The Walker Papers: Raven Calls Part 13

Instead the smallest wolf yelped and fell, revealing Caitriona standing over it with a k.n.o.bbly tree branch. It surged to its feet again, but it did so shaking its head like it was concussed. For a peculiar instant I felt sorry for the beast. Then Meabh's silver-greaved foot lashed out and caught Streaks in the ribs, and I gathered myself to roll onto all fours and snarl just as convincingly as a human as I had as a wolf. I hoped.

They didn't look scared, the wolves. They looked discomfited, and possibly like an idea had been put into their heads. They glanced at one another, then backed away, the dizzy one moving slowly and the other two refusing to abandon it. They got a good distance away-a safe distance-then looked at each other again.

Streaks curled her lips back from her teeth, and I heard the popping and grinding of bone as she forced herself from a lupine form into a human one. Horror caught me in the gut as the other two did the same, all of them becoming strong, healthy, naked, scary ladies. Streaks still had silver in her hair, and she gave me an approximation of a smile. Bared her teeth, anyway, and ran her tongue over them before shifting again, back to wolf form, and leading her also-changing sisters away.

I collapsed onto my forearms, panting into the earth as I tried to count the number of ways in which I'd been phenomenally stupid. I lacked my sword, but there were always nets. I was good at nets, and the werewolves weren't like the wendigo. They were, for lack of a better term, real magic. Solid magic. Corporeal magic. They didn't slip between the Middle and Lower Worlds at a whim, which meant I could have netted them and then delivered them tidily to Meabh for her binding spell. But, oh no, I had to go all Gunga Din and embrace the animal. And even that might have been okay, except I'd managed to teach werewolves how to shift shape, which had to be the ugliest d.a.m.ned time loop I'd opened and closed so far. And just to add a cherry on top, I was pretty d.a.m.ned sure of one other thing: "I'm guessing he knows we're here now."

"He does," said a grim and weirdly familiar male voice, "but if we hurry, you might just live."

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I didn't move. I was half-naked and just this side of wolf-crazy, but I couldn't quite make myself move, because there was no way Morrison was standing behind me. It had been unlikely in the extreme that Gary could catch me at Dublin airport, but it was sheerly impossible that Morrison, to whom I'd just spoken on the phone, had transported himself halfway around the world. I turned my head about three-quarters of an inch, just far enough to see Caitriona. "What does the man behind me look like?"

Her forehead was as wrinkled as mine felt. "Like me da. Only not quite."

My shoulders dropped in a sort of relief. It wasn't Morrison. I knew that, and still it was good-and bad-to have it verified. I kinda wished he had transported halfway around the world. It would make my life that much stranger, but that much happier, too. I seized my pants-the fight hadn't taken me far away from them-and yanked them on as Meabh said, "Your da? Sure and it's Ailill I see before me," in a surprisingly soft voice.

I did my best side whisper to Caitriona as I finished dressing: "Al-yil?"

"Ailill Mac Mata. The love of Meabh of Connacht's life, so they say. Of course, she killed him in the end."

"He was unfaithful," Meabh said with utmost serenity.

I stopped worrying about the guy behind me and gaped at her. "So you killed him? This from the woman who married every high king in Irish history?"

Just as serenely, she said, "That was duty." Then she smiled, and I remembered that this was also a woman who had by all appearances held half the country together for millennia on end. Mostly I'd been finding her a bit condescending. All of a sudden I found her just a little scary instead. That was the kind of smile it was. I decided not to pursue the matter any further, and very sensibly turned to address the issue of the Man Who Wasn't Morrison.

He looked an awful lot like Morrison. Not exactly like him, but a lot like him. Like somebody had sanded Morrison's rough edges off, maybe, and polished him up a bit. His hair was more gold than silver, but Morrison had apparently been a blond back in the day. His eyes were too green for Morrison, but the height, the breadth, the smile, were all eerily similar. It made me want to trust him, an impulse I didn't trust at all. "I think you'd better show us your true form."

True form. n.o.body said things like that. Mucking with magic really did rearrange the speech patterns laid down over a lifetime. I sighed, ready to give it another shot-something like "Show me what you really look like"-but he shrugged before I spoke. "I don't have one, not the way you mean. I'm shaped by desire."

Caitriona, horrified, blurted, "I don't desire me da!"

