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The use of a spike, a grim parody of Nicomede's own preference for water magic, was insult too many. 

The range was a little long. But the window couldn't be missed, and in defending Jarde Fleuri had provided the tool that might bring the vampire down. When the flask burst, as he advanced rapidly, Nicomede snagged the water that would have splattered uselessly to the ground with his magic. Its movement arrested, tracing languidly the path of his off dagger, he knew exactly what he needed to do. 

The vampire was assured, perfectly confident that he could handle. That he would still prevail, despite his current discomfort. That water, however, might be the only thing they had that could pose a serious problem for his regeneration. He just had to get it to the right place. He flicked his wrist, the little globule of controlled now by his [i]spada[/i] like his other attacks had been. It spiraled faster and faster, forming the same conical pattern at the tip, and as soon as the range was low enough...

[i]"Lancia."[/i]

He flicked his wrist and the holy water lanced towards, and hopefully through, the vampire's eye into his brain on the same course that his blade would momentarily follow.