In turn, she should know better by now than to piss off somebody with any sort of magic at their fingertips. Warlocks, the fey, psychics. They're not dissimilar, in some ways. Warlocks and faeires have the same sort of demon blood in their veins, and psychics have been touched by the shadow world in some way, somehow, through some distant lineage or a bad deal or a mistake. Either way, the point stands: they know things, they can find out things, they can hurt in a way that's far more than physical.

For instance, they can worm their way into your past, not seeing memories, but feeling enough to get a clear picture. And then they can throw all your failures and mistakes and wrong doings in your face, and remind you that you're not worthy of the runes you wear or the angel blood in your veins. He was being brutal on purpose, and she wasn't here for it.

Impurities, Sister Magdalena had said. Isabelle had tainted her body with the yin-fen, and later with vampire venom. She'd made a mistake, and ruined herself for the mission she'd spent her entire life wanting to go on. She doesn't need to be reminded of it. And she doesn't need to be told how fiercely she'd fought with her family before finally admitting defeat.

Without a word, expression impassive, she throws the remaining cards at Kira's chest, letting them bounce off and flutter to the dirt. Maybe it's childish, but she definitely doesn't care.

"Thanks for your help," she says, her voice sharper and cold now. "I really needed to hear everything I already knew." She turns, heading towards the woods again.