He gave her Morrison's best rea.s.suring smile, which was pretty d.a.m.ned rea.s.suring. Or would have been, if he'd been Morrison. Even so, I was rea.s.sured as he explained, "Not necessarily s.e.xual desire. Safety, rea.s.surance, stability. I answer whatever need is utmost in your mind."

"Gancanagh," Meabh said. I resisted the urge to say "Bless you," and the handsome devil-may-care fellow turned to give Meabh an acknowledging nod. "You're dangerous," she said without sounding like she meant it. "A woman should never trust her heart's desire. He seduces," she told us. Me, perhaps, since presumably Caitriona was in fact not hot for her daddy. "He is one of the fae, like the fear darrig. We cannot trust him."

"Of course you can't. But I can lead you to evil's lair."

My voice shot up. "Why would we want you to do that?"

All three of them, Gancanagh, Meabh and Caitriona, said, "Aibhill," which still sounded like "Evil" to me, but this time I recognized they probably meant the O'Brien banshee. "To Aibhill and her host of wailing women," Gancanagh went on. "Four and twenty of them."

"Twenty-five," Cat said obstinately, but Gancanagh clicked his tongue and winked at me. "Twenty-four now. She lost one recently, you know."

I did know, having kind of ripped a banshee's head off a year ago. "Twenty-four isn't really an improvement in the odds."

Gancanagh smiled and shrugged. I caught a scent of Morrison's cologne and ground my teeth together. This was not my boss. It was not the man I'd fallen in love with. It was not even, according to what Meabh had just said, technically a man at all. I could accept that intellectually, but on a gut level I was just relieved as h.e.l.l to see Morrison here and ready to fight at my side. Fists knotted until my nails stung my palms, I grated, "Never mind the odds. Why would you lead us there?"

"Because I don't want to see the world end, Walker. Aibhill's master doesn't have a place in his lineup for someone like me. I'm about life and love, not death and loathing, so if he wins a major victory I'm left out in the cold." He shivered delicately, which Morrison would never do, and murmured, "I don't like being cold."

Morrison would probably never say that, either, but something about the way he said it made Meabh and me both take a step toward him, ready to warm him up in any way his little heart desired. Only Caitriona's squawk of dismay stopped us, and for a few seconds we glared at each other while Cat said, "Jaysus and they're going to be all over me da if this doesn't end quickly. I can't take it. We're going with you, but don't say a word to them, d'ye hear me?"

Gancanagh put a finger over his lips, playful and sensuous, and I thought it was a d.a.m.ned good thing Caitriona wasn't suffering from an egregious schoolgirl crush at this particular time in her life. I didn't know who the most popular Irish heartthrob was, but if she was seeing him instead of her father we would all be-so to speak-screwed. I cringed at my choice of words, even unspoken, and fell obediently into line behind Caitriona and Gancanagh.

Not so much into line, actually, as two by two, them in front and me and Meabh elbow to elbow where we could make sure neither had a better view of Gancanagh's very fine derriere or, more important, make sure one of us had no chance to speak to him without the other. I knew I was being ridiculous, but hints of Old Spice kept wafting back toward me, and it was all I could do to not punch Meabh just for existing. A little desperate, I said, "Tell me about Ailill."

Meabh glowered. "So you can steal him for yourself? I think not."

"For- This is not some kind of perverse Mrs. Robinson thing, Meabh! I'm just trying to distract myself!"

"From eyeing my man!" She rounded on me, but I saw it coming and ducked under the fist she threw.

Caitriona bellowed, "Ah, fer sweet Christ's sake, will ye's stop?" and fell back to put herself between us. "What is wrong with you?"

"She thinks I want to steal her boyfriend. I totally don't." In fact, the last thing I wanted to do was get in a bare-knuckles match with somebody who had a thousand years of fighting skills on her side. Besides, if anything, she was trying to horn in on my territory, not the other way around.

I seized my head, trying to stop that line of thought. Gancanagh dropped back to walk beside me, murmuring, "She's a beautiful woman. You're powerful, to be sure, but there's something exotic about her, isn't there?"

