A Night in the Lonesome October by Roger Zelazny. Chapter 23, 24, 25

“By the high cat…”

“Hush!” she said. “This place is not that place. Leave it there.”

“Sorry.”

She moved to position the nails, and Cheeter scratched himself, paws, head, and tail. I could smell his blood.

“I can’t reach my back for the seventh,” he said.

Her right paw slashed forward, opening a bright inch at the the middle of his back. It came too fast for him even to flinch.

“There,” she said. “Position yourself upon the nails now, as I have instructed.”

He moved and did so, sprawled motionless then.

I returned to the final nail, taking hold and pulling slowly. As soon as I felt it come loose I dragged it down the wall and across the floor toward Cheeter, never lifting it from contact with a surface the entire while. I had no idea, though, whether the shadow was coming along with it, and I was in no position to ask. Still, if it weren’t, I guessed Graymalk would have said something.

“Lead it over him and drop it upon his back,” she said, “at the place of my mark.”

I did that, stepping back immediately afterwards.

“Do you know whether it’s taken hold?” I asked Cheeter.

“I can’t tell,” he said.

“Do you feel any different?”

“I don’t know.”

“What now, Gray?” I asked. “How long do we wait to see whether it’s attached?”

“Let’s give it a minute or two,” she replied.

“The design,” Cheeter said then. “It’s changing.”

I turned and looked. There might have been a trace of movement to it as I did so, but it was gone by the time I faced it. It did look smaller, though, a bit less extended to the left, and differently disposed to the right. And its colors seemed brighter.

“I think that means it’s in place now,” he said. “I want to move.”

He sprang up and raced across the floor, scattering the nails. He bounded halfway up the stair, turned, and looked back at us. It was too dim to see whether he’d achieved the desired result.

“Come on!” he said. “Let’s go out!”

We followed him, and I opened the kitchen door without difficulty. As soon as I did, he rushed past us.

The sun had come out, and as he flashed across the yard we could see the shadow which accompanied him. He leaped up onto the wall, hesitated, looked back.

“Thanks!” he said.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“The woods,” he answered. “Good-bye.”

Then he was off the wall and away.

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