"Damn, I hate this forest. Where the hell are we?"

He had asked the same question that morning, when the sun had finally managed to filter through the dark leaves of the Hornsaw Forest. Tasya grunted, annoyed. Cylder wouldn't have been her first choice of traveling companions. She'd liked Aidan better, but he'd been killed yesterday by the ogre. She and Cylder were still nursing wounds from that battle, hoping the scent of blood didn't attract any more of the Hornsaw Forest's predators.

Fat chance. Turning off the main road to explore the forest with Cylder and Aidan had been the stupidest thing she'd ever done in a life of impetuous choices.

"I'm hungry," Cylder griped. "Why the hell'd you have to go and drop our backpack?"

"I said I'm sorry," she snapped, shoving her smoked-glass spectacles up higher on her nose. "If you wanted it so bad, you should have carried it."

"I'm already in platemail, and this shield isn't exactly light." He glared at her, then dropped his gaze to the forest floor. "Never shoulda trusted a woman to carry our supplies," he growled under his breath.

She ground her teeth together and stared straight ahead. If he so much as used the b-word, she was going to break his jaw. But he restrained himself, muttering incoherently.

They'd killed the ogre and she'd been heading toward Aidan when they'd both heard the bellowing and crashing that announced that something else was coming. They'd exchanged weary looks, then turned and run.

The third time low-hanging branches had snagged her backpack, she'd slipped out of the shoulder and waist straps and left it hanging. She wasn't going to get herself killed for the sake of some trail rations and a change of clothes. Soon after that the chasing had stopped. Maybe whatever it was had been sidetracked by their jerky and hardtack.

Unfortunately, leaving the pack behind meant that all they had for supplies now was the gold in her pouchbelt and the miscellaneous clutter of items she kept in her coat's capacious pockets. No food, no water, and no camping equipment.

Sweat stung a cut on her forehead. She wiped her face on her coat sleeve, then adjusted her spectacles again. They were walking along the southern rim of the forest ... or at least, she hoped they were. They hadn't broken through the treeline yet, and the fight with the Slitheren had turned them around some, but she was fairly certain they were still on the right track. Aidan had been their tracker. If he were still alive, he would have been able to get them out.

She hissed impatiently to herself. Stupid to think about had-beens and would-haves. Aidan was knocking on Nemorga's door, and they were the ones stuck in the Hornsaw Forest.

Maybe Aidan was the lucky one. Spending eternity working in Nemorga's marble mansion was sounding better and better. Tasya was willing to bet the demigod of death didn't skimp on the luxuries.

Luxuries. She jammed a hand into her coat pocket, fingers brushing the last of the cigars she'd brought from Lokil. The rest had been in her backpack.

Craving a smoke was doing nothing to improve her temper.

She curled her hand into a fist and yanked it back out of her pocket. Later. When the smoke wouldn't be so likely to bring titanspawn down on their heads.

A flash of color by the side of the road caught her eyes. She paused, studying the undergrowth.

"What now?" Cylder halted several steps ahead of her and turned around. "Don't tell me you gotta piss again?"

"Nah." She jerked a thumb at the bushes — low, with shiny leaves and small red berries. "What are those?"

Cylder stepped forward and snapped off a twig.

"Berries."

"What a genius," she sneered. "What kind?"

"Red ones." He smirked and crushed one between his fingers, then licked the juice off. "Taste like bloodberries."

Tasya squinted suspiciously at them. They looked a lot like bloodberries, too. Bloodberries were safe — she'd eaten plenty of them in Hollowfaust. The bushes looked different, though, squat instead of climbing. She glanced up. Hardly any light managed to work its way through the forest canopy. Maybe they were just stunted from malnutrition or something.

Her stomach growled. Cylder wasn't the only one who was hungry. She'd prefer a rare steak and a good cabernet to a handful of berries, but...

Cylder was already plucking off more of the fruit, tossing it into his mouth by the handful.

"Hey, save some for me." She squatted next to him, stripping the branches bare. He was right. They did taste like bloodberries. The bushes must just be like everything else in the forest — deformed by the ichor of Mormo that had spilled here during the godswar.

"Let's collect whatever's left and let 'em dry," Cylder said, lips stained red with juice. "Store 'em in your pockets for later."

"Yeah, okay," she said, trying not to be annoyed by being relegated to pack horse again. After all, he was in armor. Nobody made platemail with pockets.

