“What a fool you are to return here, little human! Do you care so much for a mere purra that you are willing to sacrifice your own life in a futile attempt to save her? You are breathing hard—you have been running. Did you fear that she would die unless you hastened back? Her blood is sweet and I sip it sparingly, savoring every mouthful. She will live for many days before I finally drain her.”

The creature rose to its feet and turned to face me. It had shrunk and was now barely taller than me. When it spoke, I saw that its teeth and lips were stained red with Jenny’s blood.

“Once sated, I would have hunted you down and slain you anyway. In truth, by returning, all you have done is hasten your demise. Though I have to admit, I am puzzled. I used boska to render you unconscious—a magic that has never before failed me. When I breathed into your face, it seemed as effective as usual. But the spell should have lasted for many days, unless I administered an antidote. How can it be that after just one short hour you have returned to consciousness?”

Its words made me realize how close I had come to disaster. Somehow, against all the odds, I had survived; better still, my recovery had taken the beast by surprise. I wondered if it was something else that I had inherited from Mam. Had my lamia blood enabled me to resist the full effect of this magic . . . whatever it was?

Without replying to the question, I took a step forward and prepared to strike. The creature smiled, muttered a few words, and advanced on me. It seemed totally confident that its magic would render me powerless.

For a second I was certain of this too. Iron and salt had proved useless against the beast, as had my silver chain. What if Grimalkin’s magic was ineffective here too? After all, this was not any sort of human mage I was facing. . . . One way or another, I was about to find out!

I swung the sword straight at the beast’s head.

The creature quickly moved backward, but the tip of my blade caught it just above the left eye. There was an expression of surprise on its face as blood began to trickle down its cheek. It muttered again—no doubt some spell. So I gripped the Starblade more tightly, hoping that the sword and Grimalkin’s magic would prove effective against this unknown power.

There was nothing special about the appearance of the weapon. The hilt was not ornate, and the blade was a dull brown, as if covered with rust. But the balance was perfect for me, and Grimalkin had told me that it would never need to be sharpened.

“Your sword, little human—I have never encountered its like!” exclaimed the creature.

Then it did the last thing I expected: it turned and ran. There had to be some reason, I thought. Perhaps it had gone to get a weapon?