She failed.

As she tumbled in an ungainly manner onto the hallway’s floorboards, I stepped forward and pressed the point of the knife against her neck, just hard enough to draw a drop of blood. She stilled instantly.

Then I knelt, placed my hand on her arm, and said, with the force of my controlling magic behind me, “You will not spell, you will not attempt to flee, and you will answer any and all questions given. Otherwise, this damn knife will do more than just prick your skin. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to step away, and you will rise and face me. Clear?”

She didn’t immediately answer. I pressed the knife just a little bit harder into her skin, and she quickly said, “Yes.”

I moved back but held the knives at the ready. She couldn’t cast with my orders riding roughshod over her free will, but I wasn’t about to take chances. If she was here to target me, then she more than likely knew what I was and could have developed a spell or acquired some other means of short-circuiting my orders. There were psi-repelling tokens out there, though they were a bit hit-and-miss when it came to pixie controlling magic.

She climbed slowly to her feet, a slight hiss escaping her lips suggesting she might have been injured, then turned. She had black hair, thin features, and rose tatt running down the left side of her face.

I knew her.

Or more precisely, knew who she was because I’d seen a newspaper article about her.

Our spellcaster was none other than Peregrine Stace.

The woman from one of Nialle’s newspaper clippings. A woman who had supposedly died.

Chapter Eleven

“Well,” I said, “I’m guessing you didn’t die after all.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What the hell are you talking about, woman?”

“You’re supposedly dead. Obviously, that’s untrue, because here you are.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong—”

“You know,” I cut in, “if you’re going to fake your death and claim a new identity, why not go the extra step and erase—or at least change—the very identifiable tattoo on your face?”

She didn’t answer.

My gaze narrowed. Granted, I hadn’t started off asking specific questions, but that bit about her tatt had been one, and she shouldn’t have been able to ignore it. That could only mean she was at least partially protected from pixie directives.

“Are you in possession of a magic counter or token?”

More silence. She was definitely on possession of a token of some kind.

“Raise your arms to shoulder level and stand utterly still.”

Again, no obedience. I repeated the order, this time with more magical force, and she finally raised her arms. I stepped close, carefully patted her down, and found the token lightly sewn into her right sock. I sliced it free with the knife and then studied it. It was an air-dried clay coin about the same size as a penny and had multiple tiny symbols etched onto its surface.