About a second before she hit the porch, so softly and perfectly it felt as if the floorboards kissed her butt. She practically skimmed over them, straight through the door and into the hallway beyond. Like she was on an ice rink, executing the kind of glide that shouldn’t have been possible.Olympic skaters would have missed that move,she thought.
But then, he was better than any Olympic skater ever would be.
He was better than any athlete to ever exist.
He was a wolf.
And that had never been clearer than it was now, as she came to a graceful stop by the stairs, and looked up. And there he was, framed by the open door. Caught in the porch lights perfectly, in a way that made him glow.
It made him, as monstrous as he was, beautiful.
Though she suspected he would have been anyway. His fur was the color of night dissolving into day—black and gray and everything in between. And he was enormous, truly immense, bigger than she’d ever pictured. He filled the whole of that bright rectangle, a riot of muscle and sinew and fangs and claws. All of it terrifying, utterly terrifying.
Yet somehow, so awe inspiring she couldn’t do anything but stare.
As if nothing else was happening. As if time had stopped. All the fighting and snarling and violence hung suspended, just longenough for her to live in that glimpse of him. She got to glory in it, feel it down to her bones, know that she would never forget it.
Before one of the others struck him, and they tumbled into the darkness.
And all the horror restarted, like someone pressing play on a movie. She heard snarls, and something breaking. The bird bath, she suspected. Or maybe someone’s bones. Then just as she started to get to her feet, there was another sound.
A strange clicking, beneath the roar of rage. Like nails on wood, she thought.
About a second before she saw one of the wolves, stalking up the porch steps.
Sickly, and meaner looking than Seth had been. A wolf as ugly on the outside as it was on the inside, seizing its chance to slink into the house, while everyone else was distracted. Slowly, so slowly she had to think it was afraid of her.
And all she could think about that was:
Well, if you are, I’m gonna make sure I prove you right.
She made two fists, like she’d seen that fairy do. As if she was going to hurl magic right at the thing. And when it hesitated, when it growled, she started to ease herself up again. Cautiously, with her eyes always on the beast. Hands always out, ready to strike with spells she didn’t have. Breath held, every bit of her willing herself to get to where she needed to be:
On her feet, so she could run.
And the second she managed, she did.
She went straight for the kitchen, faster than she’d ever done anything in her life.
Yet still, she felt something snag the sleeve of her sweater. She got a gust of hot, fetid breath against the nape of her neck, and thought that it had her. That it was going to get some part of her that wasn’t covered in potion. And even if it didn’t—this move had been a mistake.
It wasn’t going to work.
She had to grab something. Hit it with a chair, anything.
And she went to—she got hold of the back of the nearestone. But when she turned, chair only partly in her hands, and screamed, and went to smash the creature with it, she saw it was already cringing away. As if something had frightened it.
Then she heard the sound.
The one it had obviously heard before her, building in the background. Like metal grinding against metal, and wood shoving against wood. And just as she thought, ridiculously, inexpli cably,that is the noise a kitchen cabinet makes when it tries to uproot itself and lunge at something, it happened. The cupboard next to the sink tore itself free, andflewat the wolf behind her.
She felt the wood graze her cheek. Utensils spilled out as it went, showering her right foot with spoons and forks and knives. But the spoons and forks and knives didn’t stay there. No, they jumped up, and flung themselves at the beast too.
And oh, they did ithard. They broke skin.
It looked like a porcupine, within seconds. Forks jutted up from its thighs; knives now covered its arms. And it wasn’t just the sharp items, either. What looked like a plastic spatula was lodged in one of its legs. As if things like blunt edges and the laws of physics no longer mattered.
Nothing mattered, except repelling whatever was attacking her.
