24. Kat
Kat
I t had me by the legs.
I was yanked from the chimney, blinded by the sudden daylight.
A hot stink filled the air.
The back wall was gone. A pile of bones lay on its other side. In the space where the crack had stood, crouched a Horror.
Not a second’s doubt. That was a Horror. The name was perfect for the elongated head, the rows of pointed teeth, the void-black eyes that saw right through me.
Dwarfed by its hulking, eight-legged form, Bastian stood before it, drawing a blade edged with shadows.
“No,” I cried, reaching for him. That thing was going to kill him.
But I was already being carried into the next room. Carried by—it took me far too long to realise—Bastian. I hung over his shoulder, the box in my soot-covered hand.
His second self stayed behind. A decoy.
Past the windows and over the shattered mirror without so much as a crunch of broken glass, Bastian ran. Faster than I’d expected considering he carried me.
I lost sight of his other self. “What happens if he dies?”
“It’s… unpleasant for me,” Bastian huffed. “I feel everything he does. But I’ll be fine.”
Above the crumbled walls, the Horror rose onto its back legs—and rose and rose. Ten feet became fifteen became twenty as it reared onto its four back legs.
With the front section of its torso upright, what had seemed a hulking, squat body, was actually as sleek as its gleaming carapace. The whole thing was like a giant insect, save for its elongated head. That was like nothing else I’d ever seen.
And I couldn’t stop staring at it.
Its front legs unfolded, curved and sharp like scythes, while barbs tipped the next pair. Beneath those—that was what Bastian meant by its armpits. A tiny area of weakness that would be near impossible to hit.
More clicking, questing sounds rose from the ruins. More Horrors, the alert spreading.
Bastian leapt over rubble, zigzagged through narrow streets—too narrow for the Horrors to fit down, I realised as I jostled uselessly over his shoulder.
Useless. You are not a useless woman. Get hold of yourself, Katherine.
Box secure in one hand, I drew my boot pistol with the other.
The first Horror slashed with those curved front legs and hissed as it fought Bastian’s double, who was hidden by the ruins.
Closer—much closer, a wall crumbled to my right, ripped down by a Horror’s claws. “Behind us,” I called. “Your left.”
Bastian’s arm squeezed around my thighs and he turned right, away from the pursuing monster. Below, shadows wisped off his heels.
Twice more, I called out warnings as Horrors came after us, and twice more Bastian took us down side streets.
But as we rounded a corner, one locked eyes with me and shrieked its pleasure. Its strangely bent legs scuttled across the debris-filled street.
“Behind us,” I gasped.
“Yep,” Bastian huffed. “I noticed that.”
It gained, coming closer with each step. My heart beat so hard, my body became one massive throbbing pulse.
As good as my aim was, I couldn’t fire with so much movement beneath me, and I didn’t dare tell Bastian to stop.
Still, I levelled my pistol. Maybe it would understand the threat. Maybe .
But still it closed in. Ten feet away. Eight. Six.
Its shriek pierced my ears. Its dank breath filled my mouth and nose, metallic and sour like vomit and copper coins. Its spittle flecked my fingers, sizzling, and I bit back a cry at the corrosive burn.
But beneath the soot, my purple stains gathered around the spit and the pain faded.
Another bellow from the beast, and more of its spit landed on my fingers, warring with my poison.
Beneath me, Bastian’s shoulder heaved, and shadows rose, knocking the Horror away.
We rounded a corner out of sight. I dared a glance over my shoulder. A straight route out of town. The copse lay ahead, almost picturesque in the bright autumnal day.
But picturesque didn’t generally involve monsters that fed on magic.
In the distance, another shriek of feral delight tore the air and Bastian grunted. He sagged against a wall, panting. I couldn’t see his face, but he doubled over, every muscle clenched. That had to be pain—his double’s.
“Put me down, I can—”
“No.” He held tight. “I’m faster. I just need a second to catch my—”
The Horror that had almost caught us skidded around the corner, its claws skittering on the cobblestones.
Under me, Bastian shook as he fought to straighten.
“Wait.”
I levelled my pistol.
The Horror sprinted towards us, eyes locked on me. Good. Let it focus. Like a hunting sabrecat, that focus held its head still.
I aimed for the empty blackness of one of those eyes.
Exhale. Adjust. Squeeze the trigger.
The shot cracked.
A haze of black liquid burst from the Horror’s eye, and its head snapped back.
This shriek wasn’t the slightest bit delighted, but the huff that left me was.
It slumped over. I’d stopped it. Killed it.
Bastian pushed himself upright and ran for the copse. Magic hummed over my skin—stronger now we neared the edge of the town.
With a clicking cry, the Horror heaved to its feet.
I hadn’t killed it.
Shit.
We burst from the ruins, closing the distance to the copse.
But the Horror closed on us, only fifteen feet away. Even if we got to the stags, it would catch us before we could mount and escape.
My eyes burned as I stared. I reached for my gunpowder, but it would be impossible to reload with this much jostling.
A ragged bellow rumbled beneath me, and Bastian’s shoulder squared. Shadows spilled from him, wispy at first, but they thickened and rose, until a wall stood between us and the Horror.
Pale and shaking, he threw me onto my stag and leapt onto his own. “Ride!”