He cocked his head, growing more fascinated as she talked. “A defensive spell… You aren’t worried about it melting off if you sweat or get wet?”

“These runes are stronger and a bit more permanent than the one I painted on Gawain.” She gave him a crooked grin. “I used tiny magic-sensitive silver shavings in clear nail polish for these. They won’t come off for a couple of days, unless I scratch or peel them off or take them off with nail polish remover.”

Nail polish. Polish remover. He let the foreign, feminine words wash over him as he watched the hint of mischief that played across her expression while she spoke.

“What do the other runes do?”

“Some are defensive, and others are offensive.” She held up one palm. “This one is telekinetic. It’s strong enough to knock a troll on its ass.” She held up her other palm. “This other one creates confusion. If I slapped your face with this one, you wouldn’t be able to find your car keys for hours even if they were in your pocket. I used it once on a drunk guy who tried to grope me. By the time the spell wore off, he was sober enough to drive home. They’re all one-use-only spells, and they all require contact. I don’t have much in the way of long-range weapons, which is why I miss my gun so much.”

He knew how to cast webs of confusion so that the unwary might wander for hours lost in the spell. He also knew how to cast a glamour that could snare one into believing every word he said, and how to make ancient sleeping roads speak, but he was surprised that she had learned such proficiency so young.

He said slowly, “You created all these, yourself?”

“No, not really.” She let her hands fall to her side. “My teacher taught me the basics and how to make the colloidal silver, and I have an affinity for runes, so I put the one thing together with the other and got creative. I think there might be some interesting applications with permanent tattooing, if you could stand to have the silver tattooed into your skin and knew how to renew the spells when they had been used, but I’m too human, and that much silver would be toxic for my system, so I haven’t pursued it.”

She was clever and inventive. He liked that too. He liked her, which was the biggest surprise to come out of the whole evening.

He felt the impulse to reach out and trace one of the runes and had to restrain himself. “Teach me how to cast the null spell the way you do,” he said. “And sell me a vial of your colloidal silver.”

“Why?” Now it was her turn to give him a narrow look.

“Because with your technique, I can call the eight men who remain to spend the evening together, or even a night or two. We could set one of us apart to stand as guard and even set up shifts, while the rest can talk and rest.” He paused. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to do that.”

She looked shaken, as she had when he had talked of Morgan breaking the crossover passageway. “That’s all you have left, eight people?”

He felt his expression turn stony, as it always did when he focused on bearing the unbearable. “Of the Dark Court warriors on this side of the passageways, yes, just eight men—nine, including myself. Others of the Dark Court who are not warriors and have been barred from returning home are either spending their lives in hiding, or they have emigrated to other countries.”

“I’m sorry.” Reaching out, she brushed the tips of her fingers across the back of his fist.

The fleeting touch made him clench his fist tighter to keep from grasping her hand, an odd, unwelcome urge. “As our numbers have dwindled, so too have our options. Once, we would have been able to gather in strength and hold our own against any attack. Now we need to be much more wary. And like you, we need to find a place to call our own. But until we do, being able to disguise our whereabouts when we meet would be the next best thing.”

“I’ll help you,” she said abruptly. “I’ll show you how to make magic-sensitive colloidal silver for yourself, and I’ll teach you how to infuse it with the null spell. There’s no need for payment.”

He gave her a long, dark look. A better man would have insisted upon paying her, but he didn’t.

A better man would have pointed out that the more she became involved with him, the more danger she was putting herself in, but he didn’t do that either.

Sophie Ross was proving that she could be very useful to him. If his people needed what she could teach him, he would take everything from her that he could get. Never mind what his old, damaged conscience might have to say about it.

His conscience wasn’t useful in helping his men or Lyonesse, so he told it to shut the hell up. He had warned her, and she had already made it clear she was capable of making her own decisions.

She didn’t have any magic runes painted in her dark hair. Obeying a wordless impulse, he reached for a stray curl and tucked it behind her ear, while her eyes went wide and she stared at him. She didn’t pull away from him either, and as he dropped his hand, his fingers stroked down the side of her face, marveling at the marble paleness of her skin and the fragile warmth of life beating underneath it.

Even knowing he could bring her death, he told her, “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Chapter Seven

Why did he touch her?

That’s what Sophie wanted to know.

Why did he touch her, and why did she let him? The whole thing was inexplicable, but he did, and she did, and when his fingers trailed down the side of her face, the muscles in her thighs shook in a fine tremor.