Its mane lifted like a dog’s hackles, and a haze shimmered to life over the beast, like heat waves coming off hot asphalt. Tinker could feel the presence of magic on her domana senses, like static electricity prickling against the skin. The second blade, Cloudwalker, fired his pistol. The bullets struck the haze — making it flare at the point of impact — and dropped to the ground, inert. Tinker felt the magic strengthen as the kinetic energy of the bullet fed into the spell, fueling it.
“It’s a shield!” Tinker cried out in warning. “Hitting it will only make it stronger.”
Stormsong got to her feet, biting back a cry of pain. “Go, run, I’ll hold it!”
Pony caught Tinker by her upper arm, and half carried her, half dragged her through the thicket.
“No!” Tinker cried, knowing that if it weren’t for her safety, the others wouldn’t abandon one of their own.
“Domi,” Pony urging her to run faster. “If we can not hit it, then we have no hope of killing it.”
Tinker thought furiously. How do you hurt something you can’t hit but could bite you? Wait — maybe that was it! She snatched the pistol from the holster at Pony’s side and jerked out of his hold. Here, under the tall ironwoods, the jagger brushes had grown high, and animals had made low tunnel-like trails through them. Ducking down, Tinker ran down a path, the gun seeming huge in her hands, heading back toward the wounded sekasha. The thorns tore at her bare arms and hair.
“Tinker domi!” Pony cried behind her.
“Its shield doesn’t cover its mouth!” she shouted back.
She burst into the clear to find Stormsong backed to a tree, desperately parrying the animal’s teeth and claws. It smashed aside her sword and leapt, mouth open.
Tinker shouted for its attention, and pulled the gun’s trigger. She hadn’t aimed at all, and the bullet whined into the underbrush, missing everything.
As beast turned to face her, and Stormsong shouted warning — a wordless cry of anger, pain and dismay — Tinker realized the flaw in her plan. She would need to shove the pistol into the creature’s mouth before shooting. “Oh fuck.”
It was like being hit by a freight train. One moment the beast was running at her and then everything become a wild tumble of darkness and light, dead leaves, sharp teeth and blood. Everything stopped moving with the creature pinning her to the ground with one massive claw. Then it pulled—not on her skin or muscle, but something deeper inside her, something intangible, that she didn’t even know existed. Magic flooded through her — hot and powerful as electricity — a seemingly endless torrent from someplace unknown to the monster — and she was just the hapless conduit.
She had lost the gun in the wild tumble. She punched at its head, trying to get it off her as the magic poured through her. The massive jaws snapped down on her fist — and suddenly the creature froze — teeth holding firm her hand, not yet breaking skin. Its eyes widened, as if surprised to see her under it, her hand in its mouth. She panted, scared now beyond words, as the magic continued to thrum through her bones and skin. Her hand seemed so very small inside the mouth of teeth.
A sword blade appeared over her, the tip pressing up against the creature’s shields, aimed at its right eye. The tip slid forward slowly as if it was being pressed through concrete.
“Get off her,” Pony growled, leaning his full weight onto his sword, little by little driving the point through the shields. “Now!”
For a moment, they seemed stuck in amber — the monster, Pony, her — caught in place and motionless. There came a high thrilling whistle from way up high, bursting the amber. The creature released her hand and leapt backwards. She scrambled wildly the other direction. Pony caught hold of her, hugging her tight with his free hand, his shields spilling down over her, encompassing her.
“Got her!” he cried, and backed away, the others closing ranks around them.
The whistle blew again, so sharp and piercing a sound that even the monster checked to looked upwards.
Someone stood on the Westinghouse Bridge that spanned the valley, doll-small by the distance. Against the summer blue sky, the person was only a dark silhouette — too far way to see if he was man, elf or oni. The whistle thrilled, and focused on the sound, Tinker realized that it was two notes, close together, a shrill discord.
The monster shook its head as if the sound hurt and bounded away, heading for the bridge, so fast it seemed it nearly teleported from place to place.
The whistler spread out great black wings, resolving all question of race. A tengu. The oni spies created by blending oni with crows. Tinker could guess which one — Riki. What she couldn’t guess was why he had just saved them, or how.
“Domi.” Pony eclipsed the escaping tengu and his monstrous purser. He peering intently at her hands and then tugged at her clothing, examining her closely. “You are hurt.”
“I am?”
“Yes.” He produced a white linen handkerchief that he pressed to a painful area of her head. “You should sit.”
She started to ask why, but sudden blackness rushed in, and she started to fall.
Chapter 2: Go Ask Alice
Tinker fell a long time in darkness.
She found herself at the edge of the woods near Lain’s house, the great white domes of the Observatory gleaming in moonlight. The ironwood forest stood solemn as a cathedral before her. Something white flickered through the night woods, brightness in humanoid form. Like a moth, Tinker moved toward the light, entering the forest.
A woman darted ahead of her, wearing an elfin gown shimmering as if formed of fiber optics tapped to a searchlight — brightness weaving through the forest dimness. She was so brilliant white that it hurt to look at her. A red ribbon covered her eyes and trailed down the dress, blood red against the white. On the ground, the ribbon snaked out into the distance.
It came to Tinker, knowledge seeping into her like oil into a rag that she knew the woman and they were searching for someone. In the distance was a thumping noise, like an axe biting into wood.
“He knows the paths, the twisted way.” The woman told Tinker while they searched for this mystery person. “You have to talk to him. He’ll tell you how to go.”
“We’re looking in the wrong place,” Tinker called.
“We fell down the hole and through the looking glass.” The woman cried back. “He’s here! You only have to look!”
Tinker scanned the woods and saw a dark figure flitting through the trees, keeping pace with them. It was delicate-boned woman in a black mourning dress. A blindfold of black lace veiled her eyes. Tears ran unchecked down her face. At her feet were black hedgehogs, nosing about in the dead litter of the forest floor. In the trees surrounding Black and the hedgehogs was a multitude of crows. The birds flitted from limb to limb, calling “Lost! Lost!” in harsh voices.
“Black knows all about him.” Tinker said. “Why don’t we ask her?”
“She is lost in her grief,” White breathed into Tinker’s ear. “There is no thread between you. She has no voice that you will listen to.”
The thumping noise came from the direction that they needed to head, speeding up until it sounded like helicopter rotors beating the air.
“Wait!” Tinker reached out to catch hold of White, to warn her. She missed, grabbing air. “The queen is coming. You’ve murdered time. It’s always six o’clock now.”