The Scroll 39

            Angela Castillo sat at work, tapping her pen against the desktop.  The news of Gray’s disappearance had haunted her over the past three days.  She thought of the chat room conversations she’d eavesdropped on, as well as her conversation with Leslie and Gray.  She was sure they’d been hiding something.  Plus, when Mr. Matheson called he’d also thought Leslie was lying to him.  Something had happened—this war, or whatever it was, had gotten out of hand.  What if Gray had disappeared because she had been so intent on delving into the mystery of Gray’s surroundings without influencing it that her closed-mouth approach had let something happen to him?

            The workday was over.  Everyone else had left the office, but still Angela lingered.  Her hand reached for the phone on her desk, but she stopped.  She needed to explain what she knew to Mr. Matheson and apologize for not telling him sooner.  A phone call wouldn’t do it justice—this was something she had to do in person.  With a sigh, Angela pushed back from her desk and stood.  She grabbed her purse and left.

            On the drive to the Mathesons’ house, Angela mulled over what she would say.  How could she explain the visits from the fake FBI agents, the talks of war, mentions of Gray and a fabled scroll, without coming off as being drunk or hallucinating?  She debated turning back, but kept going.  It was her responsibility to keep foster children safe, and her silence had compromised that.

            A police roadblock blocked the highway.  Angela frowned, staring at the flashing red and blue lights and blue sawhorse blockades, but she turned on the nearest intersection.  She’d have to reach the Mathesons’ house by back roads.  By the time Angela arrived at the Mathesons’ it was dark.

            Angela knocked on the front door, even at the last moment uncertain of what she would say.  Mr. Matheson opened the door moments later, as though he was waiting just on the other side of the door.  His face was haggard and pale, and his suit coat hung on him like a black kite stuck on the limb of a tree.  Angela tried to cover her surprise.

            “Mr. Matheson, I’ve got some information about Gray that I think  you need to hear,” she said.

            “Does it include information about my daughters?” Mr. Matheson asked eagerly.

            “No,” Angela said, startled, “why?”

            Mr. Matheson rubbed his face with both hands.  When they came down Angela noticed his eyes were bloodshot from crying.  “Leslie and Savannah never came home.  Leslie’s car was found across town wrapped around a light pole.  The police think it was stolen.  Both of my daughters are missing.”

            “I’m so sorry,” said Angela.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

            Mr. Matheson tried to smile, but failed.  Something behind Angela caught his eye, and he peered out into the night.  “What’s that?”

            Angela turned around.  A figure walked through the night, carrying something on its back.  It stayed out of the light of the street lamps, and it was only when it came close that Angela could make out what it was.  A young woman in a brown shirt and matching pants walked barefoot towards the Mathesons’ house.  She carried a girl on her back.  The girl’s loose black curls fell over the woman’s right shoulder.

            “Savannah?”  Mr. Matheson gasped.  He stumbled forward.

            The young woman walked into the light streaming through the house’s open doorway.  She was covered in dirt and blood.  Savannah lifted her head and looked blearily at her father.  A tourniquet was tied on her left arm, and her shirt was covered in blood.  The woman looked up at Angela and Mr. Matheson.  “Excuse me,” she murmured.

            Mr. Matheson and Angela stepped out of the way.  The woman entered the house and lay Savannah on the living room couch.  One of Savannah’s legs stuck out at an odd angle.

            “Savannah!” cried Mr. Matheson.  He ran forward and knelt next to the couch.  “What happened?  Where’s Leslie?”

            “Dad?” Savannah said weakly.  She looked away, towards the wall.  “I have to tell you something.”

*          *          *

The End 

The Scroll 38

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

*    *    *

Leslie stumbled backwards as the wolf began to change, growing until it was ten feet tall at the shoulder.  Its forelegs became scaled, ending in reptilian claws.  Armor-like plates grew on its back and the top of its head, and two-foot long quills grew in between the plates and down the tail.  A wild conglomeration of animals, only the head and hind legs still looked lupine.

            A wolf of monstrous proportions, Ember had said.  But this was worse.  This was so much worse.

