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And most of all, Roland had made them. They were his creation.
“Their usefulness far outweighs their few shortcomings,” Ghastek said.
I motioned with my saber. “In that case, please go first. Let’s benefit from some of that usefulness.”
Ghastek took the lead, and we went down the path, single file, vampire, a man on the verge of becoming a beast, and me, bringing up the rear.
The canopy dipped so low, I had to nearly crouch. I scooted through, the twigs snatching at my braid, and finally emerged into the clearing.
Tall pines rose straight and smooth like the masts of a gargantuan underground ship. Their branches stretched to each other, filtering the light, muting the sun to a pleasant green gloom. The ground was thick with decades of autumn, and spongy pine needles gave lightly under my weight. The air smelled of moisture. A gentle murmur of water spilling over man-made waterfalls emanated from the left.
The vamp leaped onto the nearest pine and perched twelve feet off the ground, its body nearly perpendicular to the pine’s trunk.
“Two o’clock,” Derek whispered.
Beyond the pines lay a sunlit glade, sectioned by neat rows of herbs. Between us and the glade stood a woman.
She was on the heavy side, built solid and thick, but without flab. A plain black dress hung off her shoulders, its hem brushing the ground. Her thick arms matched the color of the pine straw. A mask of beaten iron hid her features, a round stylized face with thick locks of hair radiating from it like the sun’s corona. On second glance, those weren’t sun rays. Sun rays didn’t come with scales and fanged mouths.
A Gorgon Medusa mask. My quip about Medusas in the Honeycomb Gap was coming true. Me and my big mouth. Next time I would imagine a warehouse full of fluffy bunnies instead.
“I’m a representative of the Order,” I said. “I’m investigating the disappearance of the Sisters of the Crow. This is my associate.” I nodded at Derek. “This is my other associate.” I nodded at the vampire.
“I request to speak to the Oracle.”
The woman said nothing. Moments ticked by, like falling pine needles, one after another. In ancient Greece, Gorgon Medusa could turn a man to stone with her gaze. I had a nice big pine to my left. If that mask left her face, I’d make a break for it. Perseus, who finally chopped off Medusa’s head, had a mirror shield. I had nothing. Even Slayer’s blade was opaque, so no dice there.
She turned and strode into the sunshine. I followed.
THE COBBLED STONES OF THE PATH VEERED LEFTand right in a gentle curve. The witch’s black dress swept them clean as she moved. Her mask flared to cover the back of her head like some bizarre motorcycle helmet and all I could see was a narrow strip of her dark skin right above the neckline.