Manjinn Moon by Denise Vitola

Author:Denise Vitola [Vitola, Denise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781449998561
Publisher: Ace Books
Published: 1998-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I had all I could handle and he was playing games. "Never," I growled.

"Fine," he answered. "Suffer, then." He stood up and returned to the couch.

We fumed at opposite ends of the ring for half an hour. I withdrew from him, trying to prepare myself for a full-moon boxing match. It was during this lull that the wolf took an opportunity to flex its muscles.

I experienced an odd feeling of foreboding laced through my mental twitchings. The sensation built atom by atom until I could no longer ignore it. I crawled to a stand, drawn to stare at the barricaded balcony doors. My ears recorded the bass and treble of the tempest, the pitch and rate of Gibson's breath, and even the sounds of conversations held in the next flat. There

196 Denise Vitola was something else, too. It took me a moment to identify the vibration: twisting metal.

The next second the balcony doors exploded inward.

It was enough of a blast to knock me onto my back. Splintered wood and shattered glass rained into the room. I flopped onto my stomach, and with every ounce of strength I had, I clawed my way out of the impact zone. Chunks of bricks and masonry breached the hole and pelted me mercilessly, dust and dirt choked the air, and when I glanced up, I saw a gargoyle fly by.

46

Gibson grabbed me by the wrists and yanked me clear of the cascading rubble. We dove for the kitchenette and used the cooking counter as a flimsy barrier. The cabinets held, and after a minute the walls stopped falling in. I smelled rain as the wind sprayed it into the flat.

"Are you all right?" Gibson demanded.

I did a quick evaluation and nodded. Even though we faced real trouble, I gave myself the satisfaction of not asking if he'd come away unharmed.

We stood and peeped cautiously around the corner. Water washed in atop a hill of cracked stone and formed a pool in the middle of the living room. Gibson picked his way around this mound to reach the hole. He then poked his head quickly outside to see if further disaster loomed, and when he turned back to me, he slung rain and pebbles.

"The porch upstairs collapsed," he reported. "My balcony is gone, too." Another fast survey. "God, what a mess."

"We better get something over this opening before we're taking a bath in here," 1 urged.

He shook his head, stalked to a soggy box, and threw me a wool blanket. He grabbed one himself, along with two-inch-wide adhesive tape. With the skill of the surgeon, he shored up the breach, using the cracked wood and bent metal as splints for his graft.

Gibson stepped back to admire his handiwork and shook his head sorrowfully. "I was afraid something like this would happen. It's going to cost me a begging."

"A begging?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'll have to beg my mother for some financial help." He glanced at me. "In case you're wondering, my father

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198 Denise Vitola wouldn't give me the shit out of his toilet.

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