The Golem's Eye

into hers.
    Kitty's fingers fumbled in the lining of her shoe; she drew out the knife.
    She struggled to her feet.
    With a sudden fluid leap, the wolf plunged over the edge of the parapet and onto the roof, crouching a moment on all fours, head lowered, muscles tensed. It stared up at Kitty out of the corners of its eyes, assessing her strength, debating whether to spring. Kitty waved the dagger back and forth warningly.
    "See this?" she panted. "It's silver, you know."
    The wolf looked at her sidelong. Slowly, its forelegs rose, its humped back elongated and straightened. Now it was standing on its hind legs like a man, towering over her, swaying back and forth, ready for the attack.
    Kitty's other hand groped in her satchel for another missile. She knew she didn't have much time before—
    The wolf leaped, slashing with its clawed hands, lunging with its red mouth. Kitty ducked, twisted herself around and thrust upward with the knife. The wolf emitted a curiously high-pitched noise, swung an arm out and caught Kitty painfully across the shoulder. Claws snagged through the satchel strap; it fell away. Kitty stabbed again. The wolf bounded back out of reach. Kitty likewise stepped away. Her shoulder was throbbing painfully from the cut. The wolf was clasping a small wound in its side. It shook its head sadly at her. It seemed only mildly inconvenienced. They circled each other for a few seconds, lit by the silver moon. Kitty now had barely enough strength to lift the knife.
    The wolf stretched out a clawed foot and drew the satchel toward it across the roof, well out of Kitty's reach. It gave a low, rumbling chuckle.
    A small noise behind her. Kitty risked a quick turn of the head. On the other side of the flat roof, tiles rose diagonally to a low gabled crest. Two wolves stood astride it; as she watched, they began a rapid, skittering descent.
    Kitty drew the second knife from her belt, but her left hand was weak from the shoulder wound; her fingers could barely grasp the handle. She wondered vaguely if she should throw herself off the edge of the roof—a swift death might be preferable to the wolves' claws.
    But that was a coward's way out. She would do a little damage before the end.
    Three wolves advanced on her, two on four legs, one walking like a man. Kitty pushed her hair back out of her eyes and raised her knives for the last time.

40
     
    Nathaniel
     
    "What a boring evening," the djinni said. "Nothing's going to happen."
    Nathaniel paused in his circuit of the room. "Of course it will. Be silent. If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it." He was aware his voice carried no conviction. He glanced at his watch to reassure himself. "The night's still young."
    "Sure, sure. I can see you're wildly confident. You've already worn a small furrow in the floorboards. And I bet you're powerful hungry, too, since you forgot to bring provisions."
    "I won't need them. She'll turn up soon. Now shut up about it."
    From its station at the top of an old wardrobe, the djinni, which was back in the form of a young Egyptian boy, stretched its arms above its head and yawned extravagantly. "All great master plans have their drawbacks," it said. "They all have their little flaws, which make them tumble into ruin. That's human nature: you're born imperfect. The girl won't come; you'll wait; you haven't brought any food; therefore, you and your captive will starve."
    Nathaniel scowled. "Don't worry about him. He's all right."
    "Actually, I am quite hungry." Jakob Hyrnek was sitting on a decrepit chair in one corner of the room. Beneath an old army greatcoat, which the djinni had located in one of the safe house attics, he wore nothing but pajamas and a pair of king-size bed socks. "I didn't have any breakfast," he added, rocking back and forth mechanically on his wonky chair. "I could do with a bite."
    "There you are, you see," the djinni said. "He's peckish."
    "He's not, and if he knows what's good for him, he'll stay quiet, too." Nathaniel resumed his pacing, eyeing the captive as he did so. Hyrnek seemed to have gotten over his fear of the flight by now, and since he'd been immediately shut up in the empty house, with no one else to see him, his paranoia about his face had quieted down a bit, too. The actual captivity didn't appear to bother him much, which slightly perplexed Nathaniel; then again, Hyrnek had been in a self-imposed prison for years.
    The magician's gaze strayed toward the window, hidden behind its swathe of