After several minutes they sat back on their heels, their hunger dulled. Amazing how much difference a little food could make. Her irritation was already fading. So, they were a little lost. They'd find their way out eventually. At least they wouldn't starve to death while they were looking.

Tasya began to denude the rest of the branches, dumping the berries into her coat pockets. Cylder helped. He looked like a ghoul fresh out of the Ghost District, she thought, looking at the red streaks across his face and covering her hands. Then she looked down at her own fingers. Just as bad.

"We look like we just found a fresh grave," she muttered, grinning crookedly.

"Huh?"

"Ghouls." She held out her crimson-stained hands. "Corpse of berries."

Cylder gave her an odd look and muttered something under his breath about Hollowfausters and humor.

When the bushes were bare they stood, licking their lips, and set off again. This time both kept their eyes on the sides of the trail, looking for any more food.

"I wonder if there are any deer in this forest," Tasya said idly, thoughts still lingering on steak. The only meat you could get in Hollowfaust was pigs and goat, and then only if you were lucky. Most Hollowfausters ate nothing but vegetables and fruit.

Her sojourn in Lokil had opened her eyes to the wider world, and she'd lost no time learning to appreciate good food, good liquor, and good cigars. All the luxuries she hadn't been able to get as a member of the Order of the Eternal Cycle in The Free City-State of Hollowfaust....

Not that she didn't love her home. But she was just starting to realize how provincial it was.

Cylder was talking. She listened a moment, but he seemed to be babbling happily about some deer hunt or another he'd been on years ago, so she returned to her own thoughts. There was a lot to love about Hollowfaust. Its Sumaran ruins gave it a grandeur and beauty she hadn't found in Lokil, and its patrols of the walking dead had given it a sense of safety she deeply missed along the road. People were sedate and polite, and if they were a touch on the conservative side, at least you always knew where you stood in Hollowfaust. The rules were strict but clear. And it didn't have any of the overcrowding or pollution she'd seen in other big cities...

Her foot sank in water and Tasya swore, backpedaling. Cylder bumped into her from behind, and for a moment they both staggered, clutching each other's arms and blinking as if rousing from a dream.

"Hey, where the hell are we?" Cylder asked for the third time that day, looking around. "And why is it so dark?"

Tasya pushed back her wide-brimmed hat, looking up. It was dark. She pulled off her smoked spectacles, tucking them into her coat pocket, but it didn't make much difference. The trees were thick around them, trunks gnarled and malignant-looking, leaves obscenely heavy and fleshy. The forest was sunk in twilight darkness, only the dimmest rays of sunlight managing to work their way through the labyrinth of leaves above them. The forest floor glistened with faintly silvery leaf mold.

"What time is it?" she asked. Her voice sounded small, muffled by the weight of the woods around them.

"I don't know. We haven't been walking that long ... have we?" Cylder scratched his head, slowly turning. Tasya turned, as well.

The path behind them didn't look familiar, and the trickling waters of the creek she'd stepped into didn't match any landmark on her mental map of the forest.

Although ... the water made her aware of a dryness in her mouth, a dull pounding in her temples.

"Shit," Cylder said succinctly. "We're lost."

"We've been lost since we entered the woods," she countered. Then she grimaced, realizing that she was arguing just for the sake of argument. Stupid. "Yeah. You're right. Do you have a headache, too?"

"Uh-huh." Cylder dropped a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Think it was the berries?"

"Poisoned like the rest of this place," she said with disgust. "We should have guessed."

"So, how long have we been walking around in our happy little haze?"

"Beats me." She eyed the creek, wondering if its water would be safe to drink. Probably not. "Feels like it's been a while, though, doesn't it?"

Cylder started to answer, then snapped his mouth shut as a wolf's howl rose through the forest, swiftly joined by three more voices. He and Tasya exchanged grim looks. There wouldn't be any normal wolves in the Hornsaw Forest — these would be worgs, or worse.

And worgs would have no trouble at all tracking two humans still battered and bloody from their skirmish the day before.

"We can wade through the creek," Tasya suggested, drawing Retort from the scabbard strapped across her back. Cylder already had his sword out, fingers flexing on the hilt. "Maybe they won't smell us."

"Yeah, but if we backtrack, we might -"

The howls began again, and the hair on the back of Tasya's neck prickled. She'd never heard wolves so close before. Cylder narrowed his eyes, looking around as he tried to guage the direction they were coming from.

