The Midnight Eye Files: Volume 2 (Midnight Eye Collections) by William Meikle

Author:William Meikle [Meikle, William]
Language: eng
Format: azw
Publisher: Gryphonwood Press
Published: 2019-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

~o0O0o~

I stood on a balcony below which lay a throbbing, swelling mass of the pulsing black eggs. Hundreds of millions of them filled the view as far as I could see—all the way to a distant horizon where they became lost in fog. The mass of black quivered and thrummed and there was a distinct, not unpleasant, vibration running through me like a weak flow of electricity. Every so often one of the eggs floated slightly above the surface and popped—and at that, images and sounds and muffled voices swam in my head. The visions were quickly subsumed as the vibration rose to a higher pitch, blocking out the sights and preventing me from being overwhelmed by the scene in front of me.

Fog swirled and swam overhead, so close I thought I might be able to reach up and touch it. On glancing up I saw I had a wall at my back, a stone wall climbing up into the fog. I didn't turn for a closer look—I had a feeling there might be a doorway there and I wasn't sure I was ready to go through it yet.

Besides—I wasn't alone on the balcony. A tall figure stood to one side.

Bat-wings rustled and a thin, gray rat-like face widened in a grin full of yellow teeth when he saw me take note of him. He was broad across the chest and gray around the whiskers and eyes. His feet were thick and broad, allowing him to stand upright, with the slightly unfurled, bat-leather wings helping him to balance. I was not fooled by his smile—there were talons on those broad toes—inches long, black as jet and razor sharp.

He saw me looking and tapped the toes on the stone in a martial drumbeat that rang and echoed around us as he danced a slightly off-balance accompanying jig. As he moved I saw a long, pink, naked tail snake out behind him, almost as long as he was tall. He was naked, save for a crown of silver, a thin band, intricately carved, sitting on top of his head, perched somewhat precariously between a pair of pink fleshy ears that twitched as he spoke.

“Well met,” he said. His voice was high pitched and whiny, sounding incongruous, almost comical, coming from such a great barrel of a chest. I nearly laughed but the tattoo sent a blast of heat to my wrist and although it surprised me, I got the message—I needed to pay attention.

“You're not Jimmy Allan,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even.

He laughed—an even higher pitched thing sounding almost like a scream.

“Sorry,” he said and I wasn't surprised to note he now had a strong Glasgow accent. “Your pal moved on a wee while ago, Derek.”

The fact this thing knew my name made by blood run cold. The rat king laughed again and moved to stand directly between me and what was a doorway in the wall of the tower at my back.

“Why would you want to go that way?” he said.

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