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But not from Dervish.
From ahead of us.
Dervish releases me. I stand rooted to the spot. Eyes wide. Staring at the beast as it rises to its feet and snarls. A contorted face. Yellow eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Dark shadows. Open mouth full of bared teeth.
It raises a hand — dark skin, long nails, fingers curled into claws.
And I realize, about a million years late, that a monster has breached the barriers of Carcery Vale tonight — but it's not Dervish.
The werewolf's Bill-E Spleen!
FAMILY TIES
“BILL-E?” I moan. He glares at me, naked hate filling his abnormal yellow eyes. “Bill-E … it's me … Grubbs.”
“He doesn't recognize you,” Dervish says, stepping to the left. Bill-E's eyes snap to the adult and he crouches defensively. Behind him, Meera takes an automatic step backwards. “No!” Dervish barks. “Don't move! You'll attract —”
Too late. Bill-E's head swivels. He spots Meera. Leaps.
Meera gets out the start of a scream. Then the beast is upon her, hissing as he hauls her to the ground. They land hard, Meera underneath. She tries to throw the animal off. He grabs her hand and bites hard into the flesh. She starts to curse, but is cut short by the creature's fist — it crushes into the side of her face. Meera chokes, stunned. The beast grabs both sides of her head and smashes her skull down hard on the pavement. The fight goes out of her. Teeth glinting in the moonlight, fastening around Meera's throat. The monster's about to rip her head off and all I can do is stand here and gawk like an idiot.
But Dervish isn't so helpless. He moves as fast as Bill-E, and gets there a split-second before he bites. Grabbing Bill-E's ear, he tugs hard. The creature's head jerks clear of Meera's throat. He whines and lashes out. Dervish ducks the blow. Shoves the animal down hard, headfirst. Pins it with his right knee, digging it hard into the boy-beast's back. Brings up his right hand and jabs the tip of the syringe into the side of Bill-E's neck. Pushes on the plunger. The liquid in the barrel disappears into Bill-E's veins.
Bill-E stiffens and groans. Dervish whips the syringe out and tosses it aside. Bill-E thrashes wildly. Dervish uses both hands and knees to hold him down.
Mad seconds pass. Bill-E stiffens again. More thrashing. Stiffens for the third time — then collapses, eyes closing, limbs limp.
Dervish lays Bill-E's head down, then shoots to Meera's side. “Meera?” he mutters, checking her pulse, putting his ear to her lips, rolling her eyelids up. No response. He straightens her legs and arms, checks on Bill-E, looks around to see if anybody's noticed the scuffle — but the road is deserted except for us. He then turns to face me.
“You bloody fool,” he snarls.
I stare blankly at my uncle, then slide to the ground and give myself over to bewildered tears.
Dervish lets me cry myself dry, then hands me a handkerchief and says gruffly, “Clean yourself up, then help me with Billy and Meera.”
I wipe my face with the handkerchief. Stand, still sniffling.
“You thought I was a werewolf?” Dervish asks.
“Yes,” I answer hollowly.
“You ass,” he says, and manages a ghost of a smile. “There's nothing more dangerous than someone half-close to a terrible truth. What would you have done if I was? Taken that axe to me? Chopped me up into little bits? Buried me in the forest and told the police I'd gone out walking and never returned?”
“I don't know,” I moan. “We didn't think that far ahead. We thought you'd lock yourself up in the cage in the cellar. When you started for the Vale, we —”
“You know about the cellar?” he interrupts. “You've been there?”
“Yes. Not Bill-E — just me. I saw the cage, the deer, the books …”
Dervish snorts, disgusted. “I knew you'd sniff it out eventually, but not this quick. I underestimated you — Sherlock Grady.”
He bends and ties Bill-E's legs together, then his hands. He slips a gag between the unconscious boy's jaws, then picks Bill-E up and drapes him over his shoulders, much as he carried the captured deer.
“What are you going to do with him?” I whimper, flashing on images of Dervish cutting Bill-E's throat, or caging him up for life.
Dervish grunts. “We'll discuss that later. First we have to get him home. He'll be safe once we lock him in the cage — there's water, and he can feed on the deer. We're exposed here.”
“But —” I begin.
