I waited until the last possible moment—until my nerves were a mess and the need to move so fierce it felt like every piece of me quivered—then twisted around and lashed out with Amaya.
She hit something solid and screamed in pain. I jumped back, releasing her from the ash, and heard the whip of air coming in from the right. I bit my lip, and once again waited until the very last moment to jump out of the way.
Something thin and leather-like snapped across my spine and bit deep. A scream was torn from me and blood flowed, on the field and no doubt in real life.
And while the wounds might be nothing more than a product of imagination and Taylor's will—here on the astral plane, at least—they damn well felt real.
But I couldn't do much about any of the wounds that were appearing on my flesh, either here or in reality, simply because I needed to make Taylor believe I was scared enough to run. No hard task, as it was becoming the truth.
But I wasn't hurt enough yet. Taylor had nicknamed me huntress, and he wasn't likely to believe I'd be panicked into running so quickly. I had to take at least one more serious hit.
I watched the fog roll away from Amaya's point, feeling the backwash that was the plane reacting to Taylor's movements, but not actually reacting to them myself. The coward was coming in from behind again. My skin crawled as he drew closer and closer, until the itch was so bad I could have sworn I'd have to react or go crazy.
Staff! Amaya screamed. Up!
I didn't move, didn't obey. I just waited, my body tense, as the whoosh of air came down hard and fast. Amaya hissed and spat her fury. The flames that roiled from her steel crawled upward, as if seeking to incinerate the staff before it reached us. As her lilac fire began to wrap itself around the oncoming weapon and her screaming ramped up to fever pitch, I threw myself sideways.
The blow that was meant to split my head hit my shoulder instead, and once again it bit deep. I yelped in pain and there was nothing false or forced about it. As an odd weakness began to wash through my astral being, I closed my eyes and imagined myself on the second layer of the plane.
I opened my eyes, registered the lack of the enveloping grayness, then heard the air snap with sound. The whip slicing toward me again.
I imagined my fingers wrapping around the thin end of the leather weapon. Imagined it coiling around my hand as I stepped onto the next level of the astral plane. Felt the sudden shift in the air, and opened my eyes to see a beach that was far darker and more faded than before, and one that remained free of Taylor's fog. The third level, if all had gone according to plan. All I had do now was hope Taylor took the bait and followed. He should, since he actually wanted me in the umbra as much I wanted him there, but the insane often don't do the predictable.
Pain rippled across my fingers. I glanced down and realized I was still holding the whip in my hand. It was long and wicked-looking, and it was eating into my flesh with needle-sharp teeth.
I yelped again and flung it away without thought, then realized leather couldn't actually do that. It was Taylor, altering reality as I saw it. Which meant he was here, somewhere.
I did a slow turn and scanned the darkened beach. No Taylor, no creepy, oily shadow, but that didn't mean much. He was here somewhere—the quiver in the air told me that, even if it didn't seem to be giving away his location. Maybe he'd worked out that I was using it to track him.