Page 77 of Panther in the Shadows
But Elspeth just walks through it. The corrupted soul doesn't care about clean magic. Doesn't fear it.
She reaches for Moira again.
I force myself upright. Shadow-walk across the deck. Emerge between them with the knife raised.
"You want her, you go through me."
The child laughs. All those voices laughing together. "Gladly."
She moves like water. Slick. Impossible to pin. Her attacks come from angles that shouldn't work. Arms bending backward. Legs kicking in directions joints don't allow. Every strike is precise. Calculated. Lethal.
Panther reflexes. Shadow-walker speed. Seven years of surviving after I was exiled by being faster and meaner than anyone who came at me.
I dodge left. She follows. I spin right. She's already there. I shadow-walk behind her. She turns before I can strike.
We dance across the shattered deck. Blade against hands. Shadow against water. Death against darkness.
I'm faster. Stronger. More experienced.
But she doesn't tire. Doesn't slow. Doesn't feel pain.
And I'm only human. Well. Mostly human.
The child moves like something from a nightmare. Her joints bend backward with sickening cracks. Her head tilts at angles that would snap a living neck. Every movement is precise and calculated, guided by Catalina's will and powered by necromantic magic that makes the air around her taste of rot.
I aim for the binding. Try to get close enough to cut the threads that hold her soul captive. But she's too fast. Too aware. She knows what I'm trying to do and prevents it with brutal efficiency.
The knife slashes through empty air as she ducks beneath my strike. Her hand shoots out and catches my wrist. For a heartbeat, I feel the binding—right there, wrapped around her small torso, pulsing with blue light. So close.
Then she twists. My wrist screams in protest. The knife clatters to the deck and skitters toward the edge.
Her hand rakes across my ribs. Shallow. More warning than real damage. But the cold spreads from the wound immediately. Catalina's corruption trying to take root.
I grit my teeth against it. Keep moving. Keep fighting. Buy Moira time to deal with Catalina. That's all that matters. Keep Elspeth occupied. Keep Moira alive.
The child feints left. I counter. She goes right instead. Fast.
Her hand closes around my throat.
The cold is immediate. Overwhelming. Like being dunked in winter water. My lungs seize. My heart stutters.
Elspeth leans close. All those voices whispering. "You can't win, Rafael. You're already dying. The corruption is spreading. Soon you'll be just like us. Just like me."
Black spots dance across my vision.
Then Catalina's voice booms across the water. "Enough playing, child. We have other prey to catch."
The pressure on my throat vanishes. Elspeth releases me. Turns toward the sea-walker who commands her.
I collapse against the mast, gasping. Trying to pull air into lungs that don't want to work. The corruption spreads from the wounds on my ribs. Black veins running under my skin. Crawling toward my heart.
Catalina stands on the water like a queen on her throne. "Rafael. My faithless betrothed. Still fighting for the sea witch. Still so predictable."
I try to respond. Can't. The corruption has reached my lungs. Speaking takes air I don't have.
"I wanted you by my side when I remade this world." Her voice carries disappointment wrapped in rage. "But you chose her over me. Chose this island over what we could have become together."
She raises one pale hand. Water rises with it. Corrupted liquid forming into a spear. Sharp. Deadly.
