Through a Mirror, Darkly

Chapter 8

Charles raced to the site of the explosion and beam of light with Monty hot on his heels. As they passed darkened houses and closed businesses, he wondered why no one seemed bothered by the fact that there had been a flash as bright as thunder and a rumble as intense as an earthquake.

Aside from a few residents who peered between their curtains toward the source of the light, the townsfolk as a whole appeared unconcerned and uninterested. Perhaps seeing strange things and hearing odd noises was just so commonplace for the people of Port Townsend that they chose to ignore it. Or maybe there was some greater magic at work that made them dismiss the strange and unusual. In any case, there were no sirens or people on their porches - just a ghost and a crow running toward the scene of the crime.

The source of the beam of light turned out to be a small park next to woods with poor illumination. A curl of smoke twisted up into the night sky and was caught by a breeze.

From within that dark and foreboding green space, there was a low, threatening growl.

"What do you think it..."

Charles groped backward and blocked Monty with his body as the crow boy caught up with him. He pressed a hand over his mouth. "Shhh. Careful." Then, without taking his eyes off the shadows, he swung his pack around and pulled out his replacement magical cricket bat. It didn't feel the same as his old one, but that one had shattered against a giant snake. He was still getting used to the replacement.

Something gnashed around in the dark. It sounded big. And grumpy. It moved through the playground equipment, pushing the seesaws back and forth and rattling the chains of the swingset.The creature huffed, glowing yellow eyes peering out of the darkness. If its eyes were to be believed, the creature was about the size of a small horse, but definitely not that docile. It jumped up onto the merry-go-round. As it moved, its long claws dragged across the metal like fingernails on a chalkboard, sending up a series of sparks and filling the park with a squealing, uncomfortable sound.

Charles dropped to a ready position, flexing his grip on his cricket bat and swinging it around to test its weight. "Monty, stay behind me."

The creature growled and surged at Charles. He got his first good look at it in time to smack it across the face with his cricket bat. It was a creature that resembled a cross between a black, shaggy wolf and a giant sloth he'd once seen in a natural history museum, with its massive front claws and an ability to stand on two feet. The creature reared up and roared, staggered by the hit.

Charles was brave in a fight in part because there wasn't a lot that could actually hurt a ghost. Push him back, yes. Creatures he'd be ineffective against? Certainly. But short of some kinds of magic, there was very little that could cause him pain or otherwise hurt him.

Other than iron.

And Charles learned too late what those wicked claws were made of.

The momentum of the strike sent him spinning through the air. The stinging and curls of smoke came after he landed in a crumpled pile at the foot of the seesaw. The creature's claws had cleaved across his chest. He fell face-first in the dirt, his body on fire from the claw strike.

Charles had read about Ironclaws in bestiaries, but he and Edwin had never fought one before. They were a creature that was summoned by a warlock and directed to attack targets. But they took a very strong will to control, and a focus stone - a stone that could very well have been taken from Tragic Mick's shop.

The Ironclaw snarled at Charles and reared up on its feet, the wicked dagger-like claws on its front paws slicing at the air. It was clearly agitated and aggressive, but even though he was prone and ripe to be attacked, the creature was in a holding pattern.