Vanity's Brood - Lisa Smedman [25]
Arvin began drawing ectoplasm from the Astral Plane, shaping it into a vaguely human-shaped blob. Sparkles of silver light burst from his forehead as he worked, giving his position away. Zelia's head whipped up-but in that same moment the construct's fist slammed into her temple, snapping her head to the side. She collapsed in a boneless heap, crashing into the side of the fountain as she fell. Mist drifted down on her splayed body and closed eyelids.
Its chill didn't revive her.
Arvin ended his manifestation, and the construct disappeared. Shaking, he rose to his feet. He couldn't believe it. A year ago, he'd felled Zelia with a similar trick, using a simple psychokinetic power to levitate a knot of rope and knock her unconscious. Shaking his head in wonder, he touched the crystal at his throat.
"Nine-"
A hiss of laughter sounded behind him. Whirling, Arvin saw a second Zelia enter the garden.
"Surely you didn't think it would be that easy?" she said, closing the gate behind her.
She cocked a finger at him, as if inviting him to try something. Arvin heard a sound like the tinkling of tiny bells.
He stomped his foot. Zelia staggered but did not fail, nor, strangely, did she hurl an attack back at him. Arvin used the respite to yank ectoplasm from the Astral and braid it into the massive construct he hoped would overpower Zelia.
As he did, he felt a curious, hollow sensation at the base of his spine. The construct was taking far longer to manifest than it should have-and was drawing power at an incredible rate from his muladhara.
Arvin tried cutting the manifestation short in mid-flow but couldn't. Energy spiraled out of his muladhara at a faster and faster rate, spilling into the air around him like water from a torn wineskin. He tried fighting it, tried sending his awareness deep into his muladhara, only to have his consciousness nearly shredded by the violent whirlpool he found there. A moment later, the last of his psionic energies spilled out and were gone.
Zelia smiled. "I see you've learned a thing or two since we last met," she said, "so have I."
Terrified, Arvin whipped a hand around his back. Before he could draw his dagger, Zelia's eyes flashed silver as if reflecting the moonlight. Her hand shot out and slapped his cheek. Arvin stumbled backward, unbalanced. His forearm was stuck to the small of his back. When he tried to wrench it free, it felt as if the skin was ripping. His free hand brushed against his hip-and stuck there, the cloth of his pants melting away as flesh fused with flesh. He stumbled, one knee knocking against the other. They stuck fast as well.
Completely unbalanced, he crashed to the floor. Clothing melted away from his body like paper in the rain as his calves were forced up against his thighs, his arms stuck to his sides, and his chin to his chest, the flesh fusing together like clay being smoothed by an invisible hand. He crumpled down into a fetal ball. As he blinked, his eyelids tried to fuse shut. With an immense effort, he managed to tear one of them open again. Even as he did, his ears closed over, blocking out the sound of his own ragged breathing.
Terror gripped him. He prayed to Tymora, to Hoar, to Ilmater-to any god or goddess who would listen. He could feel the crystal his mother had given him pressing into his throat. The flesh had grown over it, sealing it inside.
He watched with his one open eye-not daring to blink, lest the eyelid seal itself shut-as Zelia stepped out of view behind him. The dagger at the small of his back had likewise been buried inside folds of fused flesh-or rather, its sheath had. Arvin felt the blade slide out of the sheath as Zelia drew it. His heart beat with faint hope. Was she going to end