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“Use your magic!” Dervish screams. My eyes half-focus. He's standing, face ashen. “Magic!” he bellows again, as Lord Loss grins and takes one of Dervish's queens with a bishop.
Staring at the demons — their faces red with my blood — imagining
their next attack — the torment — spurred into action.
I'm still holding the axe. Summoning all my strength, I lash out with it and bury it dead in the middle of Vein's hard, elongated head. The demon falls away, choking. Her strength deserts her. She falls in a heap. I've killed her!
I almost shout aloud with glee, until I spot Artery climbing on top of Vein. He pulls the axe out and pushes the edges of the wound together. Blood glows. The wound knots itself closed. Vein gets to her feet, shaken, but very much alive.
My heart sinks — then leaps. Dervish's cry makes sense now. If the demons can use magic to repair their wounds, so can I! While Vein's still recovering, I point at my severed foot on the other side of the room and will it back into place. For a second nothing happens. Then it vanishes and reappears at the end of my leg. Flesh, bone, and sinews meld. The pain is worse than when it was bitten off. But it works! Within seconds I have my foot back, and though it's sore as hell, it will serve.
I don't test my weight on the foot. Instead, I calmly spread my arms and imagine myself airborne. With slow grace, I rise. Tucking both legs up behind me, I face the demons, then stab at them with my sword.
Artery bats my sword away. Vein jumps into the air and snaps for my legs, but I'm too high. I laugh at the demons, then slash at them again. They scatter, Vein to my left, Artery to my right.
Bloodlust. Sensing victory. I chase after Artery. Hack at him with the sword — miss by bare inches. Hack again — closer. He races from me, wailing, tiny limbs waving in an almost comical manner. Throws himself to the floor in desperation. I have him! Hurling myself forward, I take careful aim with my sword, bring it screaming down, and …
… hit the strands of web at the boundary of the cellar!
Sharp resistance, like hitting a steel bar. Bones crack. Sword drops. But worse — I stick! The strands of web are coated with a gluey substance. It clings to my arms, body, legs. I'm a fly stuck to flypaper. Struggling. Trapped. Helpless.
Artery and Vein gather below me. Their faces split into evil leers. The teeth in Artery's hands gnash dreadfully. Vein's eyes appear beadier than ever. She grips the web with her human hands. Crawls towards me. Artery not far behind.
Thrashing — tearing at the web — trying to bite through the strand nearest my face. I call upon my magical abilities — wish myself off of the web — it doesn't work! Blind panic — the demons closing in — here comes the kill!
A CHANGE OF PLAN
VEIN creeps closer. Artery slithers next to his demonic sister. Both growling softly. My cries die away to a terrified whimper. Watching, sickly fascinated, accepting my doom.
“No!” Dervish roars, and he's suddenly floating above the demons. Grabs each by the scruff of the neck and hurls them across the width of the cellar, where they crash into webs on the opposite side. He reaches down, grabs my arms, and rips me free of the sticky strands. Presses his fingers into my back where the bones broke. A warm surge of power — the bones knit together.
“This is unpardonable, Dervish,” Lord Loss mutters from his place at the chess boards. “To abandon our game while it's in progress …” He tuts disapprovingly. “You have broken the rules of our agreement. I am now free to summon as many of my familiars as I wish and set them loose upon you and the boys.”
“Wait!” Dervish roars as Lord Loss rises. “I'll return to the game!”
“Too late,” Lord Loss sighs. “Besides, what would be the point? Grubitsch is out of his depth. Let us put an end to this sham. You have disappointed me, Dervish, but there will be other Gradys and other matches.” Lord Loss extends five of his eight arms, picks up Dervish's kings from each board, and starts to crush them.
“What if Grubbs plays you?” Dervish shouts.
Lord Loss pauses. “That was not our deal.”
“We'll make a new deal,” Dervish hisses. “The game continues where I left off. Grubbs assumes my position. I pit myself against your beasts.”
“Why should I agree to that?” Lord Loss asks. “I have already won.”
“No,” Dervish disagrees. “We may have forfeited the game — but you haven't won. You can take our lives now, quickly, or you can prolong the agony and savor Grubb's desperation and sorrow as he loses to you.”
Lord Loss's eyes light up at the mention of desperation and sorrow, but he hesitates before replying. “What if he doesn't lose?” he finally murmurs. “I will have sacrificed the pleasures of a certain victory for the humiliation of defeat.”
“It's a gamble,” Dervish agrees, “but Grubbs is a poor player. Our chances are slim. Imagine the satisfaction you'll extract as Grubbs slowly and painfully comes to realize he can't win.”
“You make it sound almost irresistible.” Lord Loss smiles thinly. “But what does the boy think?”
Dervish looks questioningly at me. I shake my head uncertainly. “I just want it over with,” I sob. “We're going to lose anyway — why drag it out?”
“As long as there's life, there's hope,” Dervish replies quietly. “And it's not just yourself you'd be playing for — it's me and Billy too. Will you throw away our lives without a fight?”
I stare at my uncle's cold expression, then at the howling Bill-E in his cage. Wearily, I nod. “I'll try,” I mumble. “If Lord Loss agrees to it, so will I.”
