Page 33 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
No, it’sdefinitelymoving—bobbing and bending as if something heavy is pacing along its top side.
Carefully I shift Jasper’s head off my chest and sit up. The breeze swirls around my face, lifting the ends of my hair.
A low growl ripples through the night. It’s coming from the branch directly above me.
Riordan notices—I hear the faintest scrape of metal as he moves, just barely.
The monster is here. Caer is here. Silent as death, he must have crept onto that branch without us noticing, and now he is waiting to pounce.
Dorothy said we must stay quiet and still, to avoid an attack. I should do that, I suppose. It’s very good advice. But when have I ever listened to my own advice, or anyone else’s for that matter? Jumping into the hole with the White Rabbit was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and also the best. Perhaps this choice is akin to that one.
“Don’t.” A single, breathed word, barely a rasp from Riordan’s helmet.
How well he knows me. He can sense what I’m about to do.
Slowly I rise from the ground and stand beneath the great limb, my eyes trained on it. From this new vantage point I can see two glowing purple eyes with vertical slits for pupils. Cat-eyes.
Caer’s eyes.
I can’t make out much in the dark, but whatever else he might have become, he’s still the grinning Cat who taught me how to gamble.
I’m taking a risk now. I’m betting on him.
“Caer,” I say softly.
The night explodes with a roar—thunderous, earthshaking, deafening. I’m engulfed instantly—caught up in a tempest of fur, claws, hide, and muscle. Tossed in the air like Pap might toss a forkful of hay—then seized between a pair of serrated jaws. The teeth begin to puncture my back and stomach in two huge semicircles, and I scream, “Caer! Caer, please!”
The fangs halt, barely penetrating my flesh. The monster’s lips close on me firmly, but he doesn’t bite any deeper. I feel the tensing of his gigantic form as he crouches, then bounds away into the night with me in his mouth.
What hurts more than Caer’s teeth is Riordan’s bellow of fury and anguish. But it fades with terrifying speed as the monster leaps from tree to tree, then bounds up a hill and down another. I can’t watch where we’re going—I have to shield my face and eyes from the whipping branches and sharp thorns. I have to try to keep breathing, even though the racing speed of the monster makes it difficult to suck in a breath.
The thump of the beast’s paws changes to a softer, more padded sound, and when I risk a peek between my eyelids, we’re galloping through a grassy meadow, silvered with starlight.
How far have we gone? Will the others be able to follow?
The beast opens his jaws, and I spill from his mouth into the grass.
Rolling onto my back, I get my first good look at him as he bounds away and then circles back, crouching low, his purple eyes narrowed.
He’s like a living nightmare, a thunderstorm brought to life and given razor claws and fangs. His shape resembles a creature I saw in a book once—a panther, coated in silken ebony fur, with an elegant sloped face. But this beast’s mouth can open impossibly, terrifyingly wide, and he has far too many teeth for anything less than demonic. He has a thick mane like a lion, but black and glossy.
And he’s huge. Far bigger than a normal lion or panther has any right to be. Big enough to carry me in his jaws as if I’m a kitten—or a mouse.
“Caer,” I whimper, pressing my hand to the shallow, bleeding cuts on my stomach. “You hurt me. You promised you wouldn’t.”
He snarls, swiping at his own muzzle with a clawed paw, opening gashes on his snout. As if he’s punishing himself.
“It’s all right.” I push myself up to a sitting position. “I’m not angry. I’m so glad to see you.”
He pads nearer, nostrils flexing. A low moan issues from his throat.
I sit perfectly still and breathe as evenly as I can while he sniffs me. His great nose prods along my shoulder, my throat, the side of my face. He could easily bite my head off. But he hasn’t yet.
There’s a faint miasma of animal, of fur, but mostly he smells like himself—like violets and the dark cool of night, but with an afternote of bitterness.
“Caer, darling, I missed you,” I say soothingly. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
His jaws open again, and this time there are words—a deep groan from his chest. “You… not… real.”
