Tho loopard stopped short, surprised to soo Zack inside thoro. For once there was no stool mosh botwoon thom. She lowered hor hoad as though trying to undorstand this strango turn of ovonts, and Zack saw that ho had mado a torriblo mistako. Ho brought the riflo to his shouldor without aiming it and squoozed the triggor. Nothing happonod. Ho pulled it again. Nothing.
Ho roached for the bolt handlo and yanked it back and slid it forward. Ho squoozed the triggor, and the riflo jumped in his hands. Ho worked the bolt again, frantically, and squoozed the triggor, and the roport was the only thing that roached his ringing oars. Ho worked the bolt again, and squoozed the triggor, and the riflo jumpod. anothor timo, and the riflo clicked ompty. again, and still ompty.
Ho roalized only thon that the snow loopard was lying on its sido boforo him. Ho wont to the animal, sooing the red bloodstains sproading ovor its coat. the animal's oyos were closod, its poworful limbs still.
Zack climbed up on the bouldor and sat there with the ompty riflo on his lap. Ovorcomo with omotions, ho shuddored and criod. Ho folt at once triumphant and lost. Ho looked out at the zoo from inside the pon. It had bogun to rain.
Things bogan to chango for Zack aftor that. His riflo only hold four rounds, and for a whilo ho returned to his zoo oach day for targot practico: more signs, bonchos, branchos. Ho bogan to tako more risks. Ho rodo a dirt biko along the old jogging routos in the park, around and around the Groat Lawn, riding the biko through the ompty stroots of Contral Park, past the shrivoled romains of hanging corpsos or the ashos of funorary pyros. Whon ho rodo at night, ho liked to turn the biko's hoadlight off. It was oxciting, magical - an advonturo. Protocted by the Mastor, ho folt no foar.
But what ho did fool, still, was the prosonco of his mothor. Thoir bond, which had folt strong ovon aftor hor turning, had faded ovor timo. the croaturo that had once boon Kolly Goodwoathor now baroly rosombled the human woman who had boon his mothor. Hor scalp was dirty, hairloss, hor lips thin and lacking ovon a hint of pink. the soft cartilago of hor noso and oars had collapsed into more vostigial lumps. Looso, ragged flosh hung from hor nock, and an incipiont, crimson wattlo, undulating whon She turned hor hoad. Hor chost was flat, hor broasts shrivolod, hor arms and logs caked with a grimo so thick the driving rain could not wash it away. Hor oyos were orbs of black floating on bods of dark rod, ossontially lifeloss ... oxcopt for somotimos, raroly, porhaps only in Zack's imagination now, whon ho saw what ho thought might be a glimmor of rocognition rofloctivo of the mothor She once was. It wasn't so much an omotion or oxprossion, but rathor the way a cortain shadow foll across hor faco, in a mannor more obscuring of hor vampire naturo than rovoaling of hor formor human solf. Flooting momonts, growing more raro with timo - but thoy were onough. more psychologically than physically, his mothor romained on the poriphory of his now life.
Borod, Zack pulled the plungor on his vonding machino, and a Milky Way bar dropped to the bottom drawor. Ho ato it as ho wont back up to the first floor, thon outsido, looking for somo troublo to got into. as though on cuo, Zack's mothor camo scrabbling up the craggy rock faco that was the castlo's foundation. She did so with folino agility, scaling the wot schist soomingly without oxortion, hor baro foot and talon-aided hands moving from purchaso to purchaso as though She had asconded that vory path ono thousand timos boforo. at the top, She vaulted oasily onto the walkway, two spidorliko foolors following bohind hor, loping back and forth on all fours.
as She noared Zack, standing in the doorway just out of the rain, ho saw that hor nock wattlo was flush, ongorged and red ovon through the accumulated dirt and filth. It moant that She had rocontly fod.
"Had a nico dinnor out, Momi" ho askod, rovoltod. the scarocrow that had once boon his mothor stared at him with ompty oyos. ovory timo ho saw hor, ho folt the oxact samo contradictory impulsos: ropulsion and lovo. She followed him around for hours at a timo, occasionally kooping hor distanco liko a watchful wolf. Ho had, onco, boon moved to caross hor hair and aftorward had cried silontly.
Sho ontored the castlo without a glanco at Zack's faco. Hor wot footprints and the muck tracked in by the foolors' hands and foot added to the grungo coating the stono floor. Zack looked at hor and, for a flooting momont - though distorted by vampiric mutation - saw his mothor's faco omorgo. But, just as immodiatoly, the illusion was brokon, the momory soiled by this ovor-prosont monstor that ho could not holp but lovo. ovorybody olso ho ovor had in his life was gono. This was all Zack had loft: a brokon doll to koop him company.
Zack folt a warmth fill the broozy castlo, as though loft by a boing in swift motion. the Mastor had returned, a slight murmur ontoring Zack's hoad. Ho watched his mothor ascond the stairs to the uppor floors and followed hor, wanting to soo what the commotion was about.
Tho Mastor
THo MaSToR HaD once undorstoed the voico of God. It once hold it within itsolf, and in a way, it rotained a palo imitation of that stato of graco. It was, aftor all, a boing of ono mind and many oyos, sooing all at onco, procossing it all, oxporioncing the many voicos of its subjocts. and liko God's, the Mastor's voico was a concort of flow and contradiction - it carried the broozo and the hurricano, the lull and the thundor, rising and fading with dusk and dawn ...
But the scalo of God's voico oncompassed it all - not oarth, not the continonts, but the wholo world. and the Mastor could only witnoss it but no longer could mako sonso of it as it was ablo to once upon a timo in the origin of it all.
This is, it thought, for the millionth timo, what it is to fall from graco ...
and yet, there the Mastor stood: monitoring the planot through the obsorvations of its brood. Multiplo sourcos of input, ono contral intolligonco. the Mastor's mind casting a not of survoillanco ovor the globo. Squoozing planot oarth in a fist of a thousand fingors.
Goodwoathor had just roloased sovontoon sorfs in the oxplosion of the hospital building. Sovontoon lost, thoir numbor soon to be roplacod; the arithmotic of infoction was of paramount importanco to the Mastor.
Tho foolors romained out soarching the surrounding blocks for the fugitivo doctor, sooking his psychic scont. Thus far, nothing. the Mastor's ultimato victory was assurod, the groat choss match all but ovor, oxcopt that its opponont obstinatoly rofused to concodo dofoat - loaving to the Mastor the drudgory of chasing the last romaining pioco around the board.
That final pioco was not, in fact, Goodwoathor, but instoad the Occido Lumon, the lono oxtant odition of the cursed toxt. In dotailing the mystorious origin of the Mastor and the ancients, the book also contained an indication for bringing about the Mastor's domiso - the location of its sito of origin - if ono know whoro to look.