"Every day's a good day to die," Tasya muttered, thinking of Nemorga's marble mansion, "but being eaten by dogs is just plain insulting. Let's go."

Cylder nodded and they both stepped into the creek. He took the lead, following it downstream. Tasya kept looking over her shoulder, all too aware of the water soaking into her coat, making it heavier each moment.

"Where there's motion, there's life," Brianne Mainchin had said, giving all her students a sharp look. An old woman in her seventies, Brianne didn't look dangerous. Looks were deceiving. For their first lesson, she had let all of the children attack her at once and had ducked, dodged, and thrown them off without even breaking a sweat. "Never allow anything to restrict your movement or you are allowing it to drag you that much closer to death. And you'll get there fast enough as it is — no need to arrive any sooner than necessary."

Tasya grinned humorlessly, feeling her coat dragging at her heels. Brianne would certainly have some cutting things to say to her, if she were here. No doubt she'd get a chance to say them all when they finally met again in Nemorga's mansion.

No need to arrive any sooner than necessary, though. She glanced over her shoulder again, then started as another howl rose. Her heart pounded wildly. That was a worg for sure.

"Tanil save us," Cylder prayed nervously. "It's close. We should get up on the bank, put our backs against a tree."

Tasya eyed the forest around them and shook her head.

"Not me," she said, digging into her pocket with her free hand. She pulled out the cigar, bit off the end, and clamped the rest between her teeth. Screw it. The worgs were already on their scent. "The trees look just as likely to eat us as the worgs."

"Look, if I can, I'll hold them off," Cylder said grimly, hefting his shield. Its symbol of Corean looked dull in the dim light. "You run like hell."

"You're a gentleman, Sir Cylder," she said, grinning tightly around the cigar as she scraped a tindertwig against the nearest dry rock. Flame flared and she lit up. "But I'm too tired to run. It's eat or be eaten time. Got any good recipes for worg?"

"I usually baste 'em with a bloodberry marinade, but..." Cylder returned her bleak grin.

"Heh." She blew a long, low puff of smoke and turned, feeling his back against hers as they waited. The worgs were crashing through the undergrowth, getting closer by the moment. All right, Corean, she prayed, muttering almost noiselessly around her cigar. How about some help here? She usually didn't petition the god of fire and war, not after what had happened to her family, but since Cylder was a worshipper, she figured Corean might be inclined to lend a hand. She chewed on the cigar, wondering whether dropping it on some dry leaves might set the Hornsaw Forest on fire and whether Corean would appreciate the gesture or not.

She shuddered. No. Given a choice of deaths, she'd rather be eaten in the frying pan than crisped in the fire.

The crashing stopped. She stiffened and felt Cylder shift behind her. Heavy panting and a thick, rank smell announced the worgs before they stepped through the trees and onto the banks of the creek.

Both humans swore, eyes flickering up from the four worgs to their hunched, humanoid riders. Needle-sharp teeth gleamed as the riders smiled in triumph.

Red Witch Slitheren.

I hope you stock good cigars in the Underworld, Nemorga, Tasya thought fleetingly, and then Cylder howled fit to rival the worgs, voice rising in a wild war-cry. He lunged up the creek bank, hacking at the nearest beast.

For a split second Tasya thought he'd gone crazy, and then she saw one of the Slitheren lift a hand and realized what he was doing. The ratmen were spellcasters.

The thought spurred her forward, Retort slashing sideways at another worg's face. The giant wolf jerked its head away, snarling, and its rider had to fight to control it, hissing something ugly.

Their only hope of winning this fight was to keep the Slitheren from successfully casting any spells. She spun and swung again at the other, hoping Cylder was keeping his two foes busy. Her sodden coat flapped around her legs and sweat stung the cuts on her face and arms.

A worg snapped at her, teeth catching her sleeve. She jerked back before its fangs sank into flesh. Fabric shredded and dropped from its jaws. Hot breath made her skin prickle.

She stabbed at it, but the other was snapping at her, teeth tearing at her calf. Pain shot through her leg and her teeth ground together through the cigar, mashing its end into a foul pulp.

Cylder was shouting behind her, something to Corean, but she couldn't spare him any attention. Retort slashed at a worg's flank and drew blood, but it was just a scratch. She ducked and twisted, avoiding another bite. Her foot slipped slightly in her boot, slick with water and blood.

Then the Slitheren began to chant, and Tasya spat out the remnants of her mauled cigar as arcane energy blasted into her. For split second she was in her burning house again, the darkness between the trees taking the shape of a four-armed monster.

