Chernobog’s rage would not stop at mere punishment, then. Chernobog would feed on the monster itself, and not be satisfied with simply a portion.
Remembering the one time the master had fed upon it, the monster almost whimpered. Its lust receded, replaced by terror. Enough, at least, to enable the monster to bring itself back under control.
Wait. Night is coming, and I can find her anywhere. The scent will be easy to follow.
* * *
The monster was so intent on its own desires that it never noticed the priest standing on the opposite side. Never noticed that the priest was also watching the prey, as she receded down the canal—and with as much concentrated attention as the monster itself.
Nor did it notice the moment when the priest suddenly started and cast a gaze across the canal. Then, scrutinized everything in the area, as if a hunter had suddenly heard a noise in the forest and was trying to detect its source.
Nor did it notice when the priest spun on his heels and began striding hurriedly away.
* * *
The shaman, however, did notice. Naturally enough, since the shaman had been sent on this incredibly dangerous expedition for that very purpose. The monster thought it had “escaped.” In reality, Chernobog had foreseen this eventuality and had decided to use the monster’s lust to test his opponents. The shaman’s master did not understand either the purpose of these peculiar priests in Venice, nor their power.
Chernobog also, the shaman understood, wanted to test the depths of the Lion’s slumber. Once before the shaman’s master had misgauged the Lion, when he tried to murder the Strega Grand Master with too open a hand. That attempt had roused the Lion from his sleep. The ancient spirit had not only slain the assassins before they could finish the work, but had carried the still-living Marina himself into the Jesolo.
Three years ago, that had been. The time had come, Chernobog decided, to see if the Lion had returned to his slumber. The shaman understood the logic—even agreed with it, abstractly. But it was he, not Chernobog, who was forced to lurk in the shadows of the canal and watch, while a monster roamed loose. A monster which would not hesitate for an instant to devour the shaman as readily as it would devour its intended prey.
* * *
The time finally came. It was dark enough, now, if the monster moved carefully. It eased out of the pilings and began driving up the canal with slow and powerful strokes of its tail. Keeping a wary eye for boats and passersby, and diving below the surface whenever necessary.
The scent was strong. As easy to follow as blood spoor, but far more delicious.
* * *
When Pierre came into the room, his face was as pale as a sheet. His eyes, open and strained; he looked for an enemy, but not one of this world.
“Something . . . is out there. . . .”
Eneko Lopez rose from the table where he had been writing a letter, his head cocked. “Yes?”
The Savoyard priest shook his head violently, and shuddered at the same time. “I don’t know. I was watching the girl, the one you wanted to find out more about. Then—suddenly—I felt something. Something horrible. Evil more concentrated than anything I can remember in my life.”
The Basque at the table turned his head and stared out the window. “Was it she herself, perhaps?”
Pierre shook his head again. Less violently, this time. “I . . . don’t think so, Eneko. It was connected with her somehow, I felt. But I had the sense that it was something watching her, rather than she herself.”
Reluctantly, as a priest will speak of such things. “It seemed very . . . lustful. A horrible sort of lust, and not the sort of thing that anyone would draw willingly unto themselves. And I am not so sure, now, that it wasn’t actually hunting her, and not just watching her.”
Lopez limped out through the open door near the table and onto the balcony beyond; then, peered down at the canal below. The waters were already dark with the evening. He raised his eyes and studied the massive edifice across the canal that housed the Imperial embassy.