Barclay shouted, grabbing at Abel’s and Ethel’s hands. “Run!”
The Styerwurm, distracted with shaking the fox girl, didn’t notice them escape. Several more screams echoed throughout the trees, the Woods once again reminding Barclay how dangerous it was. In the hazy blizzard of white, it was impossible to see. They collided painfully with thorn bushes, fell and stumbled down hills, and tripped over logs. The barren trees seemed to sway and move in the darkness.
“Which way is Sycomore?” Barclay asked.
“I have no idea,” Abel breathed.
Ethel shakily looked up at the sky, hoping for the sun to provide direction, but it was swallowed by the storm.
Silhouettes approached around them, each different shapes. Some were tall and wide, others crouched and predatory. There could be Beasts far more dangerous than Styerwurms wild in this forest.
The three of them stood in a circle, back-to-back.
“How many items are left on the list?” Abel asked hoarsely.
“Only one,” Ethel answered. “The Hasifuss.”
A roar shook the Woods around them. They cringed and pressed closer together.
“We could split up,” Ethel suggested.
“Bad idea,” Abel squeaked.
“We could go back to town,” she said. “No one would blame us in this blizzard—”
“I’m not giving up,” Barclay said determinedly, and Abel nodded. No matter what wild Beasts attacked them, they weren’t helpless. They could still finish this.
Then a silhouette took form through the falling snow. The Beast looked like a mountain lion, only giant, with gray fur and two heads. Each face bared its fangs, growling menacingly.
“It’s amazing,” Ethel said in her usual awe.
“It’s terrifying,” Barclay corrected.
“Barclay, we’re going to distract it with a mirror,” Abel said. “Then we all run.”
Barclay nodded, grateful they’d settled so quickly on a plan.
Another long mirror appeared among the trees, so sudden and clear that Barclay didn’t notice anything had changed until he saw his reflection staring back at him.
The Beast ran forward, striking the mirror and shattering it. Barclay, Abel, and Ethel screamed, their hands over their heads. A sharp piece fell and sliced Barclay on his wrist, making him shout out in pain. But he was so scared, no sound even came out.
The Beast raced toward them, and the three of them took off running. Normally, Barclay could have run faster, but his legs suddenly felt heavy, like something was tugging on them. Yet when he looked down, there was nothing there.
So intent on fleeing the wild Beast, Ethel and Abel didn’t notice him lagging as they charged ahead.
They ran.
And ran.
And ran.
Suddenly Barclay lost sight of them in the distance.
“Ethel! Abel!” he tried to call, but no matter how loud he shouted, no sound came out.
He froze. He remembered that Lore.
He turned around and faced the Ischray, its smoky white body barely visible in the whirls of snow. Barclay’s scream wisped through the air, and the Beast ate it whole.
Then Barclay looked down and saw rusty chains materialize around both of his feet, as though they’d been there for a while, invisible. No wonder it’d been hard to run, with them dragging him down. His eyes followed them to where they ended, and he saw them shackled to the legs of the mountain lion.
Barclay had not noticed earlier, but all four of the eyes on its two heads were a cloudy white. It was blind.
“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” a voice asked. “Lore that plays with your senses.”
Another silhouette appeared from the trees, only this one was not a Beast.
“Hello, Barclay,” Soren said, smiling viciously.
In his hand, he carried a scalpel.
EIGHTEEN
Do you like this recent addition to my collection?” Soren asked Barclay. He petted the mountain lion behind one of its four ears, the keys to the chains swinging from his belt. “A Nitney, a Prime class Beast. They’re blind, but they can trick your sight Lore. With the Nitney, I can make you miss things that are really there. It pairs well with my Ischray’s sound Lore, don’t you think?”
Soren gave a fond look to the haunting Ischray, which now pinned Barclay’s arms behind his back. Barclay squirmed in its grip and opened his mouth to yell at Soren, but it was no use. Until Soren snapped his fingers and Barclay regained his voice.
“If something happens to me, if I don’t come back—” Barclay started.
“Everyone will assume you died. You’re just an Elsie, after all. One very much in over his head.”
Soren nodded at the Ischray, which unfastened Barclay’s heavy coat. It fell into the snow, leaving him shivering in only his sweater. Soren placed the scalpel against Barclay’s shoulder, prepared to cut through the