Page 64 of A Touch of Poison
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!”