            Leslie pivoted on one foot and ran like she’d never run before.  Goldeyre lumbered behind her.  He roared, and the sound shook the glass in the windows of nearby houses.  His massive form was slower than Leslie, built for power instead of full-out speed, but not by much.  If she took so much as one misstep—Leslie forced the thought out of her mind and ran.  She sprinted past the last row of houses, her lungs burning, her heart pounding in her chest, and made for the dark stand of trees.  Savannah would be waiting on the other side of the creek.

            Leslie reached the trees, but she didn’t slow down as their green branches enveloped her.  She barreled on ahead, ducking under branches and jumping over fallen logs.  Twigs scraped her arms and face and tugged at her hair, threatening to slow her down.  She slipped, falling to one hand.  She pushed against the damp soil and kept running.

            Finally the bridge spanning the creek came into view.  Savannah stood leaning against the bridge wearing her bike helmet, waiting for Leslie.  Her bike was propped up on its kickstand.

            “Get on your bike!” Leslie yelled, waving frantically.  Savannah looked up, startled.  Leslie repeated, “Get on your bike!”

            Savannah scrambled onto her bike just as Leslie ran across the bridge, her sneakers pounding against the wooden slats.  “Leslie, you’re bleeding!”

            Leslie slapped the scroll into Savannah’s hand.  She looked at her arms.  Trickles of blood ran down from the scrapes she’d gotten.  “That doesn’t matter,” she panted.  Now that she’d stopped running her sides ached and her legs trembled.  “Run, quick.  Get away.  He’s too big to get through the trees, so he’ll have to go around.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Savannah.

            Crashes reverberated through the trees.  Leslie spun around.  Trees toppled to the ground at the edge of the park in a chorus of thunderous cracks.

            “Or he’ll just tear them down,” Leslie mumbled.

            “What was that?” Savannah cried.

            Leslie’s mind snapped back in focus.  She whirled on her sister.  “That doesn’t matter.  Run!”

            Savannah forced her eyes away from the thrashing trees.  She opened a Pringles can she’d strapped to her waist and slipped the scroll inside.  Then she kicked her pedals into place and rode away up the bike path.

            Leslie waited until she could see Goldeyre’s monstrous wolf head as he barreled through the trees.  Then she turned and ran.  Come after me, she thought frantically.  Don’t catch Savannah’s scent.  I’m the one you want.

*          *          *

            Savannah pedaled uphill frantically.  It took all her self-control not to slow down and turn back to look at whatever was tearing down the trees, but her first priority was securing the scroll.  Just let Leslie be okay.

            She broke out of the cover of the trees, emerging on a road bordering a farm.  The farm’s fields were bare, lying fallow until the next season.  She sped down the road, going downhill towards the ocean to gain momentum, looking for a break in the farmland’s fence.  If she could just cut across the farm, she’d reach another residential area and be able to find safety there.

            The trees behind Savannah groaned and cracked, their leaves and branches shaking like they were in a high wind.  A roar reverberated through the air, and Savannah peeked over her shoulder as she rode.  A monster, a mass of fur and scales and spikes, loped towards her, its bloodshot eyes gleaming.

            “Oh crap,” said Savannah.  Adrenaline spiked through her body, and she pedaled faster, raising herself up out of her seat to force the pedals down.  What is that thing?

            Savannah spotted a hole in the farm’s fence, and she took it.  Immediately the terrain became bumpy, forcing Savannah to slow down.  “Oh crap,” she repeated.  Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes as fear numbed her limbs.  She could feel the creature getting closer, could feel its breath on her back.  “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

            Another roar tore the air.  A clawed limb reached out and batted Savannah off her bike.  She flew through the air, landing hard on the ground.  Her bike landed on top of her.  A sharp pain shot through her leg, and she screamed.

*          *          *

            Leslie heard the roars, heard the trees crashing around her, and kept running.  She could practically feel Goldeyre breathing down her neck and knew at any moment his jaws would close around her.  She broke out of the trees.  The sun was low in the sky, and one irrational thought tore through her mind: run to the ocean.

