His eyes half closed as his mouth twitched in a secret little smile. “Yes, it is their shine that draws us to them.” He opened his eyes to meet her gaze in the mirror, until suddenly she was sure she’d become so dizzy that she was about to topple into a pool whose undercurrents were threatening to drag her down into unfathomable depths.

She jerked back to get out of range of her own reflection. With that step, a pressure tugged against her skin, as if she were ripping away the veil of truth so she could retreat into the comfort of lies.

“It’s not what I expected,” she muttered.

“The pure-water spring? The journey through the hills? Life, with all its twists and turns?” A weighty pause, and then, “My attractive smile?”

She laughed, the sound as bright as a bell in the night. The beauty of the night made her reckless. “Maybe you aren’t an evil sorcerer after all.”

His eyebrows arched in exaggerated surprise, although she heard laughter in his tone. “Did you fear I might be?”

“You must admit a shadowy haunt lurking amid abandoned towers would seem suspicious. Even one with an attractive smile.”

“Maybe especially one with an attractive smile.” The haunt stepped back from the basin, face falling into shadow, but she could tell he was now smiling. Abruptly, before he could say more, he tensed, going alert. He had heard or sensed something. His posture shifted as he went on guard.

“We’d best return,” he began, extending an arm to sweep her back.

The snick of a light object hit the paving stones. A dart skittered across the ground and came to rest by her boot. She jumped back as a pair of sleek lynxes emerged onto an outcropping of rocks from behind a sheet of fountaining water, as if they had emerged out of the hillside itself. The big mountain cats were magnificent creatures large enough to rip off Elen’s face, should they attack.

Each was being ridden by a three-horned swalter, crossbows resting on thighs. They were a small people, the tops of their heads reaching no higher than Elen’s hip, and were belligerent brawlers or, if the pay was good enough, cunning caravan guards. These two had heads shaven short, with the crescent moon clan markings of one of the Moonrise Hills clans, but she didn’t recognize them as individuals.

They weren’t looking at her anyway. Their three-eyed faces were turned accusingly, with visible hostility, toward the haunt. He hadn’t moved at all and yet, impossibly, he seemed to take up more space, arms slightly raised as if preparing to fling something deadly at the newcomers.

Elen’s neck prickled, and she braced herself, ready for violence to break out.