Thief of Always by Clive Barker Page A

right," said Jive, snapping his fingers. "So they do! So they do!"
          "Well, I'm finished," said Marr. "You can get goin', boy."
          The wind came gusting again, and if Jive hadn't been holding onto him as they walked the edge of the roof, Harvey would surely have been carried away.
          "There's your friend," Jive whispered, pointing down into the shadows.
          Much to his amazement Harvey found that he could see Wendell quite clearly, even though it was pitch dark in the thicket. He could hear him too: every little breath, every beat of his heart.
          "This is it," Jive hissed, putting his hand on Harvey's back.
          "What do I do?" Harvey said. "Do I flap or what?"
          "Jump!" Jive said. "The wind'll take care of the rest. Either the wind or gravity."
          And with that, he shoved Harvey off the edge of the roof and into the empty air.

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          X
    Falling From Grace

          The wind wasn't there to bear him up. He plummeted like a slate tossed from the gables, a cry of sheer terror escaping his throat. He saw Wendell turn; saw a look of mortal fear come onto his face; then the wind came out of nowhere, cold and strong, and just as his legs brushed the bushes he felt himself lifted up and up, toward the sky.
          His cry became a whoop; his terror, joy. The moon was larger than he'd ever seen it, and its vast white face filled his sight, like the face of his mother, bending to kiss him goodnight.
          Except that he needed no sleep tonight, no, nor a mother to wish him sweet dreams. This was better than any dream, flying with the wind in his wings, and the world shuddering below in fear of his shadow.
          He looked for Wendell again, and saw him fleeing for the safety of the House.
          No you don't, he thought, and fuming his wings like leathery sails he swooped down on his prey. A bloodcurdling shriek filled his ears, and for a moment he thought it was the wind. Then he realized it was his own throat that was uttering this inhuman din, and the shriek became laughter; wild, lunatic laughter.
          "Don't...please...don't!" Wendell was sobbing as he ran, "Somebody help me! Somebody help me!"
          Harvey knew he'd already had his revenge: Wendell was frightened out of his wits. But it was too much fun to stop now. He liked the feel. of the wind beneath him, and the cold moon on his back. He liked the sharpness of his eyes, and the strength of his claws. But mast of all he liked the fear he was causing; liked the look on Wendell's upturned face, and the sound of panic in his chest.
          The wind was carrying him down into the thicket, and as he landed Wendell dropped to his knees, begging for merry.
          "Don't kill me! Please, please, I beg you-don't kill me!"
          Harvey had seen and heard enough. He'd had his revenge. It was time to put an end to the game, before the fun soured.
          He opened his mouth to announce himself, but Wendell-seeing the red throat and the wolfish fangs, and thinking this meant certain death-began a new round of supplications. This time, however, he wasn't simply begging.
          "I'm too fat to eat," he said. "But there's another kid around here somewhere-"
          Harvey growled at this.
          "There is!" Wendell said. "I swear. And there's more meat on him than on me!"
          "Listen to the child," said a voice in the bushes at Harvey's side. He glanced around. There was Jive, his wiry form barely visible among the barbs. "He'd see you dead, young Harvey."
          Wendell heard none of this. He was still advertising the edibility of his friend, hoisting up his shirt and shaking his blubbery belly to prove how unpalatable he was.
          "You don't want me..." he sobbed. "Take Harvey! Take Harvey!"
          "Bite him," said Jive. "Go on. Drink a little of his blood. Why not? The fat's no good, but the blood's