Tide - By Daniela Sacerdoti Page 0,42

Surari turned its monstrous head, its mouth open wide, its teeth yellow in the moonlight.

“Yes, you!”

Once again, Sean began tracing his runes, his hands moving impossibly quickly, sweat and blood pouring down his face. The demon roared and sat back, preparing to pounce – but this time Sean’s runes were too strong to resist. It stopped and tried to snarl, a snarl that turned into a yelp. Black blood started pouring from its throat, the flow becoming greater and greater the longer Sean’s hands kept weaving his deadly spell.

“Nicholas!” called Sarah. “Help him! Help Sean!”

Nicholas was standing, paralyzed. Then, as if waking himself from a trance, he raised his hands, commanding the blue flames from his fingers.

“Nicholas.” A dark, strong voice. Sean. “It’s … not … necessary.” Each word was accompanied by a stab of his sgian-dubh, each stab drawing more blood from the Surari’s throat. The demon staggered then fell. One last shiver, a deep, painful howl, and it was still.

Sean fell to his knees, holding his wounded chest, and Elodie was at his side at once.

“I’m OK. I’m OK. See to Bryony.” But Elodie wouldn’t leave his side.

Bryony was lying face down on the ground, very still. Beside her, Sarah placed two fingers against her friend’s neck. “She’s breathing. She’s alive. Thank God. Thank God.”

“Sarah,” Bryony mewed, shifting slightly, painfully, and Sarah gently helped her turn until she could cradle her friend’s head on her lap. A blue bruise was slowly appearing above Bryony’s left eye and she had a split lip. She was shaking from the shock.

“What …?”

“Shhhh. It’s OK. It was the burglar. He jumped on you,” Sarah began.

“It wasn’t a burglar. Sarah, I promise you, it wasn’t.” Bryony pushed herself up slowly until she was sitting. She turned from Sarah to Sean, and back. “That wasn’t a human being. It was like a … tiger. Or a panther.”

Sean laughed a hollow laugh. “A panther? In an Edinburgh garden?”

Sarah turned away.

Bryony shook her head. “I could have sworn …” She stopped suddenly at the sight of her friend gathering the cat’s lifeless body against her chest, kissing her fur softly, inhaling the scent she knew so well, tears finally flowing down her cheeks.

“Oh no, Sarah.” Bryony stood up and threw her arms around Sarah, Shadow’s little body between them. The others stood awkwardly.

After a few moments, Elodie took Sean’s arm. “Sean. Listen,” she said, and whispered something into his ear.

“Sean? Who’s Sean?” Bryony murmured to Sarah. But Sarah’s mind was too clouded with grief to make up an excuse.

A rustling of leaves, a sudden noise.

“Shhhh!” Sean lifted a finger towards Bryony. She gasped as she noticed the knife in Sean’s hand.

“Quiet!” Sean grabbed her arm, harder than he’d meant to. Bryony whimpered softly.

More rustling.

So it wasn’t over. Sarah glanced at her friend, wondering how much she had seen. Elodie stood alert, her lips blue. Everyone was poised, ready to fight.

A gust of wind, a low bark.

And then, a pair of shiny little eyes appeared among the leaves, followed by a red head with two pointy ears, and a magnificent tail. A fox, looking at the strange gathering in alarm before vanishing again into the undergrowth.

They all let out a deep breath, hunching in relief.

“It’s over,” whispered Sean, and offered his hand to Bryony.

She didn’t take it. “I don’t know what it was that attacked me, but it was not a man,” she repeated, looking around her with bewildered eyes.

18

The Worst Kind of Fear

The day we bargained our lives

For a lie

That was

The day of the choice

Sean

Had Bryony been killed, I don’t know what would have happened to Sarah’s state of mind. It’s bad enough that Shadow ended up mangled like that. Poor little Shadow, she didn’t stand a chance.

If I were a cynical man, I’d say it’s good that this strike took place. It’s good that Sarah saw once more how the danger is not over, and how Nicholas is not enough to protect her. She needs us as well. She needs me.

I’m as sore as hell. Elodie has washed and dressed my wounds – the damn thing clawed at my chest and my arms. I bet these scars will stay – but hey, what’s another scar?

We’re all in shock, crowded around the kitchen table, sipping hot tea. Bryony is holding a wet towel to her lip, and she’s as white as a sheet.

“We need to call the police,” she keeps telling us.

“We can’t do that. Bryony, please,” Sarah begs her. She’s sitting holding Nicholas’s hand, and