I swung Amaya back and forth, and imagined her flames wrapping around the unseen and revealing their presence.
Fingers of lilac fire immediately swept across the empty beach, the arc wide at first, then gradually narrowing, until they formed a fist around emptiness.
Only it wasn't empty.
Very few people have such control on the plane, huntress, he said, as he reappeared. The flames cast an odd purple light across his skin, and made it look like he was wearing a bejeweled death mask.
It was a death mask that held no features.
I shivered—an action that reverberated across the faded beach. Taylor smiled. I smell your fear, huntress. It is a fine scent.
Him so pleasant, Amaya commented.
Amusement ran through me, though it did little to lessen the tension. My sword seemed to be gaining a sense of humor, and though I wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not, it was certainly better than her continual screaming for a kill.
Kill good.
Maybe her bloodthirstiness was rubbing off on me, because I could only wholeheartedly agree that killing Taylor would be good. But it could happen only in the umbra, and we weren't there yet.
Fear is a useful tool, I commented. It sharpens the reflexes.
I wondered if Amaya's fire was capable of dragging Taylor onto the next level, if only because it would be a whole lot easier—not to mention less painful—if I could. I briefly imagined her flames dragging him closer, and though they rippled and moved, nothing changed—certainly not Taylor's position.
Which in turn meant her flames might not actually have him contained. Maybe he was simply pretending to be so in an attempt to lure me into a false sense of security.
God, the bastard had me second-guessing everything I did.
But is it so useful? he said. Perhaps we should test this theory of yours, huntress.