he spoke, the incredible was happening. Matt Sweeney turned to go, but then kept turning, spinning in a circle to face them once again, hurling the lantern he carried.
Her captor ducked and swore, but the lantern sailed easily overhead, landing with a crash on the cobblestones behind them. Magda took advantage of the distraction, stomping on his foot then twisting her body sideways, ducking out from under his arm. Fabric tore with a screech and then she was free.
She ran back toward Damon Lane, skirting the burning oil from the broken lamp. Her captor turned to pursue her, but then Matt called out, “Not so fast, boy.”
Her captor turned back to face this threat. Magda stopped as well, confident that Matt could deal with this ruffian now that he no longer had a hostage to hide behind. Her torn cloak began to slip from her shoulders, so she held it together with one hand. With the other she absently rubbed her neck where the knife had scratched her as she made her escape.
Burning oil illuminated the scene with a flickering glow. Matt Sweeney was a big man, with the barrel chest and heavily muscled arms that came from a lifetime of hard labor. He swung an iron shod staff menacingly. “Come on, me boy, let’s see how good you are with that pigsticker,” he said.
Her erstwhile captor lacked Matt’s impressive build, but the look on his face was one of disdain, not fear. “You won’t live to regret this,” he promised. Magda’s confidence wavered in the face of his bravado.
The fighters circled each other warily. A small knot of onlookers gathered at the mouth of the alley, drawn by the commotion and the prospect of free entertainment. Matt’s eyes kept moving, searching out a weakness in his opponent. His eyes widened with shock as he saw that she was still there. “Run, you stupid girl, run!”
Leaving felt like a betrayal, but she knew Matt was right. There was nothing she could do to help. Her presence could only prove a distraction. Magda ran down the alley. Reaching Damon Lane, she turned back for one last look.
The villain lunged with his knife and Matt parried it easily with his cudgel. His next swing grazed his opponent’s forehead, but the stranger backed away before Matt could follow it up with a disabling blow.
One of the idlers detached himself from the crowd and came toward the fighters. Matt paid him no heed, his attention focused on the enemy in front of him. This proved a fatal mistake as the newcomer struck Matt a savage blow from behind. The cudgel slipped out of his grasp and he began to crumple to the ground. As he fell, his opponent plunged his knife into Matt’s stomach.
“No!” She must have screamed, for the two men turned toward her. Magda didn’t wait a second longer. Fear lent her inhuman speed as she turned and began to run. But no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t escape the memory of what she had seen.
She ran for what seemed like hours, till her lungs burned and her feet began to stumble with weariness. The road she was following ended at a small park, and without conscious decision she stopped to rest, leaning wearily against the iron fence. All she wanted to do was collapse, but she forced herself to look around for signs of pursuit. There were none, no running footsteps, no shadowy figures hastening toward her. The only sound was her own labored breathing.
But where was she? The clouds parted, and the moonlight briefly illuminated a forest of gray rectangles, obelisks, and eerie sculptures. This was no park, it was a cemetery. And the building that she could half glimpse on the other side had to be a chapel.
Magda shivered. Now that she was no longer running, her sweat turned icy in the night air. She reached to pull her cloak around her, but there was no cloak. It must have fallen off sometime during her frantic flight.
She needed a plan. She couldn’t return to her lodgings. They had found here there once before and would be waiting for her to return. Now
Her captor ducked and swore, but the lantern sailed easily overhead, landing with a crash on the cobblestones behind them. Magda took advantage of the distraction, stomping on his foot then twisting her body sideways, ducking out from under his arm. Fabric tore with a screech and then she was free.
She ran back toward Damon Lane, skirting the burning oil from the broken lamp. Her captor turned to pursue her, but then Matt called out, “Not so fast, boy.”
Her captor turned back to face this threat. Magda stopped as well, confident that Matt could deal with this ruffian now that he no longer had a hostage to hide behind. Her torn cloak began to slip from her shoulders, so she held it together with one hand. With the other she absently rubbed her neck where the knife had scratched her as she made her escape.
Burning oil illuminated the scene with a flickering glow. Matt Sweeney was a big man, with the barrel chest and heavily muscled arms that came from a lifetime of hard labor. He swung an iron shod staff menacingly. “Come on, me boy, let’s see how good you are with that pigsticker,” he said.
Her erstwhile captor lacked Matt’s impressive build, but the look on his face was one of disdain, not fear. “You won’t live to regret this,” he promised. Magda’s confidence wavered in the face of his bravado.
The fighters circled each other warily. A small knot of onlookers gathered at the mouth of the alley, drawn by the commotion and the prospect of free entertainment. Matt’s eyes kept moving, searching out a weakness in his opponent. His eyes widened with shock as he saw that she was still there. “Run, you stupid girl, run!”
Leaving felt like a betrayal, but she knew Matt was right. There was nothing she could do to help. Her presence could only prove a distraction. Magda ran down the alley. Reaching Damon Lane, she turned back for one last look.
The villain lunged with his knife and Matt parried it easily with his cudgel. His next swing grazed his opponent’s forehead, but the stranger backed away before Matt could follow it up with a disabling blow.
One of the idlers detached himself from the crowd and came toward the fighters. Matt paid him no heed, his attention focused on the enemy in front of him. This proved a fatal mistake as the newcomer struck Matt a savage blow from behind. The cudgel slipped out of his grasp and he began to crumple to the ground. As he fell, his opponent plunged his knife into Matt’s stomach.
“No!” She must have screamed, for the two men turned toward her. Magda didn’t wait a second longer. Fear lent her inhuman speed as she turned and began to run. But no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t escape the memory of what she had seen.
She ran for what seemed like hours, till her lungs burned and her feet began to stumble with weariness. The road she was following ended at a small park, and without conscious decision she stopped to rest, leaning wearily against the iron fence. All she wanted to do was collapse, but she forced herself to look around for signs of pursuit. There were none, no running footsteps, no shadowy figures hastening toward her. The only sound was her own labored breathing.
But where was she? The clouds parted, and the moonlight briefly illuminated a forest of gray rectangles, obelisks, and eerie sculptures. This was no park, it was a cemetery. And the building that she could half glimpse on the other side had to be a chapel.
Magda shivered. Now that she was no longer running, her sweat turned icy in the night air. She reached to pull her cloak around her, but there was no cloak. It must have fallen off sometime during her frantic flight.
She needed a plan. She couldn’t return to her lodgings. They had found here there once before and would be waiting for her to return. Now
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