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ponderous.
Thom saw what was about to happen and had time to dash forward and scoop up
the would-be victim from the table just before the combined fists hit the wood
with a mighty crash.
Thom was unable to hold on to the injured faery, his brushing scoop merely
sweeping her off the table's surface, but even as she fluttered over the edge,
one wing working limply, the other already beginning to unfold, two more
faeries swooped and held her aloft long before she reached the stone floor.
But he was left lying across the table once more, beaker clutched beneath him,
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his head and shoulders vulnerable to the beast towering over him. He just had
time to look up, the big fists at their zenith, the beast's smoked-glass eyes
gleaming, when something tugged at the waistband of his jeans and he was
sliding backwards.
Again the joined fists shook the table and the succubus howled with
frustration (and pain, too, Thom hoped) and Thom himself was upright, the
little man letting go of his jeans and steadying him with an outstretched
hand. The pixie-man was breathing hard, as if it had taken a great effort to
drag Thom out of harm's way.
'Runrunrun/Don'tletitgitit!'
Although the words were spun together, the sound high-pitched and
strangulated, Thom understood perfectly. Maybe it was the repetition, maybe he
was just getting used to the dialect: it didn't matter, because he already
knew what he had to do. The faeries - too many to count, but there were
hundreds of them - were dive-bombing the succubus, who was lumbering like an
ape towards Thom, knuckles
grazing wood as it came, the fruit bowl and the open book and anything else
still left on the table fiercely brushed aside, the air filled with swirling
motes of silver. It was undaunted, its purpose very obvious.
Thom was suddenly near to collapse. He was supposed to be ill, for Christ's
sake, not fighting off monsters from some neverworld that by rights, by all
sane physical laws and common sense, could not possibly exist! He was running
low on adrenaline, flight intercepted, defeat literally staring him in the
face and getting closer all the time. But Thom did know what to do.
Ultimately, the faeries and the little man who never seemed to be the same
size from one moment to the next -right now he was only six inches high, as
though having wilted under the pressures of battle - were powerless against
this great hulking beast, and so it was up to Thom to help himself. And he
really did know what to do.
As the succubus reached the edge of the table, paws now raised shoulder-high
as if to claw out Thom's eyes, huge muscles in its legs and shoulders gleaming
with sweat under the ceiling light, he turned away and reached for the tap
over the sink. The tap seemed to gulp and something in the pipes clunked
before a jet of brown water burst out, splattering the sink, the work surface
and Thom himself. Almost calmly he tilted the beaker over the drain and poured
what was left of the whitish fluid away. Any that floated around in the
whirlpool at the bottom of the sink, he guided into the hole with his fingers.
It seemed that everything had ground to a halt once more. The faeries hovered
in the air like humming birds, the beast stayed its leap forward and the tiny
man was now hanging from a bookshelf gawking at
Thom.
It was over. Thom knew it was over. And so did the beast.
As he turned to face the succubus, Thom saw that something - spirit? Purpose?
- had left it. It glared, it ranted, but it made no further move towards him.
And as if encouraged by Thom's actions, the faeries resumed their attack,
flying dangerously close, tickling its stubby nose, throwing dust like
confetti, pulling at its ears, all the while ululating in their sweet,
sing-songy way as the pixie-man called out encouragement.
With one last roaring howl, the succubus ran back across the table and leapt
towards the front door, in its fury misjudging the distance and smashing into
wood. It howled again, a wretched screech, and clumsily yanked at the
doorhandle. The door flew open and the beast was gone, out into
the night. Darkness quickly swallowed up the shambling figure, but Thom could
hear it crashing through the trees and undergrowth for long moments
afterwards. The faeries' melodious cries reached a crescendo until they, too,
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