Moonshadow
Page 15
For a brief moment the Power in the broken silver rope dissipated. When she felt it begin to coalesce again, she worked faster, digging the pointed end of the nail file into the knot until she finally yanked it loose.
When she pulled the rope away, the dog rounded on her with a snarl. It moved so fast she didn’t have time to pull back. Sharp-looking white fangs flashed as it snatched the length of silver rope from her hands and flung it over its shoulder.
She had gotten too used to the dog’s docile cooperation. Sitting back on her heels, she stared, but the brief display of savagery was already over. The Ewok face turned up to her, its large, filmy eyes blinking mildly.
A few feet away, the length of silvery rope dissolved with an acidic hiss until all that was left on the pavement was a darkened smear that stank like rotten eggs and left a faint shadow of psychic malice. What would the rope have done if she’d still held it? Would it have burned through her fingers?
Sophie looked around at the peaceful-seeming countryside, then back down at the dog.
Sighing, it put its chin on her knee.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered. “You did not just do that, did you?”
But it had, indeed, just done that.
She inspected her fingers. The reddened welts had turned into raised blisters in places. She wanted to check the dog’s neck to see if it was blistered too, but there was too much matted hair in the way. Also, it was wretchedly filthy.
She needed to cut the dreadlocks off and give the dog a bath with a mild soap, then check for blisters.
But first things first.
Pulling out her water bottle, she poured water into the palm of one cupped hand and offered it. There was no telling how long ago it’d had a chance to drink, let alone eat.
Sniffing at her hand, it opened an oddly hinged mouth, wide as a frog’s, and sucked at the water in her palm. Sucked, not lapped, making small, audible sounds as it swallowed. Tilting her head, she watched it drink.
When it finished the water, she poured more into her palm until it stopped drinking. Only then did she take a drink herself. Afterward, she capped the mostly empty bottle and stuck it back inside her bag.
“All right, kiddo,” she said to the dog. “I saw those toofers of yours. I know you could do real damage if you tried. Don’t you bite me.”
With that admonition, she picked it up gently. As she did, it climbed up her torso and stuck its face in her neck with a deep sigh.
Automatically her arms closed around the small body. She knelt there frozen, holding a strange, stinky dog in her arms. It probably had heartworm and fleas.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
This wasn’t going to happen. She had an agenda for the foreseeable future, and it didn’t include adopting a pet, let alone adopting a special-needs pet.
She was going to carry it to the village and hand it over to somebody else. Surely, there had to be a country vet somewhere that could give it medical care.
But there was the abuse, the neglect. The cruel magic rope that had dissolved into nothing. Her jaw clenched on another surge of rage. She didn’t know who would do such a thing to an animal, but whoever they were, they had to either live in the area or to have passed through recently.
Sophie, she said to herself, you’re not here five minutes, and you’ve already started a shit list. Some people don’t know how to take a vacation.
Aloud, she told the dog, “I just want you to know, this conversation isn’t over.”
As she climbed to her feet, she sensed Power. Not the kind of magic that radiated from the ancient land. Not the kind of Power she’d sensed in the length of rope.
This was a strong concentration of personal Power. It traveled toward her with the speed of a bullet. At the same moment, she heard the deep mechanical growl of an approaching engine.
Instinct caused her to leap to her feet. Maybe that approaching Power was benevolent or at the very least indifferent.
Maybe it wasn’t.
She was in no shape for a possible confrontation with an unknown entity that held that kind of strength here, in an unknown land, especially without her Glock as backup. Striding off the pavement, she plunged into the thicket of brush bordering the road.
As branches of green foliage closed around her, she pulled the shadows around her like a cloak. Only then did she glance back at the way she had come.
The road curved gently with the land and was still visible where it followed the rise over the horizon. She could see her Mini, small in the distance, parked on the shoulder.
A figure on a motorcycle came over the rise. The sense of approaching Power grew stronger. Her muscles tightened as she watched it, straining for every detail.
The bike was a big one. Still too far away for her to say for sure, from the bulk and general shape, she guessed it was a Harley. The figure wore black jeans, boots, a black leather jacket, and a helmet with a faceless, featureless black front.
Tiny hairs at the back of her neck raised. It was clearly a masculine figure, with a large frame strong enough to control that massive bike, and the sulfurous Power it carried felt like a thunderclap.
It didn’t slow down or pause as it passed the Mini. Within moments it came to the area where she hid, still clutching the dog.
Then it slowed.
The deep roar of the motorcycle throttled down to a quiet growl as it slowly passed the spot where the magic rope had melted. As the figure on the bike came to where she had stepped off the road, that featureless black helmet turned left, then right. He looked as if he was searching for something.
