flee, he skidded to a halt on the graveled pavement.
A creature from nightmare blocked freedom.
“What the hell?” Bran breathed.
The thing was wolf-like, its red eyes glaring malice. It was larger than a mastiff, with patches of coarse black hair like spikes growing out of dark green fur along its shoulders and hindquarters. Its hair bristled as it came deeper into the alley, the muscles beneath thick and rippling, its tail a braided mass sweeping the night like a whip. Slaver dripped from its fangs, evidence of its thoughts.
Trapped.
The fairies suddenly lost all importance.
Bran backed away. The unnatural hound’s large paws were silent on the gravelly pavement as it crept toward him, its muzzle pulled back against canines. Sweat broke out in hot beads over Bran’s body, infusing him with wildfire.
The only thing he cared about was escape.
The dog boomed a bark, spraying saliva everywhere.
Manically, Bran ripped the area apart, looking for a weapon or escape. Two doors with steel screens were closed and locked, the windows nearby covered in bars. A dumpster pushed against a wall wafted its damp contents. Freed bricks, wet cardboard, and a scurrying rat were his only other options.
There was nowhere to go. It was over.
The beast knew it. Eyes burning like coals in the darkness, it took slow steps forward. It grinned its intentions, pointed ears twitching in eagerness.
Dread threatened to overwhelm Bran. Alone and without a weapon, it was only a matter of time before the huge demon creature rent him asunder. Rather than cower in fear, fierce anger as he had never known rose within him like a tidal wave. It swelled until it crested, setting him in motion.
He grabbed up the only items he found at all useful. Two broken bricks.
And waited for the beast to attack.
“Get away!” he screamed, brandishing the weapons.
“No,” it growled lowly.
“You speak?” Bran asked, surprise mingling with his fear.
“As thou do, child of man,” the creature mocked darkly.
“What do you want?”
“Thy death,” the creature salivated.
From a window ledge above, the fairies watched what transpired, goading the beast forward with squeaky voices and glee in their eyes.
“But why?!” Bran yelled, his heart pounding.
The animal stopped. The light in its eyes dimmed briefly before flaring anew.
“Because I must.”
“Come then,” Bran growled shakily, and raised his bricks like boxing gloves.
Ready for the coming battle, Bran’s heart froze in his chest when a new shadow entered the alley behind the hound.
“Not. Another. Step!” a man’s voice thundered.
Eyes narrowing, the canine spun, ears flat against its head.
“Knight shyte,” it snarled. “I know thee, thy stench.”
The man stepped deeper into the alley, unafraid, his hands balled into fists, his clothes ragged. He appeared the same as the last time Bran had seen him. Richard. The Old World Tales visitor from the previous night.
“Help me!” Bran shrieked.
Richard said nothing. The man was wholly fixed on the dog.
“Why protect him?” it whined. “He is nothing.”
“He is innocent, cu sith,” Richard said. “You are not.”
“Thou knowest nothing,” the dog growled low.
“The fairies above have twisted you to their will, cu sith,” Richard shot back. “And you will not attack this boy nor survive to try.”
A spark of hope entered Bran, although how a homeless man planned to defeat such an obvious threat, he didn’t know.
The barrel-chested dog gave its enemy a final glance.
Then leapt at Bran.
Bran barely had time to bring his bricks to bear.
Before the hound could reach him, a powerful burst of blue light pummeled into the thing’s hindquarters mid-jump, sending the beast reeling against the wall. Bricks and mortar broke free from the impact. Bran shrunk from blast. The green foe yelped shock and pain as it tumbled to the wet pavement, its fur disheveled and eyes surprised.
It was slow to regain its paws.
Bran pressed up against the rear alley wall, breathing hard. Richard stood on the other side of the animal, a flaming sapphire sword in his right hand. His eyes burned with conviction, fixated on the struggling animal. With the fairies raucously cursing from above and shaking their wings in fury, Richard charged and brought his weapon up, driving its blade at the struggling dog, his ferocious intent unmistakable.
The canine jumped aside the last moment.
The sword cut into the wall as if it were made of paper.
With dexterity that belied any injury done to it, the dog jumped at Richard. It raged against the blue fire that accosted it, the smell of burnt hair filling the alleyway as it fought to reach the homeless man. Gritting his teeth, Richard backed away