Page 29 of Sightwitch
I charged down to the main floor before I allowed my foolish feet to drag to a stop. Then I rounded back, staring. Praying nothing would appear in the darkened exit from the stairs.
Of course my assumption was wrong, for they were already in the room, staring down at me from atop the balcony.
They cackled. No more harmony. Just giddy, hungry laughter.
And unlike me, they did not need the stairs to descend.
Up they flew. Then over and down.
Never have I spun so fast in my life. Never have I reached such a speed so quickly. I launched from frozen and gasping to a knee-kicking charge, my lantern’s beam swinging in all directions. I couldn’t see where I was going, and I just had to pray that Level 10 was shaped like every level before it.
It wasn’t.
I learned that when I sprinted directly into a wall.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I veered sharply right, barely preventing a crash into the stone, a crunch sounded.
Then another and another, and before my shaking eyes, rubble punched out of the wall … followed by hands.
Human hands that grabbed at me. Two snagged hold, and I barely managed to yank free before two more had latched on.
Oh, how the Death Maidens laughed at that.
“No one wants you here,” they trilled. “You simply do not belong.”
“No!”I shrieked, using all my force to hitch free and fling myself back into a sprint.
But of course, the hands weren’t finished with me. Now they burst free from the floor. I had to hop and twist and dart and leap as fingers, fingerseverywhere, tried to haul me down.
No time for thought, no time for strategy. Just forward. Just away from the Death Maidens still hovering behind.
Their cackles were much, much too near.
Somehow, though, I had chosen the correct side of Lady Fate’s knife by turning right at the wall. A jagged maw of a doorway glowed ahead. Fat fronds of foxfire reached out from the rock, giving my Firewitched lantern a greenish glow—and giving the clawing, reaching hands a rotting sheen.
This time, I did not make the mistake of believing the next level would save me. At least, though, there were no more hands to punch free from the rock. Just walls so close that my shoulders touched and my pack hit the ceiling as I careened faster down.
The cramped space slowed the three monsters. Their singing, “Ryber, Ryber, Ryber,” faded slightly as I barreled ever onward.
Level 11. I fell onto the balcony, hands windmilling to keep me upright.
Light. Foxfire. Everywhere it shone, bright enough to burn my eyes. Enough to slow me for half a desperate breath as my vision adjusted.
I almost wish my vision hadneveradjusted. Then I might not have seen the worst of the horrors to come.
As tall as the cavern and propped up like a spider—but with four human arms to hold it high—stood a beast with a head that spun my way. Then kept spinning, bones clicking with each turn. Skull-like, it had black sockets for eyes and a grin that spread wider, wider, wider. All the way around to the back of its head, the smile stretched.
It heaved its massive fleshy body toward me, shockingly nimble. Shockingly fast.
And behind me, the sound of my name bounced closer.
I had no choice: I had to keep moving forward.
Down the stairs I vaulted. My eyes were not on where I stepped but where the Skull-Face ahead was moving. It was fast, but it was also big. If I could stay close to the space between walls and shelves, then it could not reach me.
My plan was a poor one, which I realized the instant I pitched for the right wall.
Hands, hands—the same thrice-damned hands from Level 10 began to break free. Grabbing, ripping, towing me down.
