Blood Price

inside.

    * * *
    Dribbling viscous yellow fluid from a number of wounds, it snatched up the grimoire and limped out onto the balcony. The names and incantations made the book of demon lore an uncomfortable weight, by far the heaviest item it had yet retrieved. And it hurt. The not-mortal it had fought had hurt it. Much of its surface changed sluggishly back and forth from gray mottled black to black mottled gray and its right wing membrane had been torn.

    It must return the grimoire to the master, but first it needed to feed. The injured membrane could carry it from this high dwelling to the ground and once there it must quickly find a life to heal it. There were many lives around. It did not think it would have difficulty finding one to take.

    It dropped off into the night, yellow fluid glistening where it had been standing.

    * * *
    Mrs. Hughes smiled as she listened to Owen bounding around in the bushes. To her intense relief, he'd calmed down in the elevator and had been a perfect lamb ever since. As if aware of her thought, he backed out into a clearing, checked to see where she was, woffled happily, and bounded off again.

    She knew she was supposed to keep him on the leash, even in the ravine, but when they came down at night with no one else around she always let him run-both for his enjoyment and for hers. Neither one of them was happy moving at the other's pace.

    Tucking her hands into her pockets, she hunched her shoulders against a sudden chill wind.
    Spring. She was certain, had arrived before Easter when she was a girl and they'd never had to wear gloves sixteen days into April. The wind made a second pass and Mrs. Hughes wrinkled her nose in distaste. It smelled very much like something at least the size of a raccoon had died over to the east and was now in an advanced stage of decay.

    What was worse, from the way the bushes were rustling, Owen had already found it and was no doubt preparing to roll.

    "Owen!" She advanced a couple of steps, readying the leash. "Owen!" The fetid smell of rotting meat grew stronger and she sighed. First the hysteria and now this- she'd be spending the rest of the night bathing the dog. "Ow. . . ."

    The demon ripped the second half of the word from her throat, caught the falling body in its other hand, and pulled the wound up to the gaping circle of its mouth. Sucking noisily, it began to ingest the blood it needed to heal. It staggered and almost dropped its meal as a heavy weight slammed into it from the back and claws dragged lines of pain from shoulders to hip. Snarling, drooling red, it turned.

    Owen's lips were drawn back, his ears were flat against his skull, and his own snarl was more a howl as he threw himself forward again. He twisted in midair, spun around by a glancing blow, and landed heavily on three legs, blood staining his tan shoulder almost black. Maddened by the demon's proximity, he snarled again and struck at the dangling bit of wing, crushing it in his powerful jaws.

    Before the dog could bring his massive neck and shoulder muscles into play, the demon kicked out. One long talon drove through a rib and dragged six inches deep through the length of the mastiff's body, spilling a glistening pile of intestines into the dirt.

    With one last, feeble toss of his head, Owen managed to tear the already injured wing membrane further, then the light blazing in his eyes slowly dimmed and with a final hate-filled growl, he died.

    Even in death, his jaws kept their hold and the demon had to rip them apart before it could be free.

    Ten minutes later, a pair of teenagers, searching for a secluded corner, came down into the ravine. The path had a number of steep and rocky spots and with eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness it was doubly treacherous. The young man walked a little out in front, trailing her behind him at the end of their linked hands-not from any chivalrous need to test the path, he was just the more anxious to get where they were going.

    When he began to fall, other arm windmilling, she cast the hand she held away lest she be dragged down, too. He hit the ground with a peculiar, damp sound and lay there for a moment, staring into shadows she couldn't penetrate.

    "Pat?"

    His answer was almost a whimper and he scrambled backward and onto his feet. Both his hands and knees were dark as though he'd fallen into mud. She wrinkled her nose at a smell she could almost but not quite identify.

    "Pat?"

    His eyes were wide, whites gleaming all