"Morrison doesn't like women taller than he is." I had no idea if that was true, but it gave me something to hang my hat on. I forced my way past his flirtation and scowled at the landscape. It was still Ireland, but it seemed like every step we took it got darker. The gra.s.s turned jade, not emerald. Leaves deepened to evergreen shades, and thick-barked oaks sucked light in until we meandered through gloom. Morrison's scent caught me off guard every time I took a breath, though Gancanagh himself sidled between me and Meabh while Caitriona tried to herd him back to a lead position. At least she didn't want a piece of my man, though Morrison really was too old for her. h.e.l.l, at thirty-nine he was almost too old for me. Which would make him a babe in Meabh's arms. The impulse to smack her rose again. Desperate to keep my head on straight, I muttered, "Where are we going?"

"Into the heart of Thiobraid arann, where kings and priests once ruled."

On the positive side, that was definitely not something Morrison would say, which helped me remember it wasn't him. On the less positive side, I still had no idea where we were going. Caitriona volunteered, "Thiobraid arann is Tipperary," which I could sort of see once she'd spoken the Anglicization of it. She went on with, "The O'Brien took his crown at Cashel, where Patrick had converted his ancestors to Christianity," while I compulsively mumbled, "It's a long way to Tipperary."

Cat gave me a dirty look and I spread my hands in self-defense before asking, "The O'Brien? Weren't there a lot of them?" and then, "It really is a long way to Tipperary, especially if we're walking. We're sort of on a deadline here, folks. How're we gonna-"

Gancanagh started to answer. Caitriona shot a glare his way and he subsided with a smile and a flutter of eyelashes. She, rather ferociously, said, "There may be a hundred O'Briens, but only one is The O'Brien. The leader, the king, the one they all looked to. And The O'Brien of whom I speak is Boru, who was crowned-"

"Oh!" I said gleefully. "I know this one! At the Rock of Cashel! The big awesome castle! Mom and I went there!"

For once I didn't get the look that said I'd crushed a thousand fondly held memories by the way I'd phrased my limited historical knowledge. Caitriona seemed pleased. I was so proud of myself I danced a little jig, which Gancanagh joined in on, catching my arm to swing me around.

Right into Meabh's breastplate. I clanged against it and held very still, as if a rabbit who perhaps would go unnoticed by the bird of prey if I didn't move. Of course, rabbits didn't usually have their noses in the bird's cleavage, not that breastplates made for a lot of cleavage. I held still anyway.

"I'll have your head if I see you talking to my man in such a way again," Meabh growled.

I rolled my eyes up, trying to meet her gaze without moving. "He started it." Ah yes. Very mature, Joanne. "Besides, he's not your man. He's mi-aaaiii!"

"Mi-aaaiii!" was not the possessive p.r.o.noun I'd intended it to be. It was the sound of me being strong-armed straight backward, far enough away for Meabh to unsheathe her sword and waver it between Gancanagh and myself.

All my smarts left me and instead of calming her down, I baited her. "He's your lover, remember? You probably don't want to kill him. I sure don't want you to." I didn't really care if she killed her own lover, since she'd apparently done it once already anyway. I just didn't like the idea of this near-Morrison taking it in the teeth.

Meabh, who was apparently even more susceptible to Gancanagh than I was, snarled and moved the sword toward me. In a fit of unusual stupidity, I put both hands on either side of it and held it like I could keep her from skewering me by strength alone. I wasn't an action hero, so there was no chance of that happening, but it looked cool. And I could keep her from skewering me by using magic, so maybe it wasn't all that stupid after all.

It certainly got her attention, anyway. As calmly and slowly as I could, I said, "He's not Ailill. He's not Morrison. He's not Cat's dad, either. He's a fairy and he's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with us. But he says he's going to lead us to the banshee, so if you can just keep that thing in your pants awhile longer, we'll get there and you can have a nice big juicy fight. But right now Ganesh here has to get us there without us tearing ourselves apart over him. Okay?"

"Gancanagh," he said, offended. I echoed that, too, mostly because I was pretty certain Ganesh was a G.o.d and didn't want to offend it.

Meabh made him the recipient of a once-over I wouldn't have wanted visited on me. Then she muttered, "Ailill's eyes are blue, not green," and stepped away, her mouth a grim line.

"Ol' green-eyes, eh?" I said to Gancanagh. "Can't change that, can you? Morrison's eyes are blue, too."

"So're me da's," Cat said. She was still the only clearheaded one among us, because it was she who remembered to say, "Tipperary is a long way. How will we get there before nightfall, fairy man?"

