Free Thirsty by M. T. Anderson Page B

scream at the top of my lungs.
    It looms its face in mine, like a bird studying its prey. Its mouth is frowning, and it does not breathe.
    It whispers in the voice of a hundred hissing, “You are foolish for running. You will be heard, and things will be harder for you.”
    It stares at me, its dead face full of glazed anger.
    “Now,” it grunts.
    It raises its hand, as if to strike. I cower.
    “Back off from the boy,” says Chet, who has walked into the clearing.
    The Thing with the One-Piece Hair swivels its head to look at him.
    “He is mine,” Chet the Celestial Being explains, his voice hard. “Get away from him. Get away. Step away.”
    The Thing releases me. Chet nods slowly.
    The moon shines down into the clearing. The trees are old and elegant. For a moment, the three of us stand there and regard one another.
    Then Chet the Celestial Being slams his hands together and a bolt of blue fire shoots out and blasts the Thing.
    There are just the two of us then.
    Chet’s bolt has left behind not so much as a smoldering toupee.
    “Come on,” says Chet. “It will take him twenty minutes or so to rematerialize. By that time we want to be in my car, where he can’t track you.”
    “You have a car?” I ask.
    “Special issue,” Chet explains, gesturing down the hill. We start to walk. “For the transfer of mortals. It’s time we moved along to the next stage of the plan. I’ve spent the last few weeks retrieving the Arm of Moriator from where it was stored. We’re going to the convocation of vampires. The heart of things. Now. No time to lose.”
    We run down across through the woods. We climb over a stone wall. The moon picks out each tanning lichen on the stone.
    “What was that?” I ask. “That Thing?”
    “What did it look like?” says Chet.
    “A servant of Tch’muchgar?” I guess. “You know, some demon?”
    “Exactly.”
    “It’s been watching me for days.”
    “Tch’muchgar probably wanted to see what you were up to.”
    “Then doesn’t he know that I’m not on his —”
    “Look, we don’t have time to discuss this now,” Chet chides, stopping in his tracks. “Do you want me to put a sign of protection on you?”
    “What?”
    “I can place my sign on you, my sigil, which will mark you and protect you so that the Thing you saw back there and others like it can never harm you. I can place the sigil on you now, which can never be removed. Would you like that?”
    I am feeling a little nervous about all this. “Well,” I say.
    “I can do it right now.” Chet lifts up my right arm. “I’ll place the sign here.” He turns over my wrist and touches a spot just below my watchband. “All right?”
    I look up at his face. I feel nervous, like the blood is running out of my fingers and arms. I nod.
    He closes his eyes and mutters to himself. When I look down, there is a red mark there, a red sunburst like a tiny tattoo.
    He releases my arm, which swings down to my side. “There,” he says. “You’re protected. Marked. That beast we just saw can’t touch you. No being like it can touch you. Satisfied?”
    Once again, I look up at his face. My fingers are cold. I nod.
    “Hurry up then. We have no time to lose.” And he plunges off into the forest.
    We come out on one of the roads. Chet has an infallible sense of direction. His car is right there, a black Cadillac, sitting dark on the shoulder of the road. I have heard of the black Cadillacs that travel about the country on strange errands.
    “This is it,” he says, his brogues clicking across the pavement.
    I say, “I’m glad to see the Forces of Light drive American.”
    “It’s a piece of junk,” says Chet. “Late eighties. It doesn’t even have antilock brakes. Is that your friends?”
    It is. They’re running out onto the road.
    “Hey, Chris,” bellows Jerk. “You okay?” He rubs his hand through his mossy hair.
    They’re walking over to us.
    “I’m fine,” I say.
    I look nervously at Chet the Celestial