He made a weird, breathless, huffing sound, his hands loosening long enough for Cody to draw in a ragged gasp of air, get his legs underneath him, and thrust Geoffrey away with inhuman strength. A werewolf in human shape might not be vampire-strong, but he was strong.

This time I didn’t hesitate. I dropped the canister, drew dauda-dagr, and pounced on the prat, straddling his chest and shoving the dagger’s tip under his chin, pressing almost hard enough to draw blood. His body twitched reflexively, his neck stretching in an effort to avoid contact with the dagger. Vampires don’t fear cold iron in general, but dauda-dagr is another matter.

I pushed a little harder. “Do you concede?”

Geoffrey fixed his gaze on me, working up a good dose of hypnotic allure. “The girl wants to be here, Hel’s liaison. Why must you be so cruel?”

Oops, I’d all but dropped my mental shield. I let it blaze briefly, then dwindle to a compact size again. “Just doing my job.”

Beneath me, his body tensed slightly, telegraphing his intent. Behind me, I heard Cody’s rasping voice tell Bethany, “Don’t even think about it.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either if I were you,” I said to Geoffrey. “I mean, I know you’re like ten times stronger and faster than me, and you could probably throw me across the room without breaking a sweat—which you probably don’t do anyway, right? Sweat?—but the thing is, what if my hand slips when you do?” I eased the tip of dauda-dagr from beneath his chin and let it trail up his face, laying the flat of the blade against his skin and setting the keen edge against his supercilious nose. “What do you think happens when a dagger capable of killing the immortal undead wounds undead flesh?” I mused. “You know, it’s an interesting question. I have to admit, I don’t actually know for sure. But I’m betting the wound never heals. What do you think?”

What Geoffrey the prat thought was that it was better to lose face than his nose. “I concede,” he grated.

I glanced up at Lady Eris. “Does that settle the matter, my lady?”

She inclined her head. “It does.”

Sheathing dauda-dagr, I unstraddled Geoffrey and got to my feet. Somewhat to my surprise, there were several polite golf claps.

Vampires. Go figure.

Twenty-six

Prat or not, Geoffrey Chancellor was right about one thing. Young Heather Simkus did not want to leave the House of Shadows.

Bethany led her away in tears to change out of her Salome robes and back into street attire. Cody and I stood around waiting uncomfortably until they returned ten minutes later, Heather still weeping.

She made one last plea to Lady Eris. “Do I have to go, my lady?”