Anton watched her approach and couldn't be sure whether it was simply to watch or to warn; but he couldn't seem to move regardless. She was beautiful, and luring, and part of him wanted to give everything to her--a large enough part that he couldn't quite muster the need to move. Or the want to do so.

It occurred to him, dimly, that there was danger here; that he could give everything over to China Sorrows and it would probably work. Surely, in love with her, there would be no risk of despair. Surely he could give her the keys to the gist and perhaps even find some measure of peace in it.

Only until she gave you up for someone else.

"Miss Sorrows," he said roughly, even more roughly than was his voice's natural hoarseness, and still he couldn't move. He could only look at her--and talk. He could talk. "Are you consciously using your magic on me?"