"How far do you think we've come, my la.s.s?" Gancanagh opened his hand to indicate the gloom we'd been marching through, and I finally looked beyond his glorious self to see that the landscape had changed.

Mountains had given way to trees quickly enough, but we'd left the forests behind, too, and were tromping through bogland. Stretches of low hills rolled out before us, and I could see we'd crested one, but I hadn't particularly noticed the incline. Startled, I turned back, but the mountains had been swallowed by mist and darkness. "Hnh."

"Hnh?" That was Caitriona, sounding suspicious.

"Nothing. It's just kind of like the Lower World. Distance isn't what it seems. I have to walk through it the long way, but my friend Coyote can skip and bounce all over the place." I peered at the sun, but the gloom was too significant to tell whether it hung closer to the land than normal.

"It's the fairy realm." Gancanagh stopped beside me, suddenly very close and smelling very good, with his too-green gaze intent on mine. I swallowed and looked away, but that made it worse, because then his scent and body nearness seemed all the more Morrison. I wet my lips and looked back to find him smiling. Devilish, charming smile. The kind of smile that clearly needed either a kiss or a slap. Possibly both. I wet my lips again and he, being no fool, moved in for the kill.

But he had to tilt his chin up to do so. I was a good two inches taller than he was, but Morrison was exactly my height. Another mark against the seductive fairy. I got my hand between us just in time, croaked, "Walk," and pushed him away.

In a world that made sense, he would have taken the hint and gone off all dejected. In the world I lived in, however, he looked more like I'd presented an unexpected challenge, and delight glinted in his eyes as he did as he was told.

Meabh stomped by, the weight of her footsteps putting my earlier stomp to shame. I started to protest my innocence, but Caitriona came along behind her, not so much stomping as seeming to propel herself forward by the force of exaggerated eye-rolling. Amus.e.m.e.nt overcame the feeling of unjust persecution and I tagged along behind them all, grinning. Gan's voice drifted back to me: "This realm's been tainted, it's true, but I'm still part of it. It knows I'm not a threat, and lets me walk as I wish."

His voice was like honey mead and warm chocolate, which I thought was cheating. Morrison's voice was fine, particularly when lowered in intimacy, but Gancanagh had somehow kicked it up a notch. I clung to the content of his words, not the delivery, but it still took quite a lot of walking before I shook off the effects. "Wait, what do you mean, you're part of it. That can't be good, if it's tainted."

Gancanagh looked back at me. By all rights it was too gloomy to see well, and I wasn't using the Sight, but his gaze was vivid and bright anyway. He breathed, "Sure and she doesn't know much, does she," briefly sounding more like an Irish monster than like Morrison, then went back to the more Americanized way of phrasing things. "Nothing's all light and happiness, Walker. Seduction's got its dark side, and so someone like me is susceptible to someone like him. And when you're part of a pantheon that's all magic, it's easy for the corruption to spread. I wasn't his way in, but I would never be able to stop him, either."

I scurried to catch up with Meabh. "Are you two part of the same pantheon? I mean, you're both...not human. You called him fae. You're aos si. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as fae." I wished Gary was there. He'd know for sure.

Meabh scowled. "We're all of us other than human, so we are. I'd not say I was of the likes of him."

From her emphasis, I a.s.sumed everybody else would. "But you're not G.o.ds, either. I mean, that's what I've met so far, G.o.ds and monsters. You fae sorts are the first non-human non-monsters I've come across. I didn't know there were things like you out there. I mean, where did you come from? I don't even know if you've got North American counterparts. Not that I've run into, anyway." I sighed. "On the other hand, there are plenty of people who've managed to be corrupted by the Master on my home turf, too, so even if the lineup is different I guess the results aren't. Look, Gan, you're also the first person I've talked to who was willing or maybe able to discuss the Master's influence. So just how badly into this are you?"

He shrugged, which was distractingly attractive. "I'm nothing, really. He gets a lot more power from murders and black magic than from something like me, but if dark impulses are acted upon, he gains strength from them."

"So couldn't you ignore the impulses?"

He looked over his shoulder at me. "Could you ignore the magic that boils in your belly, all hot and ready, Walker?"

He really hadn't needed to add the hot and ready part. My throat went dry and other parts of me went a bit hot and ready. "Jesus, Morris-Gancanagh."