            Savannah’s scream ripped through the air, drawing Leslie up short.  She forced herself to turn, to ignore her screaming instincts, forced herself to look.

            Goldeyre, in his monstrous meshing of animals, stood over Savannah at the edge of a farmer’s field.  He snarled, showing long white fangs, and raised one scaled claw.

            No, no, NO!  Leslie stumbled towards Savannah.  There was no way she’d make it in time.  He wants the scroll—he wants the scroll for the spell, and the spell’s not there.

            “I opened the scroll!” Leslie shrieked at the top of her lungs.

            Goldeyre turned towards Leslie and stared at her with one bloodshot eye.

            “I opened the scroll!” Leslie yelled.  “I broke the wax seal, and I felt a shock.  I thought it was static electricity, but that was stupid because paper doesn’t conduct electricity!”

            Goldeyre was motionless for a single heartbeat.  He stepped over Savannah and leaped towards Leslie.

            Leslie spun around and ran towards the setting sun.  Her lungs were on fire, her head swam, but still she ran.  She crossed the highway with Goldeyre in close pursuit.  Car tires squealed as drivers slammed on their brakes, and Leslie was vaguely aware of a car whizzing by in front of her.

            A horse ranch was on the far side of the highway.  Leslie vaulted the fence.  Horses screamed and stampeded, running away from Leslie and the monster that pursued her.  A shotgun blast echoed through the air, but whoever fired the gun missed.  Leslie ignored all of it.  She ran across the horse pasture and leaped over the fence on the other side.  She ran to the edge of the sea cliffs and stopped.

            A white sandy beach spread out beneath Leslie ten feet below.  She knew people survived jumps from that height all the time, but still she hesitated.  Her legs felt like jelly, and her entire body trembled.

            Leslie could hear Goldeyre behind her, could hear his pants and growls.  People have seen him now.  He won’t be able to chase Savannah.

            But that won’t stop him from chasing me.

            The sun dipped lower.  Soon its lower edge would reach the horizon.

            Leslie bent low and jumped.

*          *          *

            Savannah lay on the ground, trembling.  What had made the monster leave?  She thought she heard Leslie’s voice.  Had she drawn that thing away?

            Savannah tried to push herself up, but pain shot through her leg and she collapsed.  She lay on her back.

            A falcon wheeled overhead.  Savannah watched its lazy track across the sky.  Suddenly, it tucked into a dive, pulling out at the last minute and fluttering over Savannah.  Its talon reached for the Pringles can at Savannah’s waist.

            “No!”  Savannah reached out, and the falcon raked its talons over Savannah’s arm.  She shrieked and pulled back.

            Movement to the left caught Savannah’s eye, and she looked in time to see a tan blur rocket through the air.  The mountain lion landed next to Savannah and batted the falcon away with one swipe.  It screamed, and Savannah had never been so happy to hear the signature cry of the cougar.

            The falcon landed hard, then flipped up onto its feet with a beat of its wings.  It launched itself at the cougar, changing as it did so.  It grew, and its wings became deformed.  The feathers receded from its face, and its eyes rotated inward until it had binocular vision.  Hands emerged from the ends of the wings, and its legs elongated.  It landed on top of the cougar, half-bird and half-human.

            The cougar wrestled with the half-formed freak, slipping out from under it with the agility born from years of training.  They fought, Ember shifting from cougar to human and back again, grabbing the falcon-man, flinging him over her shoulders, sinking her fangs into him one moment and kicking him with her bare human foot the next.  The falcon stayed in half-form, blocking punches, jabbing at Ember with its beak, clawing her with his talons.  He leaped into the air, using his half-formed wings to guide his descent as he kicked at Ember’s head.  Ember shifted into a cougar, twisted out of reach, became a human again, and slammed her elbow into the falcon-man’s neck.  He crumpled to the ground.  Ember nudged him with her foot.  He didn’t move.

