“Call them.” With a snarl, I unsheathed another knife, pointing one at each of them. Backing into the parish wall. “Call them all. There are witches near, and they’ve taken someone I—”

They dove at me simultaneously. Though I dodged the bearded man, his friend’s sword clipped my side. Gritting my teeth, I blocked his counterstrike, but others joined now—too many. Far too many. Blades glinted in every direction, and where one failed, a fist connected. A boot. An elbow. A scabbard smashed into my skull, and stars blurred my vision. When I doubled over, someone drove a knee into my face. Another my groin, my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Wrapping my arms around my head, I attempted to bowl through the mob, but I crashed to my knees instead, spitting blood. The blows kept coming. Violent, frenzied shouts echoed from everywhere at once. My head swam with them.

A strange, whispering energy thrummed in my chest, building and building until—

“That’s enough!” A familiar voice cut through the din, and the foot on my back vanished. “Stop it! Let him go!” I felt rather than saw him approach. My eyes had swollen shut. Still, two hands gripped under my arms and heaved until I stood vertical, and his arm wrapped around my bloody waist.

“Jean Luc,” I croaked, prying my right eye open. Never before had I been so pleased by his presence.

“Shut up,” he said harshly.

Perhaps not.

He swung his Balisarda wide, and those nearest us lurched back with sounds of protest. “This creature belongs to the Church now, and we shall deal with it accordingly—on a stake in Cesarine. Did you think your fists could kill it? Did you think a sword to the heart would do?” He sneered derisively like only he could. “Witches must burn. Here now, watch me subdue the creature!” When he lifted a syringe, I pushed away from him, lunging for my fallen knives. He laughed coldly and kicked my knees. I sprawled into the snow. Bearing down on me, bending low, he pretended to stick the needle in my throat and whispered, “Play along.”

My muscles sagged in relief.

He rolled me to my back with the tip of his boot. “You there”—pointing to the bearded man, he jerked his chin toward his horse—“help me move the body. It shall burn within the fortnight.” Hastily, the man complied, and together, the two heaved my body upward. “Onto the saddle,” Jean Luc commanded.

The man hesitated in confusion. “Sir?”

Jean Luc’s eyes narrowed as he realized his mistake. “I meant tie him to the saddle. I’ll drag him behind to Cesarine.”

“Him?”

“It,” Jean Luc snapped. “I’ll drag it to Cesarine, you impertinent clot. Perhaps you’d like to join?”