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disarm him. Now they were duking it out like old-school boxers, standing toe-to-toe,
delivering blows that would've sent most men to their knees.
Only Bozcowski continued as before, a frustrated pirate digging for treasure.
I looked back at the Tor, a wave of despair dulling my vision, making my mouth taste of
metal and grave dust. I felt my shoulders slump, watched my sword arm drop.
"This is how it will feel when I eat your soul," the Tor whispered. "Everything that was
good and glad in you will nourish me, bring me full into this tasty, luscious world of yours
where I will eat, and eat, and eat& " She subsided, glassy-eyed, smiling hellishly at the
prospect of such a meal.
In that moment she reminded me strongly of a balding, thick-lipped serial killer Vayl and I
had recently dispatched. He'd worn that same expression right before we blew his brains
all over the wall. I wanted to call it an omen, but it was too late for that. I laughed bitterly.
As soon as my laughter hit the air I felt better, and knew she'd been bewitching me. I'd just
been so focused on Cassandra and Vayl I hadn't noticed my magic-meter spiking.
"You laugh," said the Tor, "why?"
"Because you won't be able to squeeze enough joy out of my soul to qualify as an
anorexic's dinner." I shoved the sword into her and she screamed, her rotten-egg breath
burning my nostrils, making me gag. She staggered backward and I pulled the sword free.
As she turned to run I struck again, slicing into her slithering hump, my sword sliding
through it easily until it lodged in her spine. She screamed again, but when she turned to
look at me over her shoulder she wore an evil grin.
"Gotcha." In that one word her voice tipped the scale from old hag to nether-being. At the
same time her ripped gown fell to her feet. The whole room got a nightmare glimpse of
sagging, pustule-covered skin and then all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Surely if Dante could've seen the rock-lined pit under Club Undead he'd have thought it an
accurate depiction of at least one of his many hells. Lit by torches and burning bits of
floor, the Tor-al-Degan's current residence stank of flammable gases, blood, vomit and
outright evil. It also rang with the voices of her worshipers, who'd agreed it would be a
bright idea to summon her fully into our realm a big, bad carnivore who saw the entire
world as her Little Red Riding Hood.
The Deganites, who probably passed as upstanding citizens by day bankers and
insurance agents and definitely lawyers screamed like a bunch of U2 fans as their
goddess began to change. The rest of us just watched, stunned speechless, as a yellowish
red substance the consistency of hair gel oozed out of the Tor's wound.
I let go of the sword hilt and backed up, fear and confusion warring with panic and horror
to see which could gain control of my mind first.
In defiance of gravity, the ooze rose, growing over the top of the Tor's head. It spread
downward as well, until it looked as if she had stepped inside an enormous tank of pink
Vaseline.
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Oh god, oh god, oh god. I looked back at my friends. Cole still had the crowd corralled,
but they seemed cheerful about it now.
Everything else had gone from bad to worse. Somehow Aidyn had escaped Vayl long
enough to deck Bergman, who lay crumpled on one of the floor's few dry spots like a
worn out bloodhound. Aidyn had then grabbed Cassandra, who still looked spaced out,
and now held her in front of him like a shield. The Enkyklios lay at their feet, replaying
another fight scene featuring some long-dead hero and the Tor. This one had, not a sword,
but a two-handed battle axe. Time after time the Tor suffered blows that would've felled a
crazed elephant, and yet she kept coming back for more. Kept& healing.
"Give me the key!" Aidyn screamed. "Give it to me now, before I break this Seer of yours
over my knee!"
"I do not have it," said Vayl. "One of us must have kicked it into a pool while we were
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