The man’s dark gaze glittered. He said in accented English, “I was fond of that car.”

“Who are you?” She studied him. She was all but certain he was Russian, but she couldn’t reconcile this young man’s brash confidence with the slyness of the ancient witch in Josiah’s story. “Why are you doing this?”

“That is none of your business. I have been given a job to do, and I will do it.” He strode toward her.

“Killing me isn’t going to solve anything,” she told him. “I’ve already given all the information I know to the authorities. People know where I am.”

“I have had this conversation before with others.” He smiled. “Next, no doubt, you will beg. It is all useless. I do not change my mind, and I have no pity. I will make sure you aren’t alive to testify to anything in this ridiculous country’s court of law.”

She turned cold and calm. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know who you are, and I have no grudge against you. Go now before you do something you can’t take back. Book a flight, get out of here, and never look back. This is not worth your life.”

The strange warlock smiled. “Do you think I am the only one you have to worry about, that you can send me slinking away with my tail between my legs? You may have acquired some Power, but you have a lot to learn, Molly Sullivan.”

A rush of raven wings touched the edge of her hearing, and she smiled too. “You’ve been warned.”

He threw his hand out toward her, fingers splayed. She recognized the gesture. She had made it herself many times over the past several months. His palm was tattooed. She didn’t have time to decipher what the image was.

She dove to one side. Again, she wasn’t as fast as she needed to be. The invisible edge of a massive blow clipped her right shoulder.

Spinning, she staggered and went down on one knee. Damn. That was going leave a hell of a bruise.

Watching him warily, she shook magic out of her left hand. When it formed a whip, she lashed out. His eyes bulged as the whip caught him around the neck, and he staggered and went to his knees too.

It was hard to do, but she closed her fingers, and the magic whip tightened around his neck. He made a choking noise and clawed at his throat.

Could she kill him this way? She’d never so much as killed what she ate for supper, and this felt intimate and ugly, as if she were pressing her own fingers to his flesh. Her intention faltered, and she swallowed hard against a wave of nausea.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out something black and threw it at her.