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As Omaha ran, a puff of dark magic enveloped the wound. When the antimatter dispersed, however, the wound sprayed only more blood.

"No," said Omaha, "It won't heal!"

Delaney rolled her eyes. "Oh please, dear. Don't play dumb. As if who sent you forgot to inform you of the magical properties of my knife."

"Magical properties," said Sloan as Omaha backed into another corner. Even when she stopped moving and no longer stirred the liquid around her, the constant stream from her wrist revealed her location.

Delaney loosed another throaty, arid laugh. "Indeed, love. Any damage my dagger inflicts can never be healed, not even by yours truly! It's such a dinky worthless weapon, it's totally useless against wraiths, but prick a Magical Girl just right and she won't soon forget it. The exact weapon a depraved sociopath like me would have, don't you agree?"

(Chapter 12)