Premonitions Read Online Free PDF Page B

indentations that implied some, and as it turned its head to acknowledge him, the pattern of light and shadow shifted to suggest disdain.
    You are the architect of my imprisonment, then.
    The mouth didn’t move, exactly, but it didn’t
not
move either, simply suggesting movement in a manner that was one of the most unsettling things Sobell had seen in a long life of unsettling things.
    “Architect of your imprisonment? That’s not bad. Style’s a shade overblown, perhaps, but I think I might keep the phrase around for later use. If you don’t mind.” He straightened his suit jacket. His pulse was pounding sohard he could hear it in his ears, and it helped to concentrate on something mundane for a moment.
    I have nothing for you.
    “A blatant untruth, as it happens. As you can probably tell at a glance, I am a man with rapidly dwindling prospects for continued existence on this plane.”
    You’re dying.
    “If you must be crude, yes. And, as you can also probably tell, when I snuff it, I will be tipped rather unceremoniously into the basement furnace, so to speak, having done my soul a fair amount of damage by dabbling in what the uncultured so stubbornly refer to as witchcraft.”
    I have nothing for you.
    Not the sharpest conversationalist, but the force of its presence—and that disturbing moving/not moving trick—made Sobell feel like he was losing the argument anyway. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in that position.
    “Of course you do. As it happens, I need some of your blood.”
    A pause, and a real motion this time. The being’s head cocked slightly, and the features gave an impression of simultaneous disdain and unwitting curiosity.
    I do not bleed.
    Again, the words were delivered with such power that for a moment Sobell doubted himself. For one instant he thought,
Shit, of course it doesn’t. I should just leave. This was foolish.
But he seized control of himself and forced a smile.
    He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cross-shaped object, dull in the silver light from the creature, one end wrapped in a heavily warded black leather sheath. Sobell grasped the hilt and pulled the sheath away, revealing a rust-pitted length of scrap metal that had broken off about six inches above the crossguard.
    The scion’s blade.
    “St. George’s sword. It doesn’t look like much, butI’ve seen it cut through two inches of solid steel in a single swipe, and I’m told it’ll do for you as well.”
    I bleed for no one.
    “Now, see, this is progress. A minute ago, you didn’t bleed at all. Let’s be reasonable about this. I need, say, a couple tablespoons of your blood—basically as currency, to treat with a rather stubborn sort of creature who can help me with my problem. You give me the blood and your word that neither you nor yours will seek any vengeance, and I’ll let you walk out of here with little more than a paper cut to show for it.”
    The being seemed to grow, looming over him and filling the small room with blinding light. Sobell squinted. Sweat popped out in beads all over his forehead.
    “Parlor tricks aren’t going to get you anywhere,” he said, more firmly than he felt. “You and I both know your balls are clipped in here.”
Unless I fucked up,
he thought, and he jammed the treacherous thought back down as hard as he could.
    The creature was ten feet tall now, nearly touching the ceiling—a neat trick, given that Sobell was pretty sure the room had an eight-foot ceiling to begin with.
    I will swear no such thing.
    “It’s you or me, my friend, and I’m simply not going down that easy.”
    Lay a finger on me, and you will be cursed, your soul shriven, your fortunes driven to ruin, your line doomed to produce the misshapen and monstrous until—
    Sobell swung the fragment of sword. It was an awkward swing—he wasn’t practiced in swordsmanship, and the balance of the broken sword was pretty terrible besides—but that didn’t matter.