Part 41

Lowell rolled to his feet. His eyes found the stranger. The man glared at him from the depths of his red hood, his expression equal parts surprise and anger.

"You!" said the robed man.

"Aye! ME!" Lowell sprang past the other version of himself.

The stranger made an incomprehensible sound... part word, part hiss. Whatever it was flew from man's lips like a jet of venom. At the same time, he made a flinging motion with his free hand, as if throwing something small and light. Lowell hadn't seen a weapon other than the staff, but whatever the stranger tossed at him struck-

-and struck HARD!

It felt like a fist the size of a man's head. The blow not only brought Lowell's charge to an immediate halt, but lifted the man off his feet and flung him backward. For an instant, Lowell Vern flew, tumbling feet-over-head... once... twice... and then landed hard on what looked like the house's wooden floor, but felt like dirt and grass.

Lowell's knife flew from his hand even as the air exploded from his lungs. He tried to get up... failed... tried again. Meanwhile, his eyes sought the stranger, found him, then slid to one side.

The quick glance gave away Oscar Bartleby's charge. The stranger twisted toward the sword-wielding ruffian and, with a series of lithe motions that seemed beyond the capabilities of human joints, slipped away from the stabbing blade while jabbing an elbow into Oscar's chest.

Oscar's flight wasn't as spectacular as Lowell's, but the larger man was thrown backward several yards. He landed on his back, clutching his chest and wheezing frantically.

By then, Lowell was on his feet. He searched for the knife, the recoiled as something dark and hideous rushed toward him. He thrust his arms over his eyes...

...the air grew cold, then returned to normal as the ghostly shape... the Oscar Bartleby from years ago... dragged a barely conscious woman toward the bedroom. Lowell's own doppleganger was busily pummeling the woman's husband to near-death not far away-

-and by his foot, Lowell's dagger gleamed. Lowell dove for it-

Again the stranger barked/hissed/spat a syllable. The single word split the air just as Lowell's fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife-

PAIN exploded across his hand and arm. A white light enveloped the weapon, and the hilt burned white hot against Lowell's flesh. Lowell Vern screamed, dropping the weapon and backing away from it.

"No Weapon Wielded Against Me Shall Prosper!" the robed stranger shouted. "NOW, monster... Name the demon which you serve! The Lord of the Rune COMMANDS you!""

"DAMN YOU!" Lowell spat at the stranger. "THIS AIN'T YOUR BUSINESS!"

"It is now, slayer of children! Now NAME YOUR MASTER!"