"Anci!" she shouted, as azure light crackled and leaped across her flesh like lightning, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake.

*

You cannot have what you had, the Sire of Sorcery thundered, cradling Anci in its four arms. Tasya's little sister giggled. Her face was made of ash and slowly fell off in dark chunks as she said in Brianne's voice, where there's motion, there's life. Tasya spun, looking for help, but the necromancers were pointing to a dancing skeleton and shaking their heads, and Lazarus was trapped in a black carriage, pounding on the window. Nemorga showed her a page in his book. It had Anci's name on the top, and it was blank. She's dead, Father Yaeol said, turning away. I'm sorry. It was just a hallucination.

"Like hell it was," Tasya whispered, and tasted leaf rot and mildew.

For a moment she wondered why the afterlife would taste so bad, and then she shifted and sucked in a hard breath, pain clearing her head. Just a hallucination, indeed.

She pushed herself up, fingers digging into the mulchy ground. No sign of the worgs or Slitheren. For a moment she wondered if the whole thing had been a hallucination — maybe she'd never left the main road? — but the ominous forest around her dispelled that hope.

She drew a leg under her, grimaced as wounds opened, and slowly, unsteadily stood. Her sword was in front of her. She picked it up and wiped it on her coat. Her arm and shoulder muscles ached as she slid it back into its scabbard on her back. She felt stiff — she must have been unconscious for some time.

Deep paw prints marred the loam around her. She turned.

Cylder was dead, his throat torn out. His sword was covered with blood and matted hair, and his shield was dented. He'd gone down fighting.

"Shit." She limped over to him and crouched. The blood was already turning black. Flies buzzed around the wound.

Maybe the Slitheren had left them both for dead?

Not likely. She had a bad feeling that something else was to blame for their absence, something uncanny. She wiped leaf mold from her face and glared at the raven that was watching her from a nearby rock.

"Go away. I'm not dead yet," she whispered to it. It croaked and bobbed its head up and down, as if agreeing. She gave it a crooked grin that quickly faded as she looked down at Cylder's corpse again. Poor guy. He'd complained a lot, but he'd had guts. It didn't seem right to leave his body here in the Hornsaw Forest. She hadn't had a chance to bring Aidan with them, but....

"Least I can do is get you out of here," she whispered, drawing Retort again. She looked around once more to make sure nothing was creeping up on her. Only the raven was there, head cocked, watching with open curiosity. She made a face at it, then plunged her sword into the wound that had killed her companion.

"Da robur, fer auxilium in articulu mortis," she murmured. Retort's hilt grew cold beneath her fingers. The corpse suddenly shifted and collapsed in on itself as flesh fell off its bones in a state of advanced putrefaction. Moments later the skeleton was clean, nothing but a minimum of leathery ligaments left to bind the bones together. She lifted the sword and put it back into its sheath. "Stand and follow me."

Cylder's skeleton awkwardly stood, platemail clanking as it hung loosely from the bare bones. She tightened the straps of its armor and belt, then replaced the sword in its scabbard. There, that would do. Cylder's soul might be gone, but at least his body looked respectable.

A tree branch snapped. Both she and the raven froze, looking in the direction of the sound.

Where there's motion, there's life, Tasya reminded herself. She thought of the necromancers in her dream. Or unlife. Either way, it's time to get moving. She limped into the shadows, snatching up her hat as she went.

Cylder's skeleton and the raven both followed like a dark shadow.

*

It took her four days to find a way out. She saw no sign of the Red Witch Slitheren, but plenty of other things lurked in the forest. Tasya avoided them as best as she could. Basilisks, goblins, spiders, a hag. There was nothing in the forest she dared to eat, little she dared to drink, and not a thing to light up and smoke. Her only solace was that she was able to grab a few minutes of sleep here and there, silently guarded by Cylder's bones.

By the time she staggered into open air she felt a little like a wild animal, herself, twisted and corrupted by the Hornsaw Forest's evil energies. The sun was bright, bringing tears to her stinging eyes. She fumbled her spectacles out of her pockets, twisting the wire frames straight again and pulling them on. She blinked rapidly, looking around.

"Thank you, Nemorga and Tanil," she said hoarsely, seeing the road. "And Corean," she added, for Cylder's sake.

