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nothing meant that whoever was out there had sufficient magical know-how to overcome her protections —and in near-silence, besides. People with that kind of skill don't just stop by to borrow a cup of sugar.
    It might be coincidence that they had caught Libby at her most vulnerable, but she doubted it. She sensed a malign intelligence behind this invasion, and its agents were probably going to take her life in the next few seconds unless she found something to do about it right now.
    All the rooms of the condo were charged with magical energy; some of this was deliberate on Libby's part, and the rest simply stemmed from the fact that she lived and practiced magic there. As a result, she could work some basic spells in her home without the equipment and materials that she would need to make them viable elsewhere. Libby quickly whispered the words of a simple levitation spell, and a few moments later found herself floating gently upward until her body was stopped by the high ceiling, her naked back pressed lightly against the textured paint. That would buy a few seconds when the killers came for her, but no more.
    Libby darted her gaze around the room, seeking something, anything, that could be used in her defense. But she found no inspiration in the towels, shampoo, cosmetics, and other paraphernalia that occupy a modern woman's bathroom. Libby found herself shivering, even though the water in the shower had been running warm verging on hot when she'd left it a few moments ago.
    Water.
    Libby heard someone try the bathroom door quietly, only to find that it was locked. Most people don't bother to lock their bathroom doors when home alone, but Libby had gotten into the habit during the seven months that Nancy had stayed with her. If the bathroom door was left unlocked while Libby showered, she could usually count on a naked Nancy slipping in there with her, in hopes of starting something. It had been fun and exciting the first few times, but Libby usually took a shower in order to get clean, not to be groped by a sex maniac, even a friendly one.
    The locked door gave Libby enough time to chant, softly but very fast, a conjuration spell that she hadn't used in years. She hoped that she still remembered it correctly, and apparently she did, because in the stream of the shower below her, a shape began to appear. The shape was female in form but smaller than a human woman, and it appeared to be made of water. The creature spread its liquid hands and looked upward toward Libby. Why have you called me? a mellifluous female voice said, inside Libby's mind. Do you want to play a game?
    Water sprites, like most of the fey, are gentle, playful creatures.
    Unless they are attacked.
    The bathroom door burst open in response to a hefty kick, and two men stumbled in, each holding some kind of automatic weapon with a sound-suppressed barrel. Amped up with adrenaline and the urge to kill, the men opened up at the first human-looking form they saw. Their bullets passed harmlessly through the water sprite and buried themselves in the tile of Libby's bathroom.
    Which is not to say that no harm was done.
    After firing one long burst apiece, the men stood gaping at the translucent fairy that was occupying the shower stall. But they did not stand there long.
    With a screech of rage that only Libby Chastain could hear, the water sprite flung itself at the two hit men. But the watery form did not soak them. Instead it quickly divided in two, each half forming a long thin stream —that instantly shot up each man's nose.
    The streams went on and on, drawing substance from Libby's still-running shower. The men staggered back into Libby's living room, dropping their weapons as each desperately tried to draw a breath that contained air, and not water.
    Libby allowed herself to drift slowly down from the ceiling. Once her feet were solidly on the floor, she grabbed a bath towel and began quickly to dry herself. But she did not turn the shower