In a minute or so, the last of the table turns to ash and sawdust and I’m free. Well, free-ish. I still have three magic-warding nails stuck in my hand. I bolt toward Sastre, hoping I can tackle her and at least get the lighter away. She turns at the sound, my only chance of catching her unawares shot.

The look on her face is confusion at first, then rage. Then she pulls a knife and runs at me.

That’s right, sweetheart. Run right into the time-bending pocket watch. Except she doesn’t. Stupidly I’ve got it held out in front of me, waiting for her to come in close, but she’s faster than I thought, and before I can tap the crown she kicks it out of my hand. It skitters across the cement out of sight.

She slashes at me, just a little too far away. She cuts across my chest, but it’s too shallow to do any real damage.

I get in past her arm and get an elbow into her face. There’s a loud pop, and blood streams from her nose. She sweeps her leg and knocks me onto my ass. In the long run, I can tell, she’s going to win. I’m at more of a disadvantage. I’m not going to last much longer in the state I’m in, and the second I miss a block it’s game over.

She raises the knife over her head and leaps down on me like a wrestler. I block her arm with mine, knocking it aside. I realize too late that it’s left me open on one side. But she’s exposed, too. If I had a weapon . . .

Oh, wait. I do have a weapon. I slam the palm of my left hand hard against the side of her neck, the nails sticking out of my hand punching through her flesh and into her throat.

A flare of agony washes up my arm and I want to pass out and throw up at the same time. It’s a toss-up which one of us it hurt more. I’m going with her. I’m just in pain. She’s fountaining blood. At most I think I nicked the artery, but she’s still pumping out an awful lot of blood.

“Yeah? How ya like them apples?” I yell, more than a little hysterical. What the hell does that even mean? She gurgles as blood fills her throat and runs down her neck. I push her off of me. She rolls to her feet and hops up. I figure we’re going to have another go-round. If we do, I don’t think I’ll live through it.

Instead, hand pressed hard against her neck, she runs, lighting the Zippo and letting it pass over a few pallets as she does, all of them bursting into blue flame.