Page 80 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“Enough,” Bishop says. Then to the leader, “She’ll only get louder if you keep on. She’s a screamer, this one.”

“Screamer?” I say. “Do you want to hear screaming? Cheat me of my due and I’ll bring every—”

“Let me pay her,” Bishop cuts in. “Then she’ll be on her way.”

He steps in front of me and doles out the money as I cast a privacy spell under my breath and whisper my idea to him.

“There,” he says as he hands me the money. “Acceptable?”

“Indeed,” I say.

I flounce the other way, toward the two men to our rear. I make a move to tuck the money into my bodice, which draws their attention, but my dress goes up to my neck. I huff, as if in annoyance, and undo a button to slip it into my corset. One man nearly falls over trying to see through that opening. I’m stuffing it in when one of the bills flutters to the ground.

“Would you be so kind?” I say to the larger of the two men as I motion to the fallen bill.

“Can I slip it in?” he says with a grin.

“If you mean slip that bill in my corset, yes. If you mean anything else, you’d better have a full wallet.”

That sets all the men laughing, and the one who asked gives a gallant bow as he bends to pick up the bill while I move closer. Then I slam my fist into his stomach as I hit his companion with an energy bolt.

A shout sounds behind me. I don’t bother with those three. Bishop can handle them.

The one I hit in the stomach is on his knees, which means he’s perfectly positioned for my boot to connect with a man’s most sensitive spot. When it does, he gives a scream that suggests it’ll be a while before he “slips it in” to anyone.

I make a potentially fatal error here. I forget I have two adversaries. Fortunately, the other man is still busy trying to figure out how he got burned.

Mistake number two follows. I’m so relieved that I survived mistake one that I try to replicate the kick by freezing the second fellow in a binding spell and then aiming a punch at his groin, only to realize my aim is too low. He’s not much taller than me, and I pull my punch when I realize it’ll neither hit his stomach nor his privates.

That punch, of course, means the binding spell breaks, and I don’t get the chance to hit again.

I slam another energy bolt at him … and it hits the wall. Because he’s not there. I spin, just as his fist nearly connects with my shoulder.

Half-demon. Teleportation. At the lowest subtype, they can only move a few feet, but in a fight, it’s enough. You can’t hit a disappearing target.

I pull back my arm, fingers splayed, the obvious tell that I’m about to cast a sorcerer spell. He vanishes, and I pivot fast and hit him with a knockback when he reappears. The surprise of that sets him off-balance. Another knockback has him on the ground. I’m about to leap on him when I remember what he is and that I’ll be leaping onto empty air. I slam him with a fireball, right in the hole the energy bolt burned in his shirt, and he shrieks and disappears, only to reappear on my other side.

I do keep checking on the supernatural I kicked, but he’s seated against the wall, recovering.

The half-demon and I go a few more rounds—I manage to land one more spell before he disappears—but I don’t have anything strong enough to actually stop him.

I know I could. When Silas killed my aunt, I’d lashed out at Henry Cain with an unbelievable burst of power. But I can’t just reach inside myself and channel that rage. Not yet.

I do know how to kill. I did kill in that fight at Trevelyan. Yet I need to be able to combine my spells with fighting skills, and I can’t do that with a teleporting half-demon.

All he’s going to do is exhaust my spell power.

I need better spells, and the ones in Edith’s grimoire will take weeks to learn, which doesn’t help me now. I do try the calming spell, hoping it might slow his teleports, but it fizzles.

There is something else I can use. My folding knife, deep in my pocket. I reach for it and then stop. I’ll never get a chance to stab this half-demon before he wrests the blade from me.

And that’s when I realize he hasn’t struck a single blow. Hasn’t even tried.

I look over to where Bishop is facing off against the werewolf. The ringleader is dead. The other man also lies on the ground, though his rising chest suggests he’s only unconscious.

Blood trickles down Bishop’s forehead and into one eye, and his jacket is discarded, shirt torn, but he’s in otherwise good shape as he and the werewolf circle each other. I keep my eye on my own opponent—distracting him with small knockbacks—and I wait until the werewolf has his back to me. Then I fly at him and ram my knife into his back, below the shoulder. The blade passes easily through his shirt and embeds up to the hilt, and Bishop hits him with a blow that sends him to the ground.

We both spin on the teleporting half-demon. He seems to consider the matter, and I help him make up his mind by locking him in a binding spell and letting Bishop slam him with an uppercut.