Pierre shook his head again. Less violently, this time. "I . . . don't think so, Eneko. It was connected with her somehow, I felt. But I had the sense that it was something watching her, rather than she herself."
Reluctantly, as a priest will speak of such things. "It seemed very . . . lustful. A horrible sort of lust, and not the sort of thing that anyone would draw willingly unto themselves. And I am not so sure, now, that it wasn't actually hunting her, and not just watching her."
Lopez limped out through the open door near the table and onto the balcony beyond; then, peered down at the canal below. The waters were already dark with the evening. He raised his eyes and studied the massive edifice across the canal that housed the Imperial embassy.
Something watching--perhaps hunting. Something evil. A true innocent might, might be safe from such a thing, but how many people were true innocents, once out of leading-strings?
"Too late . . ." he murmured. "For anything except prayer."
He turned back, sharply and decisively. "Join me, Pierre. Here. Now. Whatever it was--let us test the thing. If it is what I think it is . . . Chernobog has made a serious error."
Pierre hesitated. The Basque priest's solid bar of eyebrow lowered. "It is not forbidden, Pierre!" he snapped. "And what is the alternative? To allow a girl who may be guilty of nothing more than venial sins to be devoured by Chernobog?"
The Savoyard's uncertainty vanished. A moment later, he joined Eneko on his knees, crucifix in hand.
"Protections?" Pierre asked. Eneko shook his head.
"No time, but we are not the ones it is hunting--" Eneko cleared his mind of the distracting worry that this might be a trap for him and his own people. "Saint Mark--"
"Ah!" Pierre caught his meaning. "I found a prayer in the Accademia library that might be what we need."
The Savoyard bent his head over his clasped hands and began murmuring the words; Eneko concentrated on them, and on special, sacred magic of a Hypatian priest-mage, that of directed, aimed prayer, with power behind it.
Blessed Saint Mark . . . patron and protector . . .
The power flowed, outward and upward, as Eneko concentrated; he felt another power join to his--Pierre's--and their souls sought for that place where prayers were answered.
But then, what he had not dared hope for.
He felt something stir; sensed sleepy eyes opening, somewhere, in that place that was outside space and a time beyond time, in that other where spirits dwelt. Something ancient.
What--
He did not have the means to answer that question; It could not hear him, he lacked a voice It would respond to. But he didn't have to answer it; he sensed It was now . . . looking. For just an instant, Eneko thought he saw a pair of great eyes, opening.
* * *
The monster was at the water-door. Not because it sought entry by that means--too risky--but simply because it wanted to be certain. It required only a moment of soft snuffling, licking the door with its tongue.
Yes. So strong! So delicious!
It moved slowly down the canal, searching the walls. A very great house, this was. Still massively impressive, despite the little signs of disrepair.
That disrepair would be of good use to the monster. There was a route up the walls--as easy to climb as a chimney to an experienced mountaineer. The monster almost chortled with glee.
Then . . . restrained itself again. It was still too early. Night had fallen, yes; but the house would not be asleep. The monster could not risk Chernobog's anger that much.
Wait. Wait.