            Savannah stared at the unconscious creature.  Its feathers stuck out at odd angles, and she could just see its face.  The beak transformed into a mouth and nose, but other than that the falcon-man remained half-formed.  “What—what is that?”

            Ember flicked her hair into a ponytail and wiped a trickle of blood out of her eye.  “A monster.  An abomination.”

            Savannah tried to sit up, but the world spun around her.  She fell back and succumbed to the darkness.

*          *          *

            Leslie hit the ground hard.  She stumbled, and her ankle twinged with pain.  She ignored it and kept running.

            There was a crash behind her, and Leslie knew Goldeyre had jumped down to the beach.  Terror flooded through her, and though there was nowhere left to run, though there was only the sea, Leslie kept running.  Water lapped at her feet, and she stumbled into the rising waves.

            When she was waist-deep in the water, Leslie turned around.  Goldeyre stood on the beach, his teeth bared and gleaming.  He leaped forward, and Leslie splashed deeper into the water.  She lifted her legs, letting the outgoing waves take her away from Goldeyre.  He watched from the shore, the quills on his back bristling.

            Can he not swim in that body? thought Leslie.  But can’t he just wade out and grab me?  She watched, and she noticed that though Goldeyre strained his body he could not set a single foot in the water.

            So I’m safe out here.  But I can’t swim forever!  Leslie was exhausted, worn out from running, and the cold water sapped her strength.  She tried to stand.  The water was up to her chest.

            Suddenly, a strong undercurrent sucked at Leslie’s legs, and the water around Leslie receded.  She looked back just as a large wave broke above her.  It knocked her off her feet, and she tumbled through the water.  Up and down became intertwined.  She tried to swim, tried to reorient herself, but she was too weak.  The seawater stung her eyes and nostrils.

            Her hand touched the sandy sea floor, and Leslie grasped at the sand.  It flowed through her fingers as the undercurrent grabbed her again, drawing her out to sea.  Leslie clawed at the water as she somersaulted through its depths.  Her lungs were on fire.  She couldn’t find the surface.

            Leslie’s toe caught on the sandy floor, and she forced her body to straighten up, using the motion of the water to help her.  She reached up, and her hand broke the surface of the water.

            The lower edge of the sun touched the horizon.  A beam of gold landed on Leslie’s outstretched fingertips.  Gold swirled around Leslie, travelling up and down her body like bubbles of light.  It enveloped her, cushioning her against the sea, providing her with air to breathe.  Then she saw it.

            The pathway opened before her, and she saw worlds and stars spinning around her in an endless stream of light.  It stretched back into the past and on into the future, image on top of image, light against light.  Leslie was tugged forward from the center of her body, and the light passed through her as she crossed the path, a World Walker unbound by the Laws of Placement.

            Then everything vanished and only Leslie remained.

The Scroll 37

In this episode, Leslie confronts Goldeyre.

*          *          *

            Leslie dreamed about her mother’s death again, but this time Gray was there with Professor Brown standing next to him.  Professor Brown wore his pinstriped suit and fedora, and he held his cane in one hand.  As Leslie’s mother toppled over the edge, Gray desperately tried to stop her.  Professor Brown grabbed his wrist, stopping him.  Gray fought back, kicking and punching, but none of his hits connected and Professor Brown kept hold of him by just his wrist.  Leslie tried to run towards them, but it was like running through molasses.  Everyone moved at normal speed except for her.

            Suddenly another person was there—or had he been there all along?  Nameless, faceless, this shadowy figure, dark despite the California sun, was Gray’s father.  Professor Brown looked at him, and the man said, “Use him as you wish.  I give him to you.”

            Professor Brown nodded.  He smiled the smile of an evil Cheshire cat and pushed Gray over the edge of the sea cliff.  Leslie screamed—a silent scream, a dream scream, but somehow Professor Brown heard her.  “Might as well get rid of this one too.”

            He reached out to grab her, and Leslie woke up in her own bed, drenched in sweat.

            Leslie got ready for school silently.  She tried not to think about what would happen that afternoon, but it was impossible.  If something went wrong, she could very well be found broken and lying in a ditch.  Savannah as well.

