"Real as a heart attack," she says grimly, and she lets go of her shoulder with a grimace. Leaving one hand burning for light, she uses the other to pull a pocket knife off her belt, flip it open, and start sawing at the leather thongs tying down the man's wrists and ankles.

"I'm Liz," she says, glancing over her shoulder to make sure nothing's coming at them, and then going back to carefully avoiding his skin with the knife. Her hand is hot, her eyes glowing red-gold, but not hot enough to hurt him or melt the knife.

Snap! His left hand is free.