Tricked

my right arm and punch him in the temple; it broke three of my knuckles but successfully knocked him off my neck for a moment. I activated my healing charm and began to speak the spell of unbinding as he hissed and came after me again.
    I had no leverage, and the thrice-cursed snuggly comforter, so welcoming before, was now effectively keeping me in place for the vampire’s dining pleasure. He was on me again before I could get my legs free and employ some basic martial arts. I kept him from my neck, but just barely, using more magically enhanced strength. It was like wrestling Leif—even worse, for this lad was stronger and therefore older—and I knew from experience I would not be able to maintain it for much longer, especially with three broken fingers. My charm was running out of juice rapidly. He slapped me hard to make me stop the unbinding, and it worked. I had to start over.
    › Atticus, what was that noise? ‹ Oberon asked from next door. He was spending the night in Granuaile’s room.
    Vampire trying to kill me .
    He began to bark, and I heard Granuaile moving, already up, roused by the noise of the shattering door. I wanted to shout at her, say no, stay in your room, stay safe, but to do that I’d have to stop my unbinding for the second time.
    As my magic ebbed away, I saw that I would have to make a choice. Either I could keep the vampire from my neck for a few seconds longer and use all my magic on boosting my strength, or I could let him at my neck and save enough to energize the unbinding, hoping he didn’t kill me before I could do it. I chose the latter, seeing no other winning scenario, and once there was nothing between my neck and the vampire but my weak human strength, he plunged down and tore at me again, my blood spilling onto the pillow as much as it spilled into his mouth. I resolutely kept speaking but knew he’d opened me up good, and I could feel my life draining away.
    A snarl and an abrupt pressure announced the arrival of Oberon: He jumped on top of the vampire’s back, and thus on top of me, and did his best to bite through the vampire’s skull. It successfully distracted the vampire, because he tore loose from my neck, hissing, and coldly threw Oberon—all hundred and fifty pounds of him—straight through the open door to slam forcefully against the wall in the papered hallway. I heard his bones break and a pained yelp, closely followed by a startled scream from Granuaile, who was out there, and then the sound of my friend crumpling to the floor.
    He had saved my life, because that gave me enough time to finish my unbinding and turn the vampire into a gory accident. He squelched and folded inside his suit until he was naught but a legendary dry-cleaning bill in the middle of the room. I tried to get out of the bed to help Oberon and instead tumbled into the carnage on the floor, too weak to keep my feet. I was still bleeding from the neck, and I had no magic left to heal myself.
    » Call a vet! « I managed weakly. They were better last words, I supposed, than many others. I could see Granuaile kneeling next to Oberon, and he wasn’t moving. I couldn’t hear him in my mind either. Granuaile looked up from Oberon’s still form at someone’s approach in the hall. Her mouth dropped open.
    Leif Helgarson strolled casually into the room, hands in pockets, a smirk on his misshapen face. It widened into a broad smile when he saw the remains in which I wallowed.
    » Congratulations, Atticus, « he said. » You have just killed a vampire nearly as old as yourself. That was Zdenik, erstwhile lord of Prague and, briefly, the state of Arizona. «
    No wonder he’d been so strong. » You … sent him here? « I said.
    Leif removed his hands from his pockets and held them up helplessly. » Were you not the one who told me to orchestrate the deaths of my rivals? I have merely done as you suggested. Thank you for playing your part. «
    The oxygen leeched out of the room at his words, and all I could breathe in was horror. What he’d done to Oberon and me—and possibly Granuaile—was all for his worthless territory games? The edges of my vision were going black; my blood was still leaking out of my neck, and I could not think of anything to say that would adequately convey the depth of my revulsion and loathing for him now. If I had the strength left, I would have unbound him on the spot; having no recourse, I fell back on Shakespeare. Leif would recognize it and understand the