I didn’t dare move a muscle. He reached up with his free hand and brushed my hair away from my cheek. His other hand was still gripping the blade – I could feel it pressed against my flesh. One swift movement and he’d slice through my carotid artery. It would be adios muchachos. We were too far from any hospital; no matter what Winter did, this time I wouldn’t be coming back from the brink.
‘You don’t want to do this,’ I whispered. It was probably about the stupidest thing I’d ever said. Something about being a mere centimetre away from death was hampering my eloquence. Telling a man who was responsible for at least seven murders that he didn’t want to round that up to an even eight didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.
‘Why not, Blondie?’ Blackbeard asked. ‘Because lover boy is a witch and he’ll come after me in revenge?’ He laughed softly. ‘From what I’ve gathered, he’s already after me. Your death won’t change that.’
Arse. Weren’t evil villains supposed to be numbskulls with no brain cells to rub together? Why did I get the smart one? I breathed out. I felt strangely calm; every second that I wasn’t creating a messy pool of blood was a positive.
Blackbeard moved the blade, scraping it gently against my neck in a caressing motion. ‘I should just slit your throat,’ he said. ‘The fact that you open your legs for a witch should damn you. But I’m not a bastard and I’m not a cold-blooded murderer, either. If you’re not a magic freak then you get to live. I can’t say the same for lover boy, though. He’s already crossed the line. He should be afraid.’
It was the threat to Winter that did it for me. I leapt away and spun round, breathing heavily and glaring at Blackbeard. He didn’t look even remotely intimidated. He’d learn.
‘You’ve screwed up,’ I said. There was no need to fake the venom in my voice. The dead eyes that glittered back at me told me everything I needed to know about this prick. ‘I’m as much a witch as he is – and I’m more powerful than you could ever dream of.’
He laughed, a cold, grating noise like the sound of fingernails scraping down a blackboard. ‘If you were a witch, you’d have already tried your magic against me. You should be pleased, Blondie. You’re not a witch – it’s the only reason you’re still living.’
There was a shout from the doorway of the pub. Winter. Finally. Blackbeard’s eyes narrowed then he darted to the side. I raised my hands, ready to fling whatever I had at him and damn the consequences.
‘Ivy! No!’
The panic in Winter’s voice was enough to make me pause. I dropped my hands just as the sound of a revving engine lit the air. A single headlight flicked on, blinding me. ‘Winter, it’s him!’ I screamed. ‘We have to stop him!’
‘I’ve got this,’ he called, his voice even and calm.
Several people spilled out from the pub behind Winter. ‘What’s going on? Is there a fight?’
Blackbeard’s huge motorbike took off, speeding towards me. As I flung myself to one side, Winter raised his hands to complete a double rune. I hit the ground and rolled, twisting round to watch. Winter’s expression was filled with concentration. Not for the first time, genuine awe filled me at his ability to work under pressure. Even from this distance, I could see the spark in his sapphire-blue eyes and the deft way he flicked his fingers to complete the rune. Tough luck, Blackbeard, I thought sardonically. Your time is up.
The motorbike skidded, sending a spray of gravel towards the onlookers. Then it mounted the verge, hit the tarmacked road and sped off into the distance, its red taillight visible only for a few moments until it – and Blackbeard – disappeared round the corner.
I pulled myself up to my feet. Catching a quick glimpse of Winter’s frown, I shook out my hair and ran for his car. ‘Rafe!’ I yelled. ‘Car keys!’
The cloud passed and Winter re-focused. He reached into his pocket, his face falling. ‘They’re still upstairs,’ he ground out. He turned and ran inside. Ignoring the rigid tension that made every step jar, I ran after him.
‘Hey, are you alright?’ the barman asked. ‘You’re bleeding.’
I touched my neck where Blackbeard had cut me. My fingers came away wet and sticky. I grimaced. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll live.’ But others might not, I hissed under my breath, causing the barman and several others to pull back.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Winter reappeared, the keys jangling in his hand.
‘Long story,’ I called out, bolting back to the car. We could still catch up to Blackbeard. We could still do this. Winter unlocked the doors and we leapt inside as if the fires of hell were after us. ‘I really want to get this bastard.’
Winter nodded. ‘You and me both.’
Chapter Seven
When we limped back into the pub after two fruitless hours of driving around narrow, dark roads and scrutinising country tracks and village side streets, a crowd of happy customers turned to stare at us. I wasn’t surprised; I was caked in dried blood and Winter looked as if he were about to murder someone. If only. I stalked up to the bar and, without being asked, the barman poured me a shot of vodka. I downed it in one.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘You looked like you needed it.’ He paused. ‘Should I get the kitchen to re-heat your stew?’
The last thing I felt right now was hungry and I was ready to politely decline but Winter was more sensible. ‘That would be great,’ he said. He took my elbow and drew me over to a small table, away from the rest of the punters.
I flopped down and dropped my head into my hands. ‘We had him, Rafe. He was right here. I could have stopped him. If I’d used magic…’
‘It was just as well that you didn’t,’ he growled. ‘Anything could have happened. Besides, I had every opportunity, too. I was sure that spell had smacked right into him but…’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Maybe you were tired,’ I suggested gently. ‘It’s been a long day. We drove all the way here from Oxford then tramped across those moors in the driving rain. And you used magic out there to keep us warm.’
He shook his head vehemently. ‘No. I know myself and I know when I’ve reached the point of exhaustion where my magic will fail. I wasn’t anywhere near that point.’ He drummed his fingers against the wooden table and cursed loudly enough to upset an elderly couple enjoying a quiet sherry. Winter murmured a brief apology and looked at me. ‘Maybe he’s a witch too and he’d set up some kind of warding spell. It would have to be a damn powerful one to withstand the magic I flung at him but it wouldn’t have been impossible.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘No, I already told you. He hates witches. It was about the only time I saw any emotion in his expression. Anyway, the reason he didn’t kill me is because he assumed I wasn’t a witch because I didn’t use magic against him when I could have.’