would have stopped the man dead, if Wizard had been wearing pants.

The robe was cut full and loose, but not loose enough to allow for the full swing of the kick. It snapped tight, jerking the balance from Wizard’s other leg. He staggered sideways and me hungry knife went slipping past his ear. He caught himself and spun to face it, but me knife was already before him, weaving a song of blood as it hovered before his face.

Like a steel hummingbird, it moved faster than his eyes could follow. Feet planted, hands loose and ready. Wizard shifted and wove before it. The magic limned it for him, setting it glowing with a toadstool light in the blackness of the alley. He saw nothing of the one who held it and commanded the dance.

The mind behind the blade trusted its cutting edge implicitly.

There would be no kicks, no sudden jabs of fist to spoil the perfection of the knife’s killing skill. Wizard’s eyes followed the blade as hands hung loose and ready, slightly away from his body. He tried to remember there was a man behind the blade, but the magic forced his attention back to the steel edge.

He struggled with it and then, with relief, let go. The knife, then. Counter to all his embedded training, he would fight the knife and not the man behind it. He relaxed and felt the tingling of power run over his limbs and up his spine.

From hand to hand the knife leapt nimbly in its wriggling, gliding dance. Wizard himself moved with it, in a swaying counterpoint that kept all parts of his body just beyond the knife’s leap. The knife, the knife! Why was the magic focused on me knife? Was he supposed to grab the damned thing? He imagined a sudden successful clutch, and the fingers slipping silently from his hand. No. That couldn’t be it. Silence but for two men panting, the soft scuff of wet socks against the pavement, and the far whimpering of the one who huddled at the end of the alley. The knife flickered and flashed, burning before his eyes. He reached and felt for it with the magic.

This knife was a Ruana, a fine old blade shamed by this new owner. Its tempered steel haft was enclosed on both sides by bone grips. It was balanced, it was boned, it was a joyous tool perverted to butchery. It fit the killer’s hand like an extension of his body. He sensed the man’s twisted soul pulsing in the blade.

So he froze it.

Swifter than any kick of leg, than any twitch of muscle could ever be, as swift as the flicker of a thought, the Knowing came to Wizard and he used it. As simple as snuffing a candle flame with a pinch. He reached and froze it, the metal cooling past imaginable temperatures and then exploding into icy shards in the killer’s grip. The man screamed aloud, clutching at his wrist with his other hand and squeezing it, trying to hold out the pain invading his body. He doubled over with the agony of it, holding the mangled hand out away from his body as if he were bowing and offering it to Wizard.

Wizard stepped back from his glimpse of that familiar face.

The killer bolted past him, grunting with the pain of every jolting step. Wizard smiled and followed him. The man heard his shadowing steps and moaned in terror. He staggered on, pain dazing him, the terrible warmth of his own blood soaking him as he tottered. When he fell, mere was the awful shape of the man from his nightmares, the man cloaked and robed with UK night sky itself. The stars and crescent moons glittered balefully, but the man’s face was shadowed into blackness by the broad brim of his hat. He did not find me bent tip of that hat-amusing. It pointed at him like an accusing finger. And when Wizard spoke, his eyes glittered like two chunks of blue glacier ice. He whispered.

“If ever thou takes! up a knife in thy hands again, be it even for so innocent a thing as the buttering of bread, the metal of me knife shall find revulsion in my touch, and break again into a thousand splinters. But those splinters will pierce thy eyes and my heart. Go now. Remember I have granted thee mercy this time, but justice will be mine the next time.”

He nodded, he wept, and in agonized fear he thanked the man who had maimed him, groveling away from his feet.

Wizard stood, watching him go. Power swelled in him, pulsing through his veins. This was a better way, so much a better way.

In the instant he had frozen the knife, he had seen the killer’s maggoty little soul. He would take up a knife again; not tonight, or even this month. But when the hunger became too much for him, he would take up the knife and perish by it, even as Wizard had foretold. He had wielded his power fearlessly and permanently. No knife would tolerate his touch.

He felt more man satisfaction as he watched the staggering figure retreat. Exultation. The wheel of his existence had rotated a half turn, carrying Wizard from the bottom to the top.

The magic was back, in such strength as he had never known.

He who had been the prey was the hunter; from being at the mercy of circumstances he had risen to be the controller. He had found his strength and his dreams would fall into his hands.

So heady was this feeling he could not keep the smile from his lips. Suddenly he had it all: the magic, Cassie, and the strength to conquer his enemy.

He turned his strength inward, found the lurking gray inside himself, and squeezed it to a thing of infinite smallness. So simple once one knew how and was not afraid. Was this what Cassie had been trying to tell him? Pick up your weapons, indeed! Had even she guessed at the new strength of his magic?

Like a butterfly pumping fluid into his wet wings, he stretched to feel the limits of his power and laughed aloud.

The gasp of a quickly drawn breath recalled him to himself.

A small shame nibbled at the edge of his conscience. So enraptured had he been by his vanquishing of the killer that he had forgotten the victim.

“Come out now,” he called softly to her, peering into the darkness of the alley. “You’re safe now.”

There was no answer. Concern that she had been hurt more than he suspected creased his brow. He stepped quickly back to the place where the killer had crouched over her. “Where are you?” he called again, and spun as she broke cover behind him. He caught a fleeting glimpse of her under the streetlamp as she ran, her torn clothing clutched around her bruised body.

“Wait! I won’t hurt you!” he called after her and started to follow, only to stumble over leather straps. He nearly fell.

Reaching down, he untangled her shoulder bag from about his stockinged feet. Her purse, torn from her grip by her attacker and forgotten in her panic. He heard the jingle of keys, felt the lump of wallet inside it. She’d need it. He tucked it under his arm and ran after her.

By the time he reached the mouth of the alley and looked around, she had already turned a corner and was out of sight.

He stood still, perplexed, flinching at the thought of her fleeing through the dark streets with no way to get home, not even a quarter for the phone. Who else might target her as a victim?

Then he chuckled at his own foolishness. Could he forget so soon? He reached after her. There. The scent of her fear was as distinctive as perfume in the cold air. He ran lightly after her, his robe and cloak rippling soundlessly behind him.

Terror had spurred her, and she had fled like a rabbit, turning as corners presented themselves to throw off her pursuer. Wizard felt a touch of pity for her- She couldn’t know as yet that he meant her no harm. Yet her pathetic efforts to elude him had a touch of humor he could not deny. It was like a toddler trying to hide from the night things by putting a pillow over his head. In his night, in his city, no one could evade him. For two blocks she eluded him with the winged feet of fear. He caught full sight of her at last and called to her. “Wait!”