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I opened my eyes, registered the lack of the enveloping grayness, then heard the air snap with sound. The whip slicing toward me again.
I imagined my fingers wrapping around the thin end of the leather weapon. Imagined it coiling around my hand as I stepped onto the next level of the astral plane. Felt the sudden shift in the air, and opened my eyes to see a beach that was far darker and more faded than before, and one that remained free of Taylor’s fog. The third level, if all had gone according to plan. All I had do now was hope Taylor took the bait and followed. He should, since he actually wanted me in the umbra as much I wanted him there, but the insane often don’t do the predictable.
Pain rippled across my fingers. I glanced down and realized I was still holding the whip in my hand. It was long and wicked-looking, and it was eating into my flesh with needle-sharp teeth.
I yelped again and flung it away without thought, then realized leather couldn’t actually do that. It was Taylor, altering reality as I saw it. Which meant he was here, somewhere.
I did a slow turn and scanned the darkened beach. No Taylor, no creepy, oily shadow, but that didn’t mean much. He was here somewhere—the quiver in the air told me that, even if it didn’t seem to be giving away his location. Maybe he’d worked out that I was using it to track him.
I swung Amaya back and forth, and imagined her flames wrapping around the unseen and revealing their presence.
Fingers of lilac fire immediately swept across the empty beach, the arc wide at first, then gradually narrowing, until they formed a fist around emptiness.
Only it wasn’t empty.
Very few people have such control on the plane, huntress, he said, as he reappeared. The flames cast an odd purple light across his skin, and made it look like he was wearing a bejeweled death mask.
It was a death mask that held no features.
I shivered—an action that reverberated across the faded beach. Taylor smiled. I smell your fear, huntress. It is a fine scent.
Him so pleasant, Amaya commented.
Amusement ran through me, though it did little to lessen the tension. My sword seemed to be gaining a sense of humor, and though I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not, it was certainly better than her continual screaming for a kill.
Kill good.
Maybe her bloodthirstiness was rubbing off on me, because I could only wholeheartedly agree that killing Taylor would be good. But it could happen only in the umbra, and we weren’t there yet.
Fear is a useful tool, I commented. It sharpens the reflexes.
I wondered if Amaya’s fire was capable of dragging Taylor onto the next level, if only because it would be a whole lot easier—not to mention less painful—if I could. I briefly imagined her flames dragging him closer, and though they rippled and moved, nothing changed—certainly not Taylor’s position.
Which in turn meant her flames might not actually have him contained. Maybe he was simply pretending to be so in an attempt to lure me into a false sense of security.
God, the bastard had me second-guessing everything I did.
But is it so useful? he said. Perhaps we should test this theory of yours, huntress.
He threw something into the air, but I ignored the instinct to follow the movement and see what it was. I wasn’t that green.
He chuckled, the sound grating down my spine. I shifted my feet, readying for an attack, but for several seconds nothing happened. His eyeless features just stared at me through the glow of his lilac cage.
Without warning, something hit me side on and threw me into the air. I twisted around, landing in a rolling tumble, then bounced back to my feet.
There was nothing there. Nothing I could see or feel, anyway.
Amaya?
Something, she replied. Hides.
Obviously. Where?
Everywhere.
Oh, great.
I swished her back and forth, but her flames didn’t reveal anything—sinister or not—hiding.