The air felt compressed and sizzled with energy. If his Power had seemed like a thunderclap before, this close, the force of his presence bent the air around him.
When she pulled the rope away, the dog rounded on her with a snarl. It moved so fast she didn’t have time to pull back. Sharp-looking white fangs flashed as it snatched the length of silver rope from her hands and flung it over its shoulder.
She had gotten too used to the dog’s docile cooperation. Sitting back on her heels, she stared, but the brief display of savagery was already over. The Ewok face turned up to her, its large, filmy eyes blinking mildly.
A few feet away, the length of silvery rope dissolved with an acidic hiss until all that was left on the pavement was a darkened smear that stank like rotten eggs and left a faint shadow of psychic malice. What would the rope have done if she’d still held it? Would it have burned through her fingers?
Sophie looked around at the peaceful-seeming countryside, then back down at the dog.
Sighing, it put its chin on her knee.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered. “You did not just do that, did you?”
But it had, indeed, just done that.
She inspected her fingers. The reddened welts had turned into raised blisters in places. She wanted to check the dog’s neck to see if it was blistered too, but there was too much matted hair in the way. Also, it was wretchedly filthy.
She needed to cut the dreadlocks off and give the dog a bath with a mild soap, then check for blisters.
But first things first.
Pulling out her water bottle, she poured water into the palm of one cupped hand and offered it. There was no telling how long ago it’d had a chance to drink, let alone eat.
Sniffing at her hand, it opened an oddly hinged mouth, wide as a frog’s, and sucked at the water in her palm. Sucked, not lapped, making small, audible sounds as it swallowed. Tilting her head, she watched it drink.
When it finished the water, she poured more into her palm until it stopped drinking. Only then did she take a drink herself. Afterward, she capped the mostly empty bottle and stuck it back inside her bag.
“All right, kiddo,” she said to the dog. “I saw those toofers of yours. I know you could do real damage if you tried. Don’t you bite me.”
With that admonition, she picked it up gently. As she did, it climbed up her torso and stuck its face in her neck with a deep sigh.
Automatically her arms closed around the small body. She knelt there frozen, holding a strange, stinky dog in her arms. It probably had heartworm and fleas.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
This wasn’t going to happen. She had an agenda for the foreseeable future, and it didn’t include adopting a pet, let alone adopting a special-needs pet.
She was going to carry it to the village and hand it over to somebody else. Surely, there had to be a country vet somewhere that could give it medical care.
But there was the abuse, the neglect. The cruel magic rope that had dissolved into nothing. Her jaw clenched on another surge of rage. She didn’t know who would do such a thing to an animal, but whoever they were, they had to either live in the area or to have passed through recently.
Sophie, she said to herself, you’re not here five minutes, and you’ve already started a shit list. Some people don’t know how to take a vacation.
Aloud, she told the dog, “I just want you to know, this conversation isn’t over.”
As she climbed to her feet, she sensed Power. Not the kind of magic that radiated from the ancient land. Not the kind of Power she’d sensed in the length of rope.
This was a strong concentration of personal Power. It traveled toward her with the speed of a bullet. At the same moment, she heard the deep mechanical growl of an approaching engine.
Instinct caused her to leap to her feet. Maybe that approaching Power was benevolent or at the very least indifferent.
Maybe it wasn’t.
She was in no shape for a possible confrontation with an unknown entity that held that kind of strength here, in an unknown land, especially without her Glock as backup. Striding off the pavement, she plunged into the thicket of brush bordering the road.
As branches of green foliage closed around her, she pulled the shadows around her like a cloak. Only then did she glance back at the way she had come.
The road curved gently with the land and was still visible where it followed the rise over the horizon. She could see her Mini, small in the distance, parked on the shoulder.
A figure on a motorcycle came over the rise. The sense of approaching Power grew stronger. Her muscles tightened as she watched it, straining for every detail.
The bike was a big one. Still too far away for her to say for sure, from the bulk and general shape, she guessed it was a Harley. The figure wore black jeans, boots, a black leather jacket, and a helmet with a faceless, featureless black front.
Tiny hairs at the back of her neck raised. It was clearly a masculine figure, with a large frame strong enough to control that massive bike, and the sulfurous Power it carried felt like a thunderclap.
It didn’t slow down or pause as it passed the Mini. Within moments it came to the area where she hid, still clutching the dog.
Then it slowed.
The deep roar of the motorcycle throttled down to a quiet growl as it slowly passed the spot where the magic rope had melted. As the figure on the bike came to where she had stepped off the road, that featureless black helmet turned left, then right. He looked as if he was searching for something.
The air felt compressed and sizzled with energy. If his Power had seemed like a thunderclap before, this close, the force of his presence bent the air around him.
