As soon as I grabbed the bag, I knew I was right about it being some sort of vicious spell aimed at the wolves.
I didn't know how Uncle Mike knew it, too, but he snarled, "Take that thing out of here," before he melted back into the crowd.
Like a Dr.
Seuss poem, I scrambled under, around, and through before I got out the door.
I'd have felt better if I hadn't known that someone I knew--because I knew most of Adam's pack at least by face--was dead.
I'd have felt better if I had known Adam was all right.
I'd have settled for just not having the towering mountain of enraged ...
snow elf following me at full speed.
I'd never met anyone who called himself an elf, so I supposed my view was skewed by Peter Jackson's version of Tolkien's fair folk.
The thing following me like a freight train didn't fit my understanding of the word at all.
Later, if I survived, I might derive some amusement from the face of the bouncer, who suddenly realized what was coming at him--just before he broke and ran.
I passed him as we both jumped the short step to the pavement outside the door.
He ran with me a couple of steps before he figured out who the snow elf was chasing and took a sharp right.
The doorway slowed the monster down.
He hit it with his shoulder, taking the whole entryway wall with him as he left the building.
He threw the chunk of wall at me, but I hopped through the half-open doorway a second time, just before it hit the ground.
I crossed the street at full speed and narrowly missed being hit by a semi on its way to the industrial district just past Uncle Mike's.
Safe on the far side, I glanced behind me, then stopped.
The man the snow elf had been was on his knees at the edge of the parking lot, shaking his head as if he was slightly dazed.
He looked up at me.
The silvery eyes were the same.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Sorry, so sorry.
I haven't felt like that since ...
since my last battle.
I didn't hurt you, did I?" His gaze caught on the chunks of wall and door that were left from when his missile had missed me.
The effects of the little bag were evidently limited by distance.
I dropped the bag on the ground and shook myself and gave him an "all's well" yip.
I wasn't sure he got the message, but he didn't try to cross the road after me.
I'd have changed back, but my clothes--my favorite dress, a pair of expensive (even at half-off) Italian sandals, and my underwear--were still in the bar somewhere.