            Mr. Matheson was in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when Leslie entered to grab some breakfast.  His face was a little worn—Savannah had told Leslie that he blamed himself for Gray’s disappearance—but he still looked whole.  If she disappeared she doubted he’d ever be whole again.

            Mr. Matheson looked up and smiled.  Guilt flooded over Leslie, and she rushed around the table and hugged her dad tight.  He hugged her back, and she clung tighter.

            “Leslie, are you okay?”

            Leslie pulled back enough to smile up at Mr. Matheson.  “I’m okay.”  She buried her face in his shoulder again.  “I love you, Daddy.”

            “I love you too,” said Mr. Matheson.  He stroked her hair.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

            Leslie nodded wordlessly.  She kissed him on the cheek, grabbed an apple, and rushed out of the house to her car.  She couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye.

            School went excruciatingly slow.  Leslie couldn’t concentrate on anything, and she fidgeted in her seat.  Her teachers gave her disapproving looks.  Usually, when she didn’t pay attention at least she didn’t distract others. 

After classes ended Leslie stayed at the school.  The plan wouldn’t take place or another hour, but she couldn’t bring herself to go home.

Finally, Leslie drove over to the sewage plant.  Savannah would be ready on her bike when the time came.  Leslie handed Ember her keys and climbed into the passenger seat.

            “Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Ember as she drove.

            Leslie nodded.  “He’ll be sure to suspect anyone else.  He might not suspect me.”

            “And you don’t want me to be the one to retrieve the scroll?”

            Leslie shook her head.  “Only I can touch the scroll.”

            Leslie wasn’t completely sure she trusted Ember.  Trust had blinded her to Professor Brown in the first place.  She wanted to make sure the scroll stayed in either her or Savannah’s possession.  For that reason, she’d only shared the complete plan with Savannah.  It was sure to put Savannah in danger, but Leslie hoped she’d draw the danger towards herself instead.

            Ember stopped the car a couple blocks from Professor Brown’s house.  “Fifteen minutes?”

            “Twenty,” said Leslie.  “I have to walk there first.”  If she hadn’t found the scroll in twenty minutes, she probably never would.

            She put her hand on the door handle, but stopped.  She said, “You said Goldeyre’s shifting was bound.”

            Ember nodded.  “Yes, that’s what the histories say.  But that was fifty years ago, and I’m not sure if the binding would hold that long, if it was ever performed.”

            “What’s his shifted form?” Leslie asked.

            “They say it was a wolf of monstrous proportions.”

            Leslie shivered.  How was she supposed to defend herself against a wolf?  She imagined Gray’s answer.  Run and stay away from its teeth.  She tightened her grip on the door handle.  “Thank you.”

            The door popped open, and Leslie stepped out of the car.  “Twenty minutes,” she said and closed the door.

            Every step Leslie took felt like a step further down a death march.  Half of her wanted to run away and not look back, but she couldn’t.  Gray wouldn’t, not if there was a chance that what Ember said was true.  She had to get the scroll back.

            Professor Brown’s house looked dark despite the clear sky.  The sun dipped in the west, and it seemed the windows were the only things that caught the sun’s beams as they reflected them back towards Leslie.  She shivered, pulling her jacket close.

            Leslie debated knocking on the door.  If she did, she could claim that she’d lost her phone and that the only place she hadn’t checked was at Professor Brown’s house.  But if she knocked, Professor Brown—no, Goldeyre, Leslie thought firmly—might follow her, and she’d never have a chance to search for the scroll.

            Finally, Leslie decided to test the doorknob.  If the door was locked, she’d knock.  If it was unlocked, she’d open the door and hope Goldeyre wasn’t standing on the other side.

            Leslie tried the doorknob.  It turned, and Leslie gently pushed the door open and peeked inside.  The house was quiet.  Barely breathing, Leslie tiptoed inside.  She left the door open a crack—she didn’t want to make a sound when the door closed.

            Leslie’s mind flashed to the night that Savannah snuck in Leslie’s bedroom window.  I’m a ninja, she’d replied when Leslie asked how she’d gotten there.

