He exited what appeared to be a tomb, darting and weaving among gravestones that rose out of the damp mist. The vye came crashing after him.
Max grunted in pain as his knee clanged into a thick length of metal jutting from a fence. Ignoring the ache, he ran on in a desperate search for the cemetery’s exit. He tried to Amplify again, but nothing happened.
Suddenly, Max saw a tall gate standing open nearby. He limped through it, stopping to swing the gate shut just as he saw the huge silhouette of the vye closing in through the fog. The gate was too heavy and slow. Max abandoned it, the sound of the vye panting behind him triggering a fear so terrible that he gave a cry and churned his legs faster. A tall tree stood at the crest of a steep bank. Max made for it, racing uphill and planting his foot for a great leap.
The vye swatted his ankle out from under him, toppling him to the grass and scrambling on top of him. It tried to pin his shoulders with its great claws, while its hind legs scrabbled wildly for better purchase. Max rolled onto his side, whipping up his arm to shield his throat from the snapping, snarling jaws. The vye’s teeth sheared through his sleeve and across his forearm. Max grunted and thrust his arm forward, driving back the jaws, as Cyrus tried to tunnel under Max’s arm toward his face.
Unable to Amplify, Max started to give way, and the jaws snapped closer. In desperation, he jammed his other fist down the creature’s throat, forcing Marley Augur’s apple deep into its gullet. The vye gave a horrible yelp of pain and surprise, bucking wildly to free itself. Max held on with all his might, forcing the apple ever deeper. They rolled on the ground, locked together, until the vye convulsed violently and gave a quivering exhale. A moment later, it was still.
Max rose shakily, using his sweatshirt to staunch the bleeding and wipe away the saliva. There were several dime-sized punctures in his forearm, and his wrist and hand were bleeding freely. Max scanned the fog to see if Peg or Marley were coming. There was no movement—only a brisk wind that chilled the sweat on Max’s neck. Several black birds croaked in the branches above, looking down with small, cold eyes.
“I’ve got to go,” Max murmured. “I’ve got to get help.”
He squinted at the sky: no sun, no stars, nothing to gauge the direction he was facing or even the time of day. Grimacing, he peeled off his sweatshirt and tore it into strips, tying them tightly around his arm to slow the bleeding.
The vye was sprawled out in the tall grass, its tongue swollen and purple-blue. The reality of what he had just done sent a shiver down his spine.
He peered once more in the direction of the cemetery and the haunting words he had read in Rattlerafters echoed in his mind.
The child who took up arms that day would have the greatest name in Ireland, but his life would be a short one….
Massaging his knee, he struck out in the direction opposite from the graveyard. There must be a road nearby, he reasoned. He trotted along in the gloom while arguing with himself.
You’re doing the right thing, Max.
The damage is done—Astaroth is already awake.
You’ll only get yourself killed. Think of what that would do to Dad!
This isn’t the Course. This is real life.
You can send for help. Cooper or Ms. Richter can save those children!
They’ll still be here—
Max slowed to a halt, doubling over as the pain in his arm flared. Wincing, he applied more pressure to the wounds. As the wounds began to clot, Max suddenly admitted to himself that soon there would be no one to rescue. The other children would surely be gone by the time Max could summon help. In his mind’s eye, he saw the faces and eyes of the hopeless children. He recalled with awful clarity the emaciated girl who had begged him to run.
He turned and ran back toward the cemetery. The crows called out a shrill greeting as Max passed the tree where the vye lay. He retraced his path until he arrived at the fence he had stumbled into earlier. Rusted and bent well away from the rest was a black iron rail that tapered to a sharp point. Max shook it back and forth, twisting and kicking at its base until it snapped off in his hands.
The makeshift spear felt awkward as Max stole from gravestone to gravestone. The fog was lighter now; he could see the dark entrance to the crypt. Creeping to its open doorway, he heard the sounds of hurried movements—the yawn of a heavy door, the clink of metal and glass. He slipped quietly down the stone stairs. A few steps from the bottom, he stopped and hugged the wall.
There was Peg, some twenty feet away, grumbling as she gathered an armful of chains from a pile on the floor. She shambled back to where the children were kept. Max peered around the stairwell; Augur was packing beakers and jars and instruments into an assortment of chests. A great trapdoor had been opened in the floor near where Alex was slumped.
Suddenly, Peg dropped the chains. She sniffed the air.
“Hoo-hoo-hoo! Perhaps we needn’t leave after all!”
Max ducked back into the stairwell, but it was too late. With a triumphant cackle, Peg bounded toward the steps on all fours, her body rippling into that of a monstrous vye. Max braced himself on the stairs as she took one last leap and hurled herself at her quarry.
Max brought up the spear.
The impact nearly jarred the weapon out of his hand, but Max held firm. Their eyes met for one horrible instant; Peg’s expression was one of absolute shock. The old vye screamed and wrenched herself backward off the spear point, her limbs flailing like a spider’s. Dragging her bulk, she gurgled and collapsed some fifteen feet away—a bloated vye with reddish-brown fur, clawing at its belly.
Clutching the spear in his trembling hand, Max stepped into the chamber.
Marley Augur stood by the trapdoor, staring at Peg. He shook his head sadly and turned to Max, who edged toward the children, giving the dying vye a wide berth.
“Put that down,” Augur rasped, glancing at Max’s bloody spear.
“I won’t,” Max panted, backing against a thick pillar.
Marley Augur straightened to his full height and walked toward him. Like a disapproving parent, the creature reached to take away the crude spear. Max swung the poker with all his strength, bashing the creature’s hand aside.
A faint green mist gathered around the undead thing.
“Put that down or I shall become angry,” said Augur, his voice rising.
“I won’t,” Max hissed. “Let them go!”
The temperature dropped, and Marley Augur seemed to grow larger. He extended his hand once more, but not at Max. A massive blacksmith’s hammer flew to his hand from the opposite wall, its head a murderous wedge of dull black metal. Hefting the hammer, Augur glared down at Max. The green mist swirled around his legs.
“You will serve our Lord. Whether whole or broken…”
Just as Augur stepped forward, a sheet of brilliant flame roared up before him. Max pressed against the pillar while Augur retreated a step in confusion, glancing at the painting where Astaroth lurked, watching. An unexpected voice called out.
“Leave that child alone.”
Ronin stood on the bottom stair. He was dressed all in gray and breathing heavily. Peeking out from the sleeves of his coat were two long knives. In a flat, calm voice, he spoke to Max.
“Get the children and lead them out. I will deal with this traitor.”
“Ronin!” Max screamed. “Astaroth is in that painting!”
Ronin glanced at the Rembrandt. He raised his hand, and sheets of flame roared up from the ground to engulf it. But the dark painting was unharmed.
A low, rumbling laugh came deep from Augur’s belly. The room grew even colder; the flames between Max and the blacksmith drained away into the floor.