"And why is it we're trusting him?" Caitriona muttered.

It seemed like a good question, and I was pretty sure "Because he's s.e.x.x.xay" was the wrong answer. Meabh came up with a better one: "What choice have we? It's this or chase werewolves, and Aili-Gancanagh-is finer to look upon."

"He looks like me da!"

I took that to mean Cat wished we would stop having palpitations over the guy, which was fair enough. I wished we would, too, but I couldn't stop sneaking glances at his backside. "How long," I said a bit desperately. "How long will it take to get to Evil's lair?"

"Ah, sure," Gancanagh said blithely, "ah sure and we're there."

A three-headed dragon rose out of the dark and spat fire at us.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

If the werewolf hadn't bit me, I wouldn't have learned to keep my shields up at all times and we would have been roasted, so in some small way Tia Carley had done me a favor. But the heat blast still knocked us over backward, and we lay there in the dark for a split second before the beast galumphed toward us. Meabh, always quick with a sword, sprang to her feet and charged the dragon head-on while I mostly just wondered who or what I'd offended in a past life that this one was peopled by dragons. Except I didn't have any past lives, so apparently I'd offended somebody in this life and was facing instant karma. That didn't really improve anything, in my ever so humble opinion.

Caitriona sat up beside me, both hands fisted against her mouth. Tiny sounds emitted from behind the fists, but at least she wasn't all-out screaming. Me, I kept lying there, reviewing my list of things to do: heal the werewolf bite. Kill the Morrigan. Find Gary. Save my mother. I added "string Gancanagh up by his luscious toes and use him for target practice" to the list, and finally sat up.

Gancanagh had disappeared. Quel surprise. Meabh's silver sword barely dented the dragon's scales, but on the other hand, neither it nor she nor her armor were melting as the monster spat fire at her again. I knew I should leap up and rush to her side, but I didn't have a d.a.m.ned thing to fight a dragon with. My sword was missing, and besides that, not much use, if Meabh's was any indication. My power never had cottoned on to being used as a weapon, and frankly, I didn't think a dragon would be much impressed if I went after it with tooth and nail.

The d.a.m.ned bite flared up again, suggesting I had more tooth and nail at my disposal than usual. I ground my teeth and reached past both pain and temptation-the G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing didn't hurt when I gave in, at least not once the actual transformation was over-and rather pathetically whispered, Rattler? at the back of my mind. Any chance we can push past the poison for a...normal...shapeshifting?

Perhaps. The magic is there. But the taint is...distracting. My poor snaky spirit guide was really wiped out, if he wasn't getting all sibilant on his esses. Fix a simple shape in mind, Siobhan Walkingssstick. Something familiar to us both. Something- "Something that strikes?" I started shimmying out of my clothes. Caitriona dropped her fists to gape at me and I handed her my gla.s.ses. "Don't let them get crunched, okay?"

She took them speechlessly and I interpreted that as agreement. Everything else, including my precious, ruined coat, became a pile on the ground as Rattler coiled himself in my mind. He got stronger the tighter he curled on himself, like he was concentrating his focus so we might shove past the poison trying to turn me into a monster. He balled up smaller and smaller, becoming brighter and brighter, and just at the moment he became incandescent, I snapped the image of what I wanted to become into place.

It was not supposed to feel like the world was being torn apart. Like I was being torn apart. Like my left arm, specifically, had gone to war with the rest of me, resisting transformation with a will of its own. I was a ma.s.s of twisting bones, trying to find a shape that satisfied me, but the shape I wanted was at odds with the werewolf's curse. I changed partway and gasped for breath, caught in a loop of unending shifts.

A hiss erupted from somewhere near the bottom of Rattler's snaky little soul. He lunged for the wrongness permeating my magic, his jaws gaping in a reminder that snakes could and did eat things three times their own size, and he fastened on to the werewolf's bite from the inside.

Magic pumped through his bite, spirit animal power at war with demonic determination. That flood of strength backed up my own magic, all the power that had for days been frantically trying to keep me from transforming. Then it superseded my power, freeing up a magic that was working overtime, and between one breath and the next the pain of prolonged shifting was gone. I flowed into my new shape, and struck.

