The scar rippled again, the glow turning white hot, stretching and straining until . . . it snapped.
The gash ruptured, tearing through the very fabric of reality itself.
A dark, roilingsomethingpoured through the jagged cut. Gleaming black, it spread across the floor like a spilled barrel of oil, shiny and greasy. I sprang back, launching myself upward, intent on staying out of its path.
The rippling mass continued to pour through, sprawling around the room. A creeping, crawling sludge. It wrapped around Tennyson, swamping, swarming. If Tennyson felt it, he was too deep in his vision to react.
I was too busy studying Tennyson to realize that a section of the ooze had flowed behind me, rearing itself up off the floor.
Suddenly, I was yanked upwards. The black slime had wrapped around my middle and was pulling me sideways. I tried to push it off, but my hands passed through it.
Somehow, the sludge was able to hold me, but I couldn’t touch it.
The edges of the scar continued to pulse, the black filth swamping the room.
“Tennyson!” I yelled. “Snap out of it!”
I wriggled and fought, struggling to free myself.
Just as quickly as it had poured in, the slime reversed course and began to retreat back into the scar, moving off of Tennyson. The swirling morass shifted into a powerful vacuum, relentlessly sucking everything back into itself.
Me included.
“Help me!!” I yelled, fighting for my freedom.
Panicked in earnest, I tried to grab purchase on the chair, then the ottoman. But of course, my hands passed through each item. I slid through the couch and then Tennyson himself.
I hated the thought of moving through the organs and flesh of living beings.
And still the black sludge drew me.
Damn.
It was going to suck me in. To where? I had no idea. But I didn’t particularly care to find out.
I kicked my legs and swung my arms, mimicking a swimmer fighting a powerful current. I managed to slow my slide toward the pulsing gash.
Hallelujah!
Just as abruptly as it had ruptured, the rip suddenly closed. The slime released me and vanished into the scar.
The sudden change in momentum caused me to shoot forward, my arms and legs propelling me. I floundered, flapping my arms backward to slow myself.
I came to a stop sitting—erh, hovering—on Tennyson’s lap.
His eyes focused on me, a frown knitting his brow.
“Ya know, Jack, when I said I was glad you were staying here, I wasn’t suggesting that we cuddle.”
Right.
I scrambled to my feet. The scar remained, hovering in the corner.
“Tenn, I think we have a problem.”
FIVE
Chiara
