slashing claws, the clash of swords, and far too much of it to know where to train her attention. Memories of her sparring with Godfather, their evenings laughing over punches and swordplay, overwhelmed her with new significance. âYouâve been training me to fight not for me but for you .â
âClara, we havenât time for this. Please justââ
On the other side of the protective barricade, a gigantic weight crashed to the floor. Inside the statue something pounded furiously.
A massive clawed arm burst through the wall of mirrors behind Clara and yanked her through.
Choking on her own scream, Clara landed hard against a bristly body hot with blood. Black claws slashed across her arm and thigh. She saw yellow eyes, two sets of long black teeth in a mouth crusted with pus, and a distinctively ratlike snout. The beast smelled of sewage and grime. Around its head it wore an assemblage of gears and lenses that unfolded over its right eye. Clara struggled to break free, kicking and biting, but the lokâs grip was iron. Angered, it reared back onto its hind legs.
Spots swam before her eyes as the lokâs grip tightened. The creature roared unintelligible words, its stink washing over Claraâs face. She hadthe impression that it had won a game and she was the prize. But she still had a sword somewhere. She had lost much of the feeling in her arms, but it was still in her handâshe had not dropped it. Desperation spurred her on past the frantic, impossible fear of being trapped in the arms of a monster. Any thoughts but those of survival fell away, leaving her mind sharp. She needed room to maneuver the blade into the lokâs belly, but she could hardly breathe for the pain. The lens over the creatureâs eye flashed, catching her attention, and this seemed significant. The man at the window sported a similar light. Could he be controlling them? Were they somehow linked?
âAnise,â she whispered. She didnât know who or what Anise was, but maybe that man upstairs knew, and maybe it would distract the lok long enough for Clara to make her move. She forced herself to stare at the blinking lens and infuse her voice with conviction she did not feel. Something sparked in her hairâfrom the swinging chandelier overhead, perhaps?
âAnise! I know youâre there. And itâs too late. Godfatherâs already done it.â
Clara didnât even know what precisely Godfather was trying to do, but the words clearly meant something, for the lokâs grip loosened. It cocked its head slightly in puzzlement, or, perhaps, to listen to something far away.
Clara did not wait to find out. Gathering her strength, crying out in pain as her bruised back twisted, she thrust her sword toward the lokâs midsection and prayed that her blade would find a gap in the strange, corded harness wrapped around its middle. The lok jerked, putrid breath rushing over her face. Its steaming black blood spilled onto her leg.
The lok fell. Clara fell with it and rolled away from its flailing body. As she watched it die, shock settled in her mind. Her limbs were unsteady, and blood spotted her skin. She had killed the thing that had attacked her. The novelty of such a concept, the revelation of her own might, sent surety surging through her in a rush of heat.
She was invincible, ecstatic. For an instant the chaos around her fell away. She allowed herself to imagine slicing open Dr. Victorâs own white belly, again and again, until he was nothing but a bloodied piece of meat, like the lok before her.
The main ballroom doors burst open with a great cracking sound, two loks bounding through, their tails like whips. Overhead, iron creaked and shadows swayed. Clara looked up to see a lok wrapped around one of the chandeliers, peering into the maze for a safe path down which to climb.
Something slammed into her unwounded side, and she fell hard against one of the long serving tables,
âClara, we havenât time for this. Please justââ
On the other side of the protective barricade, a gigantic weight crashed to the floor. Inside the statue something pounded furiously.
A massive clawed arm burst through the wall of mirrors behind Clara and yanked her through.
Choking on her own scream, Clara landed hard against a bristly body hot with blood. Black claws slashed across her arm and thigh. She saw yellow eyes, two sets of long black teeth in a mouth crusted with pus, and a distinctively ratlike snout. The beast smelled of sewage and grime. Around its head it wore an assemblage of gears and lenses that unfolded over its right eye. Clara struggled to break free, kicking and biting, but the lokâs grip was iron. Angered, it reared back onto its hind legs.
Spots swam before her eyes as the lokâs grip tightened. The creature roared unintelligible words, its stink washing over Claraâs face. She hadthe impression that it had won a game and she was the prize. But she still had a sword somewhere. She had lost much of the feeling in her arms, but it was still in her handâshe had not dropped it. Desperation spurred her on past the frantic, impossible fear of being trapped in the arms of a monster. Any thoughts but those of survival fell away, leaving her mind sharp. She needed room to maneuver the blade into the lokâs belly, but she could hardly breathe for the pain. The lens over the creatureâs eye flashed, catching her attention, and this seemed significant. The man at the window sported a similar light. Could he be controlling them? Were they somehow linked?
âAnise,â she whispered. She didnât know who or what Anise was, but maybe that man upstairs knew, and maybe it would distract the lok long enough for Clara to make her move. She forced herself to stare at the blinking lens and infuse her voice with conviction she did not feel. Something sparked in her hairâfrom the swinging chandelier overhead, perhaps?
âAnise! I know youâre there. And itâs too late. Godfatherâs already done it.â
Clara didnât even know what precisely Godfather was trying to do, but the words clearly meant something, for the lokâs grip loosened. It cocked its head slightly in puzzlement, or, perhaps, to listen to something far away.
Clara did not wait to find out. Gathering her strength, crying out in pain as her bruised back twisted, she thrust her sword toward the lokâs midsection and prayed that her blade would find a gap in the strange, corded harness wrapped around its middle. The lok jerked, putrid breath rushing over her face. Its steaming black blood spilled onto her leg.
The lok fell. Clara fell with it and rolled away from its flailing body. As she watched it die, shock settled in her mind. Her limbs were unsteady, and blood spotted her skin. She had killed the thing that had attacked her. The novelty of such a concept, the revelation of her own might, sent surety surging through her in a rush of heat.
She was invincible, ecstatic. For an instant the chaos around her fell away. She allowed herself to imagine slicing open Dr. Victorâs own white belly, again and again, until he was nothing but a bloodied piece of meat, like the lok before her.
The main ballroom doors burst open with a great cracking sound, two loks bounding through, their tails like whips. Overhead, iron creaked and shadows swayed. Clara looked up to see a lok wrapped around one of the chandeliers, peering into the maze for a safe path down which to climb.
Something slammed into her unwounded side, and she fell hard against one of the long serving tables,
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