Kitty's Big Trouble

“I think he’s okay,” she said, but sounded uncertain.

“Anastasia, what’s wrong with him?”

“Incoming,” Cormac called before she could answer. He held the crossbow ready, aiming at the opposite doorway from where Henry had appeared. He had a clear shot through the middle of the room.

Grace pulled Henry into a corner, and I reflected on the irony of trying to protect an undead guy who was essentially immortal. If said undead guy was unconscious and possibly injured, how would we ever know? Was there a vampire doctor we could take him to?

I was constantly astonished by the absurdity of it all.

“What are we going to do about this?” Ben said, nodding at the silver knives scattered on the floor. We braced, wolflike and ready to pounce—but away from danger, away from the silver.

All I could smell was the stupid incense, and the hallway appeared darker than it should have—my wolf eyes should have been able to make out something. Something had caught Cormac’s attention. Movement flickered in the shadows, or in my own imagination.

The thing that crept in through the doorway made no sound. At first glance, he was a man, incredibly tall, as tall as the doorway, and bulky, stout and full of muscles. He wore nothing but worn trousers and went barefoot. At second glance, however, the details became uncertain and impossible. The figure moved hunched and low, like a wrestler approaching an opponent. As if he was sizing us up. Except his eyes were sewn shut. Two rows of vertical, swollen stitches marked where eyes should have been. Black stitches also marked his nostrils, mouth, and even his ears—he didn’t really have ears, just crusted stitches crisscrossing holes on the sides of his bald head.

I didn’t know how he could sense anything—I didn’t know how he could breathe. Yet he kept on, stepping carefully, flexing his hands as if preparing to strike.

If he didn’t breathe, could we stop him?

Grace gasped as if she recognized the creature, which would have been great, because then she knew what it was and would know how to stop it. But she didn’t say anything. Maybe he was mortal, human. Maybe we could just beat him up. But that didn’t explain the ruin of his face or how he could function without four of his five senses.

The crossbow fired and a bolt whistled past me, smacking into the monster’s neck. The shaft stuck out of sickly grayish skin, quivering. Behind me, Cormac cranked back the crossbow for reloading.

Not that it would help, because the monster didn’t much notice. He grunted, swiped at the bolt, pulled it out, and tossed it away. A bare trickle of blood ran from the wound. So, he was a near-invincible kind of otherworldly monster. Check.

Cormac slung the crossbow over his shoulder and began rummaging in his coat pockets.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Not going to waste ammo I’m going to need for the vampire,” he said.

Anastasia stared at it with awe and doubt.

“What is it? Who is it?” I shot at her.

“Hundun,” she murmured. “God of chaos.”

Of course he was; we had to get one of those in the mix.

“I don’t know—I thought the guy was dead,” Sun said.

“Wait a minute—if he’s a god how could he be dead?” I called out.

“Oh, gods die all the time.”

I would have to parse that later. “That means we can kill him, right?”

He didn’t answer.

Common sense—Wolf’s common sense—told me that I didn’t know enough about this enemy to be able to fight him. He wasn’t prey, and this wasn’t a hunt. We weren’t cornered—we could escape through the doorway behind us, avoiding the silver caltrops. We could run. We ought to run. That was common sense. But I couldn’t leave the others. And I couldn’t help.

The creature had paused a moment, seeming to look at each of us in turn, noting us, marking us. Then he almost nodded, a single tip of his head, which he swung around to focus on Sun Wukong as if identifying him as the most dangerous among us.

With what seemed to be a sense of a joy, Sun took a running start and leapt forward, meeting the blinded monster head-on. Holding his staff with both hands, he jabbed upward, aiming for the creature’s chin—but the thing, this strange god of chaos, sidestepped and whirled to slam his fists into Sun’s back. The creature’s speed belied his size and apparent lack of senses. Maybe the thing really could see, somehow, and all the stitches were there for horrifying effect.

My common sense was failing me.

Struck hard, Sun stumbled forward, but was able to quickly spin to once again face his opponent, and in the same movement he struck again, cracking his staff against the monster’s head. The being shook off the blow and swung a punch at Sun, who dodged it by jumping over it. It all happened in a blur.

“Sun, you must break him!” Anastasia called. “Break through, remember the story.”

“I can handle it!” he called, and she hissed as if she didn’t believe him.

“Cormac, the crossbow, you must aim for his eyes, open his eyes!” Anastasia yelled.

The creature lunged again, punching with both fists.

“I’m feeling so useless,” Ben said. We were still on the sidelines, watching a fight that would have been amazing if it had been in a kung fu epic. Being able to smell the sweat in the room made it too real.

Cormac hadn’t heard the vampire. He—Amelia—was still rummaging for whatever protective or defensive spells they had. I was furious that Ben and I had been sidelined by toy-size hardware.

Then I saw him, in the shadows of the same doorway Henry had come through, aiming a crossbow of his own at Anastasia.

I didn’t think. I took a running leap and sprang over the stretch of spilled caltrops, hoping, reaching, praying I’d make it.

“Kitty!” Ben snarled after me. Then he called, “Cormac!”

I crashed onto clear floor and kept going, straight into Roman, tackling him. We both slammed into the wall. He growled and shoved me aside.

Wolf kicked and I let her come to the surface, allowed her instincts to fill me. Curling my fingers, I dug them into the vampire’s arm, raking, kneading, gouging. I might not be able to kill him, but I could keep him from using his weapon.

He swung me against the wall, cracking my head against brick. I saw stars, and Wolf bared her teeth at him.

“Kitty, the bag!” Anastasia called to me. “The bag!”

The words sunk in through the fighting haze. Roman was wearing Sun’s cloth bag over his shoulder, the strap repaired with a simple knot.

He wouldn’t drop the crossbow, which meant he couldn’t effectively get rid of me. I was hanging on him, tearing at him. The stitches in his silk shirt tore. I put my hand on the strap of the bag. I could rip it, take it away from him—

Air whistled past my ear. A crossbow bolt.

Roman made a noise, like the air going out of him. But he was still here—the bolt had landed in his left shoulder, inches from his heart. Inches from my face. But hey, I’d heal, Cormac had probably been thinking. In the center of the room, he was loading a bolt for another shot.

I’d found a tear in the strap and was breaking through the cloth.

Roman had had enough of all of it, because he spun into the room and swung me down to the floor, toward the pool of silver caltrops. It happened too fast. I would hit them, they would bite into me in a dozen places, and the poison would burn through my blood to my heart.

Then came wind. A fierce, fast wind, like the kind that blasted the plains in Colorado, scoured the room and swept the caltrops away, into the opposite wall.

Sun Wukong stood in a fighting pose, sweeping his staff along the floor, bringing the wind with it, until the silver was all gone. Hundun batted him in the head and he went flying.

I landed on the floor, Roman landed on me, and I rested, unhurt but for bruises.