Part 10 (1/2)

”Esther, get down!” Lucky shouted. ”I'm gonna blow it away!”

I turned around to find myself facing the barrel of a gun. I gasped and staggered backward.

I stepped on Max, who howled in pain. Startled, I lost my footing. I tried to regain it, but I instead did an involuntary barrel vault over the dog. I landed on my head and lay there in a helpless daze as an immense pink tongue started was.h.i.+ng my face.

The beast's breath smelled exactly the way you'd expect a h.e.l.l-sp.a.w.ned canine-demon's breath to smell.

”Esther?” Max said. Max said.

The disgusting facial was interrupted by a paw, which was the size and density of a baseball bat, poking me for signs of life. The creature's nails needed cutting.

”Get down!” Lucky shouted-presumably at Max, since I was flat on my back with a ma.s.sive paw giving me a dermabrasion treatment.

There was an explosion of noise so loud I thought my skull would shatter.

Lucky had fired. The shot missed the dog and instead hit a jar full of dried animal organs. The jar exploded, sending a spray of organs and organ dust all over me. This revived me enough to sit bolt upright and scream. Then I gagged on the acrid smoke and dust I inhaled.

Another shot convinced the now terrified dog to try to hide, and I nearly smothered when it chose my lap as the handiest refuge. Pinned down by the beast's weight, I was unable to escape when Lucky's next wild shot shattered a beaker that spilled some sticky blue substance all over me and the animal.

”Don't shoot!” I screamed, shoving at the dog and trying to see Lucky through the gradually clearing smoke.

If his next shot came closer to the dog, he might kill me me, since the creature was huddled on top of me, whining and drooling in my hair.

Max shouted something in another language as he pointed at Lucky. Suddenly the mobster's gun flew out of his hand and turned into a bat-the nocturnal kind with creepy looking wings. The bat hovered over Lucky for a few moments, as if contemplating biting him.

Lucky's eyes got as big as golf b.a.l.l.s. He fell to his knees and crossed himself.

Then the bat flew toward me. I don't like bats, so I screamed again and covered my head with my arms. The dog thought I was trying to play and, recovered from the emotional crisis inspired by Lucky's gunshots, it started jumping up and down on top of me.

”Max! Help!” I cried.

”To the rescue!” A moment later, Max grabbed the dog around the neck and heaved backward with all his body weight.

The dog resisted for a moment, then decided to play with Max instead of me. The two of them flew backward together and landed with a thud. The dog got up and wagged its tail, looking from me to Max, who lay p.r.o.ne and motionless.

I sat up, trying to catch my breath as I looked around warily for the bat. I saw it sinking to the floor on the far side of the room. To my relief, it was dissolving and oozing back into its original shape, the inanimate weapon which had given it such brief life. Moments later, Lucky's gun lay on the floor where the bat had been.

I glanced at Lucky. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was praying fervently in Italian.

”Max? Are you conscious?” I asked hoa.r.s.ely.

”More or less,” came the faint answer. After a moment, Max sat up slowly, disheveled and panting. He rubbed his shoulder as he asked me, ”Are you all right, Esther?”

”Sort of.” I coughed again and waved smoke away from my face. ”How about you?”

”I think I'm being robbed,” he said, eyeing Lucky anxiously.

”Oh! No, no,” I said, ”he came with me.”

Max looked confused. ”Are you you being robbed?” being robbed?”

”I didn't know he had a gun with him. I swear.” But I supposed it should have occurred to me that a notorious. .h.i.t man-even a semiretired one-probably never left home without his piece. ”He's a friend of mine, Max. The gunfire was, um, a misunderstanding.”

”Well . . .” Max watched Lucky praying. ”At least he seems repentant.”

After the smoke cleared and we felt strong enough to haul ourselves off the floor, it took us some time to convince Lucky to stop praying and have a seat while we restored order to Max's laboratory. It took even longer to clean up the mess.

The room was cavernous, windowless, and shadowy. The walls were decorated with charts covered in strange symbols and maps of places with unfamiliar names. Bottles of powders, vials of potions, and dried plants jostled for s.p.a.ce on the cluttered shelves. Beakers, implements, and tools lay tumbled and jumbled on the heavy, dark furniture. Today there was also a lot of shattered gla.s.s to clean up, as well as crumbling pieces of dried animal parts and a sticky blue liquid that was staining everything it touched, including me and the dog.

”Max, is this stuff ever going to come off?” I asked, rubbing at my arm.

Lucky, who still seemed dazed, muttered, ”There's some on your face, too.”

”d.a.m.n,” I said.

Jars of herbs, spices, minerals, amulets, and neatly a.s.sorted claws and teeth sat on densely packed shelves and in dusty cabinets. There were antique weapons, some urns and boxes and vases, several Tarot decks, some runes, two gargoyles squatting in a corner, icons and idols, a scattering of old bones, and a Tibetan prayer bowl. An enormous bookcase was packed to overflowing with many leather-bound volumes, as well as unbound ma.n.u.scripts, scrolls, and even a few clay tablets.

For weeks, there had also been piles of feathers all over the lab. Today, for the first time since I'd met Max, the feathers were all gone.

”You solved your feather problem?” I asked as I swept the floor.

Max paused in his efforts to clean up the sticky blue ooze and gestured to the ma.s.sive dog, who lay on the floor a.s.siduously licking a blue-stained paw. ”As you see,” he said.

”I see a dog,” I said. The huge animal had short, smooth, tan-colored hair, with a darker face and paws, and a long, square-jawed head. ”Part Great Dane, I think?”

Max's baby blue eyes widened beneath bushy white brows. ”Oh, no, no, Esther. No. This isn't a Esther. No. This isn't a dog dog.” He glanced anxiously at the beast, as if fearful my comment had caused offense. ”I have conjured a familiar!”

I looked at the dog. It looked back at me. Despite its immense size, its floppy ears were too big for its head. Its long pink tongue hung out of its mouth as it panted cheerfully at me.

”This is a familiar?” I said. is a familiar?” I said.

The dog burped.

”Yes.” Max beamed at me.

I supposed this explained (somehow or other) the wet dog fur odor I'd smelled floating up from the cellar when Max first confronted his conjured companion down here. And the explosion Lucky and I had heard must have signaled the creature's arrival. Magic sure was noisy.

”What's its name?” I asked.

”She has chosen to be known in this dimension as Nelli,” Max said, his flawless English bearing only the faintest trace of his origins in eastern Europe centuries ago.

”Your familiar is named Nelli? Nelli?”

He nodded. ”I believe it's an homage to the great Fulcanelli.”

”Who was that?”

Max look surprised at my ignorance. ”An early twentieth-century alchemist of great renown. Author of The Mystery of the Cathedrals The Mystery of the Cathedrals. Fulcanelli's writings influenced my thinking on trans.m.u.tation, the phonetic cabala of Gothic architecture, and sacred geometry.”