“That’s a bloody damn lie.” Outraged by the insult, the hunter moved closer. “I could kill you before you take another breath. I don’t need this mirror to finish you off.”

Owen gathered what was left of his strength. It took almost everything he had, but he managed to move his hand back to his ankle. His fingers touched the sheath strapped to his leg.

“You’re burning a lot of energy keeping that mirror hot,” he rasped. “You’re exhausting your talent.”

“Unlike you, I’ve got plenty to spare,” the hunter snarled.

The paranormal brilliance was definitely fainter now. The hunter did not realize how much energy he was using to wield the mirror. He was too excited, too focused on the thrill of the kill. Emotions were always the enemy when it came to this sort of thing, Owen thought.

“You’re definitely weakening,” Owen said. “You won’t be able to finish this.”

“Let’s find out,” the hunter growled.

The blinding paranormal radiance flashed once more, sending another searing wave of energy across Owen’s senses. In the next instant the terrible light winked out like a gas lamp that had been turned down.

“Damn thing is broken,” the hunter said. “But I told you, I don’t need it.”

“Not broken. You don’t have enough strength left to focus it.”

“Bastard. I’ll show you who is weak.”

The hunter hurled the mirror aside. It clanged on the paving stones. Owen was vaguely aware that he did not hear the sound of glass breaking, but there was no time to analyze the implications.

The hunter rushed toward him, moonlight glinting on the knife in his hand. He was not nearly as fast as he had been at the start of the confrontation. He had used too much energy controlling the paranormal weapon. But he was still quick and savage, still enraged.

Freed of the pressure of the mirror, Owen could breathe freely again. But when he tried to heighten his talent he got no response.

He yanked the knife out of the ankle sheath. The hunter reached for him, intending to lock him in a choke hold and secure him for the killing slash across the throat.

Owen twisted onto his side, managing just barely to avoid the hunter’s hand. He brought the knife up in the same instant, felt it sink deep into flesh.

The hunter grunted, recovering his balance with startling speed, and leaped back. The quick action caused him to pull free of the knife. Blood gushed forth from his chest.

For a split second, the hunter did not seem to comprehend what had happened. He looked down at the blood spraying out of his body, and then he raised his head to stare at Owen.

“No,” he said. “No, it’s not possible. You’re not a hunter.”

“You should not have called her a whore,” Owen said softly. “In my family we do not allow anyone to insult our women.”

The hunter stared, horrified and bewildered, for another second. He crumpled to the pavement.

Dragging in a lungful of air, Owen called on what was left of his resources to haul himself to his feet. It took just about everything he had left to stagger the short distance to the body. He knew before he checked for a pulse that the hunter was dead, but he crouched down and put his fingers on the man’s throat. When it came to their work, Sweetwaters were always thorough.

He heard the others in the lane, but his head was spinning now. He tried to focus. One man, he decided, moving very fast, hunter-fast.

“Uncle Owen, are you all right?” Matt stopped at the sight of the body. “What happened?”

Alarm slashed through Owen. “You left Virginia alone?”

“What? No, sir, of course not. Tony is with her. She couldn’t keep up with us, so they sent me on ahead. They’ll be along any moment now.”

“What the devil? You allowed her out of the house?”

“Couldn’t stop her, sir. She said you were in terrible danger. Said we had to find you. Insisted on coming with us. He looked at the body. “Who is this?”

“Hunter-talent. Someone named Newton gave him a commission to kill me.”

“Bloody hell.” Matt surveyed him with concern. “Looks like he came close. Are you all right?”

Owen ignored the question. He was on the verge of passing out. He had to stay focused awhile longer.

“Make sure you get the weapon,” he said.

“What weapon?”

“I don’t know what it is. Never got a good look at it. He called it the Quicksilver Mirror. I heard him drop it on the pavement.”

Owen turned to search the darkened street. The small movement cost him his balance. A great gray fog was enveloping his mind. He would have gone down to his knees if Matt hadn’t caught his arm.

With Matt’s help he made his way the short distance to the weapon. It resembled a lady’s hand mirror of the sort one might see on a dressing table. It was lying facedown on the paving stones. He started to lean over to pick it up and spotted the black velvet bag nearby.

“Hand me that sack,” he said.

Matt scooped up the bag and gave it to him. Owen crouched and gingerly picked up the mirror. He thought he felt a faint shiver of energy when his fingers closed around the handle, but his mind was so muddled now and his senses so unresponsive that he could not be certain. Careful to keep the glass aimed downward, he inserted the artifact into the velvet sack and tightened the strip of leather that bound it shut.

He reeled again when he tried to get to his feet. More footsteps sounded in the lane. He turned his head very cautiously, afraid he might humiliate himself by fainting dead away. His vision blurred, but he saw two people running toward him. Well, Virginia was running, he thought. Tony was loping casually alongside.

“Owen.” Virginia rushed forward. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said automatically. Then he realized that was not true. “No.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He thrust the velvet bag into her hand. “Take this. It’s a weapon of some kind, a looking glass. The nature of your talent means that you are probably more qualified to handle it than any of the rest of us. But be very, very careful. It has blinded my senses, perhaps permanently.”

“No,” she said. “They will revive.”

He smiled a little at her fierceness and opened his arms to fold her close. But the black night closed in and began to seep through him.

Somewhere in the darkness he heard Virginia calling his name, speaking to him in that same bracing tone.

“I will not let you go, Owen Sweetwater. Do you hear me? You must not leave. I will not allow you to leave. Hold on to me.”

He thought he sensed her hand gripping his, but her voice grew fainter as he sank down into the bottomless depths. In the end all was darkness.

“Do you think Uncle Owen’s psychic blindness will be permanent, Miss Tate?” Tony asked.

“I have no way of knowing,” Charlotte said. She closed the heavy volume she had been reading and glanced uneasily at the black velvet bag on top of the chest of drawers. “According to my research, the Quicksilver Mirror is capable of blinding the senses permanently and even causing death. The power of the device, however, is directly related to the psychical strength of the person who wields it. The stronger the talent, the more radiation the mirror emits. Conversely, the amount of permanent damage that is done to the victim’s senses depends on how strong the victim is, psychically speaking.”

“Owen will recover,” Virginia said. She tightened her grip on his hand. “He is strong. I can feel his energy. He just needs time to heal, that’s all.”

They were crowded into her small bedroom. Owen was tucked into the bed. Matt and Tony had placed him there after carrying him back from the lane. He was in a profound but restless sleep. Mrs. Crofton had decreed that he be covered with only a sheet because he was feverishly hot. Virginia knew that the fever was psychical in origin, a result of the severe injury that had been done to his senses.