            If ever I needed a ninja, I need one now, Leslie thought.  As quietly as possible, Leslie snuck from room to room, rifling through drawers and under couches.  She found nothing downstairs and headed for the stairs.

            Leslie was halfway up the stairs when voices made her stop.  She froze, straining her ears to listen.  Goldeyre and Ravenstorm’s voices drifted down the stairs.  So silently that Leslie could hear her bones creak, Leslie crept up the stairs.  They were in the second room—the one that Doctor Monroe had used as a laboratory.  Leslie pressed against the wall outside the room to listen.

            “I don’t sense anything coming from the scroll,” said Ravenstorm.  “Are you sure the spell is here?  Perhaps you activated—”

            “I did not activate the spell!” Goldeyre snapped.  There was the sound of breaking glass, and Leslie shrunk back.  “I’ve read the scroll out loud forwards, backwards, I’ve skipped words, I’ve performed rituals.  The only thing I haven’t done is tear the scroll in half.  Perhaps that’s what it means to part the scroll.  Don’t tell me I’ve activated the spell.”

            “Are you sure?” asked Ravenstorm.  “The endowment of Power does not need to feel like a rush, or anything extraordinary.  It could feel as small as a tiny jolt of electricity.”

            Leslie gasped.  A shock.  A small electric shock.  Like static electricity.  Realizing she’d made a sound, she clapped her hands over her mouth.  She hoped they hadn’t heard her. 

            Ravenstorm and Goldeyre went silent, and Leslie tried to get her legs to move.  Move, her mind screamed.  Run away.  But she couldn’t.

            “Would you like to come in?” Goldeyre said in a deceptively calm voice.

            Leslie’s hands shook over her mouth.  She forced her hands down and balled them into fists.  Taking a deep breath, she stood tall and walked into the room.  Goldeyre and Ravenstorm faced her, and she spotted the scroll just out of reach on the desk.  Its pages curled up on each other.

            “Well, this is a surprise,” said Goldeyre with a gentle smile that didn’t fool Leslie for a second.  “What are you doing here, Leslie?”

            It was too late to claim she was looking for her phone—far too late.  After a moment’s hesitation she said, “I know who you are.”

            “Oh?” said Goldeyre.  His smile widened, revealing a sinister glint in his eye.  “And who do you think I am?”

            Don’t say everything, Leslie thought.  She tightened her fists until her fingernails bit into her palms.  She said, “You’re a shifter.”

            “Very good,” said Goldeyre, nodding.  Ravenstorm fingered the lip of his glove.  “And who told you that, or did you figure it out on your own?”

            “I figured it out,” said Leslie.  She thought frantically.  Savannah was the one who could come up with convincing elaborate lies on the spot, not her.  “You and Ravenstorm are close—a lot closer than you and Doctor Monroe.  And—and you read the scroll so quickly, and you didn’t seem interested in how shifting works, and you weren’t surprised when Gray shifted—Doctor Monroe was.”

            Goldeyre didn’t respond, and in her nervousness Leslie couldn’t stop talking.  “And I think you’re collaborating with whoever sent the scroll, and you knew exactly what was going on with Gray.  What did you do to Gray?”

            As she talked, Leslie gradually stepped further into the room.  If she got close enough she might be able to grab the scroll and get out of there once the signal came.  Come on, she thought.  Where are they?

            Goldeyre leaned close.  “I made him better,” he whispered.  “I made him more than he was.”

            Leslie stopped.  “What do you mean?”

            Goldeyre motioned to Ravenstorm, and the young man stepped forward.  “Haven’t you wondered why Ravenstorm wears gloves?”

            Leslie stood still.  She couldn’t tell where this was going.  “Is it because he’s a Spell Weaver?”

            Goldeyre shook his head.  “Show her, Ravenstorm.”