The raven cawed. He was perched on Retort's hilt, over her shoulder. She'd shooed him away once or twice, thinking that he might be some kind of spy for the forest's darker denizens, but he kept coming back. Finally she'd given up and let him stay, dubbing him Mephistopheles after smooth-tongued, insistent demon who was a stock character in Hollowfaust's festival parades. To her surprise, the raven seemed to respond to the name.

Well, first things first. She'd promised Cylder she'd get him out of the forest, and that was done. She wouldn't mind keeping him around a little longer, but people had a curious prejudice against undead outside of Hollowfaust.

She hunted around until she found a small gully several yards from the main road.

"Lie down," she directed, pointing. Once Cylder's body was properly positioned, she freed it with a quickly muttered "ultimum vale, and thanks, pal."

Nothing about the skeleton changed, but she felt Retort chill a moment against her back, and Mephistopheles squawked in protest, hopping from foot to foot. Her control over the skeleton vanished, and it was just a bunch of bones and platemail again.

She limped back to the road.

"So, which way?" she asked, rhetorically. The mountains were beyond the forest, so she must be —

Mephistopheles cawed and flew off, landing on a tree ahead of her. Beady black eyes glittered as he watched her, waiting.

"I was going to go that way, anyway," she said, walking toward it. He cawed back, mockingly, and dropped onto Retort's hilt again as she passed. "Watch your language," she warned him, darkly. "I'm hiring a wizard first chance I get, to find out what's going through that little bird brain of yours."

Mephistopheles clicked and croaked to himself, and she had the strangest, surest feeling he was laughing at her.

*

"What do you mean, he's my familiar?" Tasya demanded, glaring. "That's impossible."

Marcus Iovis shrugged, leaning back in his chair. The gold she'd paid for the consultation gleamed on the desk in front of him, matching the gilt on the spines of the books that lined the shelves around him.

"Clearly it's not," he said silkily, watching her through hooded eyes. "You should be happy, Miss Lorencz. Sorcery is the crudest form of magic, true, but it's still enough to elevate you above the peasantry."

She let the arrogance pass, still astounded by his initial declaration.

"Look, check me again," she said, leaning on his desk. "Maybe you got your spells mixed up or something."

"Certainly. It will cost you another fifty..." his eyes flickered to the coins, "'pentacles,' isn't that what you Hollowfausters call your currency?"

She hissed impatiently. She'd already spent more than she liked obtaining room, board, and a bath. The prices in decadent New Vesh were extortionate.

"Besides, I assure you, I haven't made a mistake." He stood, rich robes rustling softly as he moved from around the desk. Iovis was a typical Calastian, rich, patrician, and filled with disdain for everyone else in the world. "Permit me to demonstrate." He opened his office door. "Furor, an experiment, if you please."

A black cat streaked into the room and leaped. Tasya felt a surge of panic and swept out an arm, knocking the cat off course and getting a neat row of claw marks across the back of her hand in return. Furor tumbled to the floor and hissed at her, ears flat against its skull.

"Violence wasn't necessary," Iovis said, eyeing her. "Furor wasn't going to hurt either of you."

"He was going to eat Mephistopheles," she objected, scowling at him. The cuts stung and she raised them to her mouth, licking the blood away.

Iovis smiled knowingly.

"Empathic link. Your familiar panicked and passed his emotions on to you. As you grow more skilled in magic, the two of you will develop clearer lines of communication, as Furor and I have."

Tasya craned her neck around to give Mephistopheles a look. The raven's feathers were ruffled, and it meekly tugged at a strand of her hair, as if in apology.

"I don't get it," she said, looking back at the wizard. "The best necromancers in Hollowfaust said I didn't have any magic left. It was all burned out of me when I was seven."

"Oh, well, necromancers," Iovis said with disdain. "What can you expect from a group of small-minded wizards who waste their energies on the dead instead of the living? I take it you were in some kind of accident?"

"Yeah." She narrowed her eyes. She didn't like his casual dismissal of her masters, but this wasn't the time to argue.

"And all of your ability stopped until just recently. You've just been in another accident, I imagine, or some other sort of highly emotional event?"

"I guess you could say that...."

His smile oozed superficial charm.

"Of course, of course. And your ability woke up again. Very common. The arcane literature is full of such cases." He waved a slender hand at the shelves around him. "Calastian literature, that is. I doubt our scholarship has reached such backwater realms as Hollowfaust yet. When we take it over we'll rectify such ignorance."