Meabh flung herself to the side as I threw myself into the fray. For an instant she looked as though I might be a fresh new enemy, but Caitriona's protest reverberated off my ear bones when Meabh lifted her sword against me. Then I was nose to nose with a more-than-slightly shocked dragon, and much like Rattler had done, I dropped my jaw in my own version of a snaky grin. The dragon backed the h.e.l.l up, all three heads taking a break from breathing fire to get a good look at me instead.

I was pretty sure I was worth looking at, what with being fifteen feet of rattlesnake. Fifteen feet of raspy muscle and rattling tail and, very importantly, of venom-injecting fangs. The dragon was bulkier, but not a lot longer. It had fire, but I was betting I had speed. It had claws, but I had- -all right, still with the speed, but that was going to have to be enough. I coiled and struck all at once, relying on my peculiar heat-sensing snaky vision to find the dragon's most vulnerable spots. The throats, in this case: there were heat blooms in all three throats, suggesting the fire it spat was engendered right there. My teeth closed on the nearest throat, quenching the fire a-borning.

Quenching that fire a-borning, anyway. The dragon screamed with its other two throats and flame washed over me. It didn't burn, my shields as strong in a shapeshifted form as they were as a human, but my muscles kind of melted anyway. Sunshine melting, the happiness of a snake baking on a desert rock. If I'd had shoulders they would have sagged, and as it was, I dragged the head I'd captured with me toward the ground as comfort sluiced through me.

Clearly I had not thought this whole "fighting as a snake" thing through. I clenched my teeth harder, determined not to let the one throat go even if I had to take a little nap mid-battle. The dragon spat flame again, then coiled its other two heads down to gnash at me with mult.i.tudinous teeth. I had a much bigger mouth than theirs, and while I could get my teeth around one of their throats, they couldn't exchange the favor. That was good, since although I a.s.sumed poison was pumping through its veins by now, I had no idea how much it took to bring down a dragon, nor was I certain that rattlesnakes poisoned their prey rather than suffocating them. It was possible the poison was just a paralytic to make the suffocating easier, which would be less helpful than it could be if I had one mouth and three necks to choke. And Rattler, who presumably might offer some insight into those questions, had gone quiet inside the confines of my skull. I suspected he might still be fighting the infection, and didn't really want to disturb him for fear breaking his concentration might send me back to the spasms of conflicting shapeshifts.

The dragon backed up, dragging my melty self with it. I caught a glimpse of the distant blobs that were Meabh and Caitriona, both of them emitting a kind of cool uncertainty that had to be psychic but still registered in my heat-based vision. I wanted to yell to them, to say, "Come on in, the water's fine!" except I had a mouthful of dragon and the d.a.m.ned thing wasn't suffocating fast enough. Nor would it ever, with two more windpipes to breathe through. I gave up on the hope of suffocating it, let go and hoped the poison would do the trick before the encroaching warmth-induced sleepies did me in.

To my great satisfaction, the head I'd been hanging on to flopped down in a convincing approximation of lifelessness. Possibly it would pull itself back together, but that was a problem for when it happened. No longer stymied by its weight, I slithered and wriggled forward. Dragon teeth slid off my scales and shields, making uncomfortable sparks but not quite managing to hold me.

The ground was warm. Hot, even. Sun-baked-stone hot. I bet dragons liked that as much as snakes, but the dragon had feet and I had a fifteen-foot-long belly pressed against all that cozy warmth. I didn't think snake eyes could cross with pleasure, but mine nearly did anyway. I hissed, more to wake myself up than anything else, and coiled up as tight as I could so less of me was on the nice warm ground. There had to be a hot springs or a lava bubble or something beneath us to make it that warm. Not that Ireland was well-known for either of those things. But then, the bleak h.e.l.l dimension I'd accidentally visited while trying to fight the wendigo had some lava-bubble-like aspects, and I had the uncomfortable feeling we were closer to that place than I'd like us to be.

My blunt nose hit the ground at the end of all that contemplation, and the dragon jumped on me like the vulnerable prey I was. I flattened and, shields or no, felt cartilage crunching under the monster's weight. The idea that my shields were weakened by my warmth and contentedness swam through my mind. A dragon's head, all glazed eyes and lolling tongue and torn-out throat, flopped into my vision. It was cooler than it had been, details fading, which probably meant I'd managed to kill one-third of the beast. Too bad about napping through the encore.