The Outcast (Summoner #4)(26)
“Have a nice life, brother. All thirty seconds of it,” Charles whispered.
CHAPTER
14
ARCTURUS WAS SHOVED TO the floor, his nose thudding into the floorboards. The door slammed and the room was cast in pitch darkness as the portal disappeared, its power source gone with Rook.
Salty blood gushed from Arcturus’s nose as he struggled to get upright, ripping at his weakened bonds with all the strength he could muster. As the dirk sliced through the mana web, it dissolved into nothingness—no evidence to prove what Charles had done. They had planned his murder well.
As quietly as possible, Arcturus shuffled back and began to work on Sacharissa’s bonds, all the while impressing the need for silence on her with his mind. She barely breathed, even when he sliced her in his blind rush to get her free. Every moment mattered, for the gossamer still glowed, just enough for the Wendigo to track in the darkness.
He could hear it now, its claws slipping and scraping on the floorboards. Arcturus could remember the way its hooked claws had dug into the earth for purchase when it had battled the Minotaur. It was a wild animal, completely new to such a smooth, hard surface. He would use this to his advantage.
The final thread was sliced away and Arcturus helped Sacharissa to her feet, now in total darkness. The Wendigo was snorting lungfuls of air, hunting for them by scent alone. For the first time, he was glad of the stench of burning wood that polluted the air. It would help keep them alive.
First, Arcturus tried the door. It was locked, but he could feel the keyhole, so large that he could stick two fingers through it. The lock was rough and simple, a relic of the old times the castle had been built in. If he was lucky, a bit of jimmying with the dirk might get the door open.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Arcturus saw that there was dim light from beneath the door, enough to see Sacharissa’s eyes. Instinctively, he re-formed their connection. Her black-and-white vision would not make much difference in the gloom of the room; hearing and sound would be key.
The scratch of claws against the wood was sickening, like nails against a chalkboard. But it was nothing compared to the smell that the Wendigo gave off. It was like rotting carrion, thick and ripe in the air. Arcturus felt as if it coated the back of his throat, so strongly did it reek of death. He sensed the demon was creeping toward them, cautiously. Arcturus supposed that it must have not recognized his scent, since humans were not native to the ether. It was suspicious of the unknown—yet it approached nonetheless.
“Get back!” Arcturus yelled, slamming the dirk through the keyhole, twisting and scraping at the mechanism within.
He heard the skitter of claws as the Wendigo leaped away, like a startled bird. Even so, it was but a moment before he heard the slow creep once again.
Strangely, it did not seem to be approaching him this time, or at least, not that he could hear. Instead, the Wendigo appeared to be heading toward the lockers on the other side of the room. As Arcturus honed in on them, he could smell a trace of something he hadn’t before: a mix of bath soap, sweat and leather. Perhaps both he and the Wendigo could smell the aprons within, and the creature had decided they were easier prey.
Arcturus didn’t care, as long as it was moving away from him. He could feel the lock in the door clicking with every rattle of his dirk, until finally, a dull clunk told him that the latch had popped on the other side. With a last wrench, he dragged the door open, tumbling through with Sacharissa just behind him.
He slammed the door closed, threw the latch back in place and pressed his back against it.
The Wendigo rammed against the door, its predatory instincts telling it to chase that which ran away. The door shuddered but stayed firm against the demon’s onslaught. Perhaps it had been made thick and sturdy for that very reason.
Arcturus felt a rush of hot, moist air against his ankles, as the Wendigo snorted beneath the door, smelling him. He slid down and raked the dirk through the crack, and was immediately rewarded by a grunt of pain. The blade tip came away sticky with black blood. Then there was a clatter of claws as the demon crawled away in search of less dangerous prey.
Arcturus took a deep breath and assessed his situation. His satchel was still attached to his back and Rook and Charles were nowhere to be seen. They must have returned to their rooms, in case someone heard Arcturus screaming.
It had all turned out better than expected in the end. There was blood on the floor from his nose and Arcturus was sure that if they found no body, Charles would assume that the Wendigo had eaten him entirely, then faded into the ether.
He had inadvertently faked his own death. It was perfect.
Sacharissa nosed against his palm and he gave her a brief hug. He only wished he had time to try to infuse her before he disappeared into the night. She was in enough danger, and it would save him feeding her. She was already hungry, for Ulfr had only brought her one meager portion of mincemeat in the afternoon.
Suddenly, he heard a bellow from inside the room, like the last breath of a wounded bull. Then a scream, so loud and full of horror, that it cut him through to his very soul. There was no doubt in Arcturus’s mind who it could be.
“Elaine!” he gasped.
CHAPTER
15
HE THREW OPEN THE door, the darkness inside suddenly lit by the dim light of the atrium. Wyrdlights flew from his fingers, zooming in to reveal the monstrous figure at the other end of the room.