Conlan raised his hand, fingers outstretched, as if they had claws, and slapped the vampire upside the face. The undead remained unmoved. “Your son doesn’t look traumatized to me,” Ghastek observed. “I’m sure this will surface as a repressed memory fifteen years from now.” Conlan smacked the vampire again. “Stop,” I told him. “What a shame,” Ghastek murmured. “He isn’t even trying to pilot.” Conlan raised his hand. “Har.” No. The ancient word rolled off my tongue, suffused with magic. I was too keyed up. Conlan dropped his hand, backed away from the vampire, and came toward me, his hands
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