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actually they hadn't sent him after her. They'd told him to investigate the disappearances of a number of young girls. It was just that the investigation had led him to her.
     
    Without warning the witch's shock and fear turned to desperation and murderous intent. But then he didn’t need any warning. James had always known she wouldn’t let herself be caught if she could help it. Rogues never did.
     
    “You have no right!” She screamed it at James even as she snatched the dark blade lying on the table by her victim and hurled it at him. But she was far too slow.
     
    James had expected the move – witches and wizards usually tried to kill him when they were caught breaking the Illuminati's rules – and it was the work of barely a reflex to dodge the blade as it flew past him. It wasn't the first knife to be hurled at him. James heard it thunk into a wall somewhere behind him but paid it no mind. Nor did he worry when he heard her utter a spell of confusion and cast it at him. He'd expected that too. This witch was obviously one who dealt in the magics of the mind as well as the body. But he was doubly protected against them as well.
     
    Still, there was no point in taking chances and letting her complete the spell. So even as she cast it at him he ran for her, moving with all the speed he could find, and a few seconds later smashed his fist into her nose as hard as he could. She didn't even have time to raise her hands in front of her face. Five years of mixed martial arts training had made him more than capable with his hands.
     
    The witch went flying backwards, a muffled scream on her lips, and whatever magic she'd tried to cast on him failed. It would keep failing. There was a reason that he went for the nose whenever he could. A witch or a wizard generally needed two things to cast a spell; concentration and words. When he'd broken her nose the pain had stolen the first from her while the injury itself muffled her ability to speak. Of course, there were many witches who could cast without the need for spoken words, using gestures or thoughts instead. The gift was different for everyone. But the pain still stuffed them up. At any rate, it felt good to hit her.
     
    He could have shot her of course, and considering her crimes it would have been a form of justice, but he didn't like killing people. Not even the most evil of rogues. And his bosses would not have been happy either. They tolerated the fact that he kept his Sig. They even lived with the fact that he sometimes used it when he had to. But killing would not be acceptable. They had given him a magical ray gun – at least that was the only thing he could describe it as – and they expected him to use it. The only problem was that the damned thing was so unreliable that using it was like playing a lottery.
     
    She crashed to the hard floor and then went sliding backwards. He had hit her very hard, he thought with satisfaction. Maybe to others it would have seemed wrong, punching a middle aged woman in the nose and probably breaking it. But she was no suburban housewife and he knew simply from looking around that she had done far worse.
     
    She was down, and despite knowing that his next job should have been to make sure that she stayed that way James went to the girl. He had to save her even though it wasn't why he had come and it wasn't his job. But he realised immediately that she needed more help than he could give her just then. There was nothing nearby to staunch the flow of blood from her wound. Which sent him back to the witch. Every instinct he had as a father and a human being said to help the girl. But his training said secure the assailant first. She had to be restrained before he took the girl away to treat her wound. You could never leave a dangerous criminal loose. That was the way people got killed. And she was dangerous.
     
    Hers was vampiric blood magic. He'd recognised it in the instant he'd seen the girl lying on the table with