Now that I was certain she was pretty securely tied to the chair, I stepped back next to David and studied our captive.

“She seems . . . younger,” he said at last. “I thought she was too young to work at a college before, but now that I really look at her . . .”

She was young. Barely out of her teens, I’d guess. I looked at her crooked nose, wondering if I should feel guilty. But then I thought of her leaping over that desk, blade in hand.

Nope. No guilt here.

Moaning, she started to stir. “What are we going to do?” David whispered.

“Question her,” I replied. My blood continued to drip steadily on the beige carpet, and underneath the fluorescent lights, David looked greenish. Outside, the leaves of a giant magnolia tree beat softly against the window.

“We can’t . . . are you going to kill her?” I didn’t think it was possible for David to look any more wretched, but as he turned to me, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, I was worried he might throw up.

And I didn’t know how to answer him. I honestly hadn’t thought about that. Meet this chick, question her, get a little more info on what was going on—that had been my whole agenda. But David was right, it wasn’t like we could just leave her here. And she had tried to kill me. Before I could think through that any further, Blythe’s eyes fluttered open.

They rolled around in her head for a second before coming to land on me. “You are a heck of a lot tougher than you look,” she said, her voice thick.

I folded my arms over my chest. “Who are you?” I’d seen enough movies to know this was the part where the bad guys usually laughed and started spitting in people’s faces, but the girl nodded at her name tag.

“Like it says on the freaking pin. Blythe.” There was no hint of a Southern accent in her voice now.

“Yeah, right,” David muttered next to me, but I ignored him.

“I don’t mean your name.” I’d only ever interrogated one person—a freshman cheerleader named Tori Bishop. Of course then, I’d been asking about some car wash money that had gone missing, not my potential murder. Still, I figured the technique would be basically the same. Clenching my jaw, I narrowed my eyes at Blythe. “I mean . . . what are you? You’re not a Paladin—”

Blythe snorted and then winced. “Obviously. And since I’m clearly not an Oracle”— she jerked her head at David—“why don’t you use the process of elimination?”

“You’re a Mage,” David said, mimicking my pose. “Like my— Like Saylor Stark.”

Blythe surged against the cords holding her, eyes suddenly fierce. “No, I am nothing like Saylor Stark. I do my damn job. I am loyal to the people who gave me this power.”