Furor sprang to the desk and sat next to his master, yellow eyes fixed on Mephistopheles. Tasya felt a prickle of nerves, but this time she could sense the difference between her own feelings and the raven's. She pushed the avian uneasiness away, wishing she had a cigar to help her think. It didn't seem likely that the necromancers could have made such a simple misdiagnosis, but she couldn't deny that she had some kind of link to the bird. And ravens were pretty common familiars in Hollowfaust.

"So you're saying I'm a sorcerer?"

"Yes. Presumably you could have become a wizard had you received proper training as a child, but no...." He shrugged elegantly. "Your ability has manifested in a less disciplined fashion. I suggest you learn to control it as soon as possible."

She raked her hair out of her face, considering that. Could the return of her magic tie in to the Red Witch Slitheren having left so suddenly, or was it just coincidence? She didn't feel any different. If magic was inside of her someplace, she didn't have the faintest idea how to call it and use it.

Iovis was right. She was going to need training. For a moment she entertained the thought of going back to Hollowfaust, and then she shook her head. She was a member of the Order, and she had work to do. Delays were acceptable; desertion of duty was not.

Iovis was watching her smugly, one hip resting against the desk.

"Heh." She recognized that self-satisfied look. "So how much will learning how to cast spells cost me?"

"I think we can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement," he said, eyes sliding across her body. He leaned forward. "You're a bit on the scrawny side for my tastes, but perhaps -"

She caught his wrist as his smooth, well-manicured fingers came within inches of her left breast.

"Do I look like a whore, Iovis?" she asked, glaring at him and imagining breaking every one of the two hundred and six bones in his body. He smiled smoothly, pulling his hand back. She released it.

"Not at all," he said easily. "A whore would take better care of her appearance." She snarled as he continued. "A hundred pentacles and that sword on your back. My bodyguard could use a new weapon."

"Not a chance. I know what this sword is as well as you do."

He smirked.

"Then it'll be two hundred pentacles and service as my apprentice for the duration of your training."

"What kind of service, and for how long?" she shot back suspiciously.

"Research, lab work, whatever odd jobs might need doing that are beyond the limited capacities of my servants," he said, sounding bored. "As far as 'how long,' that all depends on you. Two or three months, perhaps, if you apply yourself. That ought to be enough to keep you from accidentally setting fire to anything, at least. As a mere sorcerer, you needn't concern yourself with the subtleties of the art."

Tasya pushed her spectacles up higher to make it harder for Iovis to read her expression. Two hundred pentacles was high but not unreasonable, and she was used to hard work. As long as he kept his sleazy hands off her, it might not be so bad. She was glad Mephistopheles was here to keep an eye on her. She wouldn't put it past Iovis to try a charm spell, but she'd have a little heart-to-heart with the raven tonight and make sure he pecked the hell out of her if she started taking off her clothes around the wizard.

"Draw up a contract," she said at last. "I'll sign it tomorrow morning."

"Very good. I admit to being curious about Hollowfaust — I'm sure you'll tell me all about it during the course of our acquaintance."

"Yeah," she said, resolving to lie through her teeth about the city's defenses. Damn Calastians. She was going to have to watch everything she said and did over the next few months, to keep from giving away anything significant. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Bring your bags. You'll stay in the servants' quarters and wear the house livery while you work for me."

She shot him an annoyed look. Keeping a staff in livery was pretentious for a Calastian living this far away from the imperial seat, but Iovis was clearly full of himself.

"If I have to," she said at last, ungracefully. She'd seen the uniform on the servants who'd let her into the house. It didn't look too awful. She'd be able to put up with it for a few months, anyway. "But I'm wearing a guard's breeches, not a maid's skirt."

"How very unladylike."

"Go ahead, tell me I look like a lady." She gave him a hard look. "I'm an adept. You can add fighting for you to my list of duties, if you want, but I'm not wearing anything that'll keep me from moving quickly."

He looked piqued but waved a hand in regal acquiescence. "Very well. Oh, and one more thing."

"What?"

He stepped forward, close to her, head dipping down slightly. She tensed, one hand curling into a fist, but he only sniffed slightly and then straightened. One thin lip curled with distaste.

"I do not permit smoking in the house."

She grimaced. Mephistopheles chortled in her ear.

"I hope you're a good teacher, Iovis."

"A teacher is only as good as his pupil." Iovis gave her a patently false smile and pulled on a bellcord. "I look forward to working with you. My servants will show you out."

Tasya shook her head as she left. And here she thought she'd escaped the ratmen.