“What did you want to say to me?” Klia demanded, anxious to get Mika away from the dra’gorgos-possessed husk or ghost Phania had become.

“Oh, just something I wanted to show you.” Rhazat waved her hand and a dra’gorgos materialized beside her. It smelled of rotting flesh, and coldness emanated from it.

“It can’t—” Klia began.

The dra’gorgos reached out and ripped the amulet from her neck, then placed it on the table before Rhazat.

“Ah yes, a pity about your pretty bauble, my dear,” said Rhazat, feigning concern as she lifted it up by the broken cord to admire it. “I’m afraid such things don’t work in my realm.”

The dra’gorgos came back and wrapped what passed for a hand around Klia’s throat, squeezing just enough to cut off her breath. The stink and chill of it were horrible; where it touched her felt like someone holding ice to her skin. As she struggled to pull away it reached inside her chest and imprisoned her beating heart in icicle fingers, slowing its rhythm and driving pain through her chest like a sword thrust.

“Shall I have it squeeze harder?” asked Rhazat.

Unable to get the breath to speak, Klia could barely manage to shake her head. It was useless to die like this.

Rhazat broke the spell and the horrific creature disappeared. Klia fell to her knees, hands pressed to her chest, where it still felt like a blade of ice had pierced her heart, which was beating as erratically as a wild thing in a trap now.

“Poor dear. Come, have some tea to warm you up.”

Daring not to try the dyrmagnos’s patience any further, Klia dragged herself back into her chair and sat very still, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. Rhazat poured her a dish of tea and she took it with shaking hands, glad of the warmth regardless of who had served it.

“I’m so glad we had this cozy chat, Klia,” Rhazat said. Sweeping from the room, she called back over her shoulder, “Do give Mika a good-night kiss for me.”

Klia sat alone until the pain passed, then climbed the stairs to her room. Several candles had been lit and Mika sat in the middle of the bed with his knees pulled up under his chin watching Phania, who sat by the bed, apparently telling him a story.

“Leave us,” Klia ordered.

The dead woman rose and saluted her, then gave Mika a parting grin as she went out. Klia joined him on the bed, sitting close together so they could talk in whispers.

“Lieutenant Phania says this is a good place to live, but I don’t like it,” he whispered, pulling at the neck of his red velvet jacket.

“Neither do I, Mika.” Klia stroked the boy’s hair. “Now tell me, how did you get here? Did something bring you?”