* * *
The shaman, still almost shuddering with relief after seeing the monster’s form lift out of the water, froze with new terror. Something new was stirring! He could sense it! Something . . . immensely powerful.
He turned and began swimming away. But an iron thought came from his master.
STOP, SLAVE. I MUST SEE THIS. YOUR LIFE IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE.
* * *
There was no balcony providing ingress to the house. But the monster had seen the roof garden, and it served the purpose just as well.
A quick slither, and the monster was into the garden. Being careful, still, not to crush or disarray the vegetation. Leave no trace. Silently, on all fours, it crept through the lush vegetation. Too lush, really—the garden also showed signs of poor maintenance.
* * *
Eneko thought he heard a thunder of wings, and felt a shadow pass over him, before he and Pierre fell back into their heavy, mortal selves.
“It is done,” he whispered. “Let us pray it will be in time.”
A little shudder passed through Pierre’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Eneko. If the legends are even half true—” He gave his Basque companion a look that was almost baleful. “What have you gotten us into?”
* * *
When the monster reached the glass-paned double doors that opened onto the garden, it thrust its misshapen head cautiously between two large potted plants. The curtains on the doors were not closed, and the monster could see into the room beyond. Could see everything quite clearly, despite the overcast and the absence of a candle in the room itself. The monster was a creature of darkness, after all. It could see as well at night as in daytime—better, in truth, since the sun was painful to it.
Its great body grew taut as a drum, almost stunned by its good fortune. It had expected a difficult time, creeping through the house in order to find the prey.
Instead—
She was there! Sleeping in the bed!
It made sense, of course. Even the dim mind of the monster could understand that much. A girl with such coppery hair—such a coppery, splendid soul—
Hungry!
—would want to wake to the sunrise. Feel the coppery rays bathing her in a new day.
A new day which would never come again. Soft laughter began to gurgle up in the monster’s thick throat. But it forced the sound under. Just a moment more of silence, and it would—feed.
A claw reached up for the latch. The monster knew, for a certainty, that the door would be unlocked. Such an innocent soul . . . it gathered its haunches.
Hungry!
* * *
The vise that clamped down on its head struck like a god’s hammer. It vaguely remembered such a hammer. . . .
But there was no time to think of ancient weapons. The monster writhed like a lizard, caught by a hawk, its limbs thrashing and flailing.
Thrashing and flailing in—nothing. Talons smote thin air; a tail lashed in emptiness. Everything was dark, a darkness not even the monster’s eye could penetrate. Dimly, stunned, it realized that its head was in a giant maw. Realized—dimly, stunned—that it was being carried through the air. Like a lizard, caught by a hawk.
The monster’s thrashing grew frenzied. Something smote its back. Almost—not quite—breaking the spine. But the blow was enough to paralyze the monster.
* * *
Not even his fear of Chernobog could have kept the shaman from fleeing in terror, now. The spirit that had passed over him had seemed like a golden avalanche of fury and destruction.
As it happened, the shaman was quite safe. He was beneath the Lion’s contempt. Nor did he have to fear Chernobog’s wrath. His master was far too busy—far too frantically busy—forging his own defenses to worry about the doings of a pitiful slave.
* * *
Some time later—how much, the monster was too dazed to know—it was tumbled to the ground, its head spit out of a maw like a bad seed.
Wildly, scrabbling to get back to its feet, the monster looked around.
It was back in the cage. Except . . . even as it watched, the tatters in the vapors closed in, barring any exit.