leap, claws extended.
“No!” I roar, and they wheel away instantly.
The two humans were raising guns in self-defense, but now they lower them and stare at us.
“Who is it?” Kernel hisses, fingers twitching. “What’s going on?”
“It’s me,” the broad one says.
“And me,” the lankier one adds.
“Shark?” Kernel gasps.
“Yeah,” the soldier grunts.
“And Timas Brauss,” the computer whiz says.
Shark looks at the werewolves, the island of bones, the shattered lodestone, and the three of us shivering in the water. Then he grins. “So,” he drawls, “have you missed me?”
SHARK ATTACK
T HE last time I saw Shark was just after we escaped from Wolf Island. He’d been mauled by werewolves. Any normal person would have died from his wounds, but Shark is as stubborn as they come. He refused to roll over and die.
He’s still in bad shape. His left ear was bitten off and a raw-looking stump remains. He can see out of his right eye, but only just—the flesh around it is scarred and pink. All four fingers on his left hand were severed, leaving the thumb looking lonely and strange. The thumb and index finger on his right hand are gone too. And he’s wearing a brace from his waist to just beneath his chest.
“You look like hell,” I roar happily, picking him up and swinging him around.
“Mind the ribs,” he wheezes, and I immediately put him down. He scowls at me. “You don’t look any great shakes yourself. Haven’t you heard of razors?”
“No time for shaving. I’ve been too busy killing demons.”
“That’s no excuse,” he says, then winks with his good eye.
“Hi,” Kernel says, shuffling forward and extending a hand.
“How you doing, kid?” Shark asks with unusual kindness, ignoring the hand and giving Kernel a hug.
“Surviving,” Kernel sighs.
“I’m Kirilli Kovacs,” the stage magician introduces himself, straightening like a soldier presenting himself to an officer. “I’m a Disciple.”
“That so?” Shark grunts, running a bemused eye over Kirilli’s costume.
“Nobody has to bother with me,” Timas says cheerily. “I don’t matter.”
“Of course you do,” I chuckle, moving forward to shake the hand of the tall, thin, red-haired computer genius.
“I was eagerly looking forward to seeing you again,” Timas says. “Primarily, I must admit, because of the chance to renew my relationship with the delicious Meera Flame. But I understand she has been taken from us.”
“About a month ago,” I nod, my smile fading as I recall her grisly death. “She took Juni Swan with her. Blew her into a thousand lumpy pieces.”
“Some small comfort,” Timas says. “I have been seeking solace in the world of computers, but since Meera I find it hard to summon up the same enthusiasm as before. I think I might be in mourning. Or perhaps it’s just that I changed my diet recently.”
Kirilli raises an eyebrow. I smile and whirl my finger around beside my head.
“What have you two been up to?” I ask. “It feels like years since Wolf Island.”
“I’ve been recovering,” Shark says gruffly, hating to admit to his wounds.
“And I’ve been playing nursemaid,” says Timas.
“I wanted to join up with you earlier, but my doctor wouldn’t let me,” Shark complains. “She kept me sedated. I’d be there still if she hadn’t been eaten by a demon. Her replacement was less concerned about me.”
“Are you sure you’re OK?” I frown. “I don’t want you dropping dead on us.”
“Some hope! I’ve been in a couple of fights already. I wanted to limber up before I tracked you down, make sure everything was in working order. As dozens of dead demons would tell you if they could talk—it is.”
“How do you fight with so few fingers?” Kirilli asks.
Shark bends his thumb. “I gouge.” Kirilli laughs, but stops when he realizes Shark is serious. The ex-soldier glares at Kirilli, then turns his gaze to me. “What about you? Anything new I
“No!” I roar, and they wheel away instantly.
The two humans were raising guns in self-defense, but now they lower them and stare at us.
“Who is it?” Kernel hisses, fingers twitching. “What’s going on?”
“It’s me,” the broad one says.
“And me,” the lankier one adds.
“Shark?” Kernel gasps.
“Yeah,” the soldier grunts.
“And Timas Brauss,” the computer whiz says.
Shark looks at the werewolves, the island of bones, the shattered lodestone, and the three of us shivering in the water. Then he grins. “So,” he drawls, “have you missed me?”
SHARK ATTACK
T HE last time I saw Shark was just after we escaped from Wolf Island. He’d been mauled by werewolves. Any normal person would have died from his wounds, but Shark is as stubborn as they come. He refused to roll over and die.
He’s still in bad shape. His left ear was bitten off and a raw-looking stump remains. He can see out of his right eye, but only just—the flesh around it is scarred and pink. All four fingers on his left hand were severed, leaving the thumb looking lonely and strange. The thumb and index finger on his right hand are gone too. And he’s wearing a brace from his waist to just beneath his chest.
“You look like hell,” I roar happily, picking him up and swinging him around.
“Mind the ribs,” he wheezes, and I immediately put him down. He scowls at me. “You don’t look any great shakes yourself. Haven’t you heard of razors?”
“No time for shaving. I’ve been too busy killing demons.”
“That’s no excuse,” he says, then winks with his good eye.
“Hi,” Kernel says, shuffling forward and extending a hand.
“How you doing, kid?” Shark asks with unusual kindness, ignoring the hand and giving Kernel a hug.
“Surviving,” Kernel sighs.
“I’m Kirilli Kovacs,” the stage magician introduces himself, straightening like a soldier presenting himself to an officer. “I’m a Disciple.”
“That so?” Shark grunts, running a bemused eye over Kirilli’s costume.
“Nobody has to bother with me,” Timas says cheerily. “I don’t matter.”
“Of course you do,” I chuckle, moving forward to shake the hand of the tall, thin, red-haired computer genius.
“I was eagerly looking forward to seeing you again,” Timas says. “Primarily, I must admit, because of the chance to renew my relationship with the delicious Meera Flame. But I understand she has been taken from us.”
“About a month ago,” I nod, my smile fading as I recall her grisly death. “She took Juni Swan with her. Blew her into a thousand lumpy pieces.”
“Some small comfort,” Timas says. “I have been seeking solace in the world of computers, but since Meera I find it hard to summon up the same enthusiasm as before. I think I might be in mourning. Or perhaps it’s just that I changed my diet recently.”
Kirilli raises an eyebrow. I smile and whirl my finger around beside my head.
“What have you two been up to?” I ask. “It feels like years since Wolf Island.”
“I’ve been recovering,” Shark says gruffly, hating to admit to his wounds.
“And I’ve been playing nursemaid,” says Timas.
“I wanted to join up with you earlier, but my doctor wouldn’t let me,” Shark complains. “She kept me sedated. I’d be there still if she hadn’t been eaten by a demon. Her replacement was less concerned about me.”
“Are you sure you’re OK?” I frown. “I don’t want you dropping dead on us.”
“Some hope! I’ve been in a couple of fights already. I wanted to limber up before I tracked you down, make sure everything was in working order. As dozens of dead demons would tell you if they could talk—it is.”
“How do you fight with so few fingers?” Kirilli asks.
Shark bends his thumb. “I gouge.” Kirilli laughs, but stops when he realizes Shark is serious. The ex-soldier glares at Kirilli, then turns his gaze to me. “What about you? Anything new I
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