Gunmetal Magic(59)

I crossed my arms over my head and jumped. Wood and shingles hit my forearms, and I grabbed onto the roof and pulled myself up. The edge of the roof glowed with magic. On the ground below, huge orange symbols stretched across the luminescent lawn, a pale yellow glow coating every single blade of grass in a sheath of magic. The entire yard around the house was warded and it was a hell of a ward. Great.

Raphael forced his way through the hole behind me.

Landing on the lawn wasn’t an option. The magic could fry us or do something worse. I spun around looking for a tree, a tower, a wall, anything close enough to jump to from the roof.

At the far end of the roof a long cable dived down to the wall that surrounded Anapa’s home.

“Power line,” we barked at each other at the same time.

We dashed along the roof. I danced onto the power line and ran along it, balancing on my oversized feet. One, two, three, tilt, tilt…I leaped on the low stone wall that separated Anapa’s house and yard from the street. Raphael pulled off his shoes, hurled them into the night, took a running start and jumped, catching the power line with his arms. He swung himself back up on it and walked slowly, arms out, suspended between the glowing orange lawn and the black sky.

I held my breath.

The side door of the mansion sprang open. A deep rumbling roar reverberated through the night, made by a cavernous mouth. My hackles rose.

Raphael swayed, ran the next ten feet, and jumped, clearing the remaining distance in one powerful leap. He sailed through the air and landed on the wall, next to me.

A bright, unnaturally yellow flash of light exploded on the lawn. I didn’t wait to see what it was. We jumped down off the wall into the street and ran.

The roar chased us. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a huge shadow leaping over the wall like it was nothing. The creature landed on the street behind us, as big as a rhino, its head with a huge mane armed with long crocodilian jaws. Its odor hit me, a pungent oily odor, reminiscent of rotten fish, old blood, and decomposing sweat, shot through with an unnatural stench. Revolting, violent, terrible, it lashed at me, promising death. Fear squirmed through my body. My instincts whipped me into a sprint.

We raced down the street.

The thing behind us roared again and gave chase. It pounded after us, huge, but freakishly fast.

I glanced back. The distance between us was shrinking.

The air turned to fire in my throat. A stitch pricked my side.

Run. Run faster. Faster!

I glanced over my shoulder again. The beast was gaining. We were sprinting full-out, and it was gaining.

We took a corner at breakneck speed. A ruined building loomed in front of us, a big, dark wreck with a gaping black hole in its bottom floor. Raphael pointed at it. We veered right and leaped through the gap into the darkness.

Inside, the building was vast and empty, a shell bordered by outer walls. Tall support columns rose up, supporting nothing—the top floors had crumbled long ago, and the moon shone through the holes in the dusty glass roof, painting the floor in random patches of blue light. We flew across it like two phantoms, silent and quick, and sank into the deep inky shadows against the opposite wall. Raphael reached over and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

Maybe the beast would pass.

A dark silhouette loomed in the gap in the wall through which we had entered. No such luck.

The beast took a step forward. Half of its body swung down—it lowered its head. I heard it sniff. Tiny puffs of dust slid across the floor. It was tracking us. If we fled, it would outrun us. If we took to the rooftops, we’d eventually run into ruins and have to land, and it would be waiting. We had to kill it.

Next to me Raphael shrugged off his tuxedo jacket. He wore twin leather sheaths underneath. He drew two foot-long knives out and passed them to me. I held them while he pulled off his shirt. His pants followed. He took the knives back and I eased my backpack off my shoulders.

The beast took a step forward. Claws screeched on the concrete. Step—scratch. Step—scratch. Its revolting scent drifted toward us, washing over me like a shower of cold slime.

I gathered myself into a tight clump.

The beast moved into a patch of light and my pulse sped up. What I had mistaken for a mane of coarse hair was a mane of tiny brown tentacles. They wriggled and twisted, stretching and coiling, like a nest of three-foot-long, thin earthworms. Scratch the neck from the list of possible targets. Cutting or clawing through the mass of writhing flesh would take too long.

The beast dipped its head again, bracing on powerful legs sheathed in sandy fur. The long claws on its front paws scratched the dust. Its sturdy frame looked built for ramming. If it took a running start, it would smash straight through the wall and not even slow down. I could see no weakness. Why did things like this always happen to me when I didn’t have an assault rifle handy?