Kit was rummaging around in his otherspace pocket with one hand and consulting his manual with the other. "Right," he said to himself, "that's not exactly helpful. Oh well…it was a worth a shot. Manual," he addressed the book, his tone shifting from contemplative to decisive, "get me Tom and Carl."

The pages of the book rifled until a blank one appeared. How a book could look expectant was beyond Kit, but it did. Kit sighed. First Nita disappeared, now his manual was starting to develop a personality. Couldn't a wizard catch a break?

Messing up his hair as he frequently did when he was nervous, Kit thought. After a few moments deliberation, he settled on this message:

Nothing in the book about shadows with a mind of their own. Have considered what you said, but decided we can't afford to wait. Nita is in danger. Will keep you updated.

That wasn't likely to make them particularly happy, but there was nothing to be done about it. Kit knew what they would say if he talked to them in person, which was precisely why he has chosen this medium of communication. It wasn't like he had any choice. Still, it made him uneasy to think of Tom's disapproving tone, of Carl's penetrating stare.

Kit paused. He was on the point of scrapping the message and starting over when a new image burst unbidden into his mind. Nita's anguished face. And, as if from a great distance, her scream. Kit shivered. He knew it was only a thought, but it felt real. As if he was the only one who could save her from a terrible fate.

His resolve strengthened, Kit cleared his throat and said, in a harsh whisper, "Send."

Nita tasted sweet, like wine and summer. One of Ronan's hands tangled in her long, sweet smelling hair as they kissed. The other rested lightly on her hip. But Ronan could also taste her hesitation and her guilt. It flooded into him and filled his mouth with the bitter tang of cigarettes and rotten fruit, and Ronan let Nita go. He gathered up her hands and gave them back to her. And then he said the thing he knew Nita wanted to hear least.

"We can't do this."

The candlelight flickered in Nita's eyes. "Why not?" she asked him softly, treating him to a smile that was so slow and sexy that Ronan almost changed his mind. "We never got to finish that kiss in Ireland. What if we just…pick up where we left off?"

"That's not what you want," said Ronan firmly, trying to sound more confident that he felt.

Nita's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me what I want," she snapped.

"I'm not…I just…Nita, listen to me. You are amazing. You are talented and wonderful and I would love, I would really love to be kissing you right now. But you're drunk."

Nita started protest, her cheeks two bright splotches of color, but Ronan held up a hand. "You're not thinking clearly right now and I'm not gonna let you do something you'll regret in the morning. I'm not that kinda guy, Nita. Not anymore."
Nita looked noticeably subdued and even a little hurt. Ronan sighed, wrapped a blanket around her, and carried her to the warm, clean pile of straw that had been left in a corner. With surprising tenderness, he kissed her forehead. Then he dragged his tired body to a separate corner, blew out the candle, and was out cold in less than a minute.