"They fire lots of bullets very, very quickly. Quicker than anything else." I looked up and around the bedroom, the mismatched furniture, the weirdly firm light. "Why? What could you hunt with those? What could they have to do with anything?" "I don't know," he replied. "That's what's so unnerving." I rubbed a hand to my forehead, feeling an ache beginning to build behind my skull. "Armand." His eyes went to mine. I had to say this carefully; I had no wish to add to his despair, but I couldn't let it go. "Do you think...do you suppose it's possible that your father might...mean to do you any harm?" But I'd actually made him smile. A real one, too, even if it came acerbic and thin. "With a pair of Vickers? Not unless he means to mount them in the hallway and spry me with bullets when I'm not paying attention. Seems like rather a spot of work for him. Surely even an unwelcome heir is better than none." I returned his smile as I pulled away my hand. "I think we need to teach you how to Turn to smoke, just in case. It's a handy thing to be able to vanish in a hurry." His smile widened, but there was no humor left to it. "Handy." He fell back against the blankets of the bed, his eyes gone shiny and hard. "If I could vanish into smoke, Eleanore, I'd leave this place and never return. That's a promise." "Just like Rue," I said softly."