            Slowly, like a magician revealing his grand trick, Ravenstorm pulled off his gloves and held up his hands with the backs facing Leslie.  They were covered in tiny grey-and-white feathers.  A black gem was embedded in one of his wrists.  Then he turned around and lifted his shirt over his head.  Glossy black and silver feathers as long as Leslie’s hand started at his shoulders and went halfway down his back.  He pulled his shirt down and turned to face her again.  He lifted one pant leg.  Half-formed scales peppered his calf.  “I was born half-shifted,” he said, letting the pant leg fall back in place.

            “Which gives him interesting abilities,” said Goldeyre.  “Abilities my colleagues and I have been trying to duplicate.  I was surprised when Gray half-shifted like he did.  Yes, experiments are going on in his village, but he was supposed to be clean.  After all, what use is a messenger if he dies along the way?  He must have found a piece of inoculated food lying around and eaten it before he left his village.  But finding him so advanced in Stage One was advantageous—we could more easily find that ‘cure’ he kept babbling on about and start him on Stage Two.  It should be well advanced by the time he gets home.”

            “Stage two of what?” Leslie forced herself to ask.

            “Of evolution,” Goldeyre said in a stage whisper.  “Evolution of a sort you non-shifter would never understand.  And once enough shifters have evolved, and with the power of the scroll you so kindly delivered to me, I’ll—”

            Outside the screech of tires on pavement broke the late afternoon stillness, followed by a crash.  Ravenstorm and Goldeyre turned and walked towards the window.  “What the blazes was that?” exclaimed Goldeyre.

            Leslie didn’t bother to look; she knew what was there—Ember had slammed Leslie’s car into the light pole outside, and Savannah was playing “hurt bicyclist”—possibly complete with fake theater blood.

            Leslie took advantage of the distraction and leaped forward.  She grabbed all the papers from the scroll and rolled them up tight.  The scroll’s original container was on the desk; Leslie snatched it up and stuffed the scroll inside it.  She turned to run, but slammed into the doorjamb on the way out.  She spun around, caught a glimpse of Goldeyre’s and Ravenstorm’s faces as they turned towards her, and dashed down the hall.

            “Get her!” she heard Goldeyre yell as she sprinted down the stairs two at a time.

            Ravenstorm has feathers, Leslie thought frantically.  A bird!  She shrugged out of her jacket and spun around.

            There was a flurry of wingbeats, and a peregrine falcon swooped down the stairwell.  At the last moment Leslie flung her jacket up, and through an extraordinary stroke of luck the falcon flew straight into the jacket and was tangled up in it.  She wrapped the jacket around the falcon’s head and beating wings.  It shrieked and tried to claw at her arms, and she thrust the bird under a table near the stairs.  Without looking to see if Ravenstorm would get free, Leslie dashed to the front door.  She flung it open and ran outside.

            Ember and Savannah were gone, as was Savannah’s bike, and a crowd of people huddled around Leslie’s wrecked car.  Leslie gave her faithful transportation no more than a passing glance before racing down the street.  She cut across streets and through yards, heading towards a clump of trees nestled in a ravine.  A park followed the path of a creek as it made its way to the ocean.  If she made it to the park she could lose herself in the densely packed trees.  And hopefully Savannah would be waiting there.

            Please be at the rendezvous point, Leslie thought frantically.

            As Leslie approached the last row of houses, an enormous dog jumped in Leslie’s path.  Leslie skidded to a stop, and she realized the dog was a wolf—the biggest wolf she had ever seen.  Its shoulder was as high as Leslie’s waist, and its shaggy grey coat gleamed in the sunlight.  Golden eyes gazed into Leslie’s hazel eyes.  Goldeyre had found her.

            Leslie spun to run away, but the wolf nimbly ran around and cut her off.  She spun away again and ran.  The wolf leaped forward and grabbed Leslie’s pant leg in its jaws.  She fell to the ground, skinning her elbows.  Frantically, Leslie twisted around and kicked the wolf in the face.  It let go of her pant leg, and she scrambled to her feet.

            The wolf spoke, a low grumble that set every nerve in Leslie’s body on edge.  “Don’t think you can get away from me, Leslie.  I’m one of the Ancients.”  Then the wolf began to grow.