As the adrenaline surge spread throughout Tasìa's body, she saw into the instant like a Cassandra forewarned. The flying shards of glass spread out in a near to harmless formation away from her.

Glass tumbled out of the way and spread to the side by the bearer of teeth and claw.

That creature alone needed the totality of her focus. She had to be even faster than the hellhound.

Tasìa twirled around on the tips of her shoes. She curled her vertebrae low. As she did so, she took care to cover her neck and head with the beautifully feathered jacket.

In that instant that she had gazed into, Tasìa realized even this defensive action would not be enough to prevent her from being mauled.

In the next moment that followed, just before the hellhound's claws could make contact and dig into her back, she tightened her thighs low and swung back up in a powerful jump, smashing into the hellhound.

It was thrown off its trajectory and knocked backward with only one claw free to ineffectively rake against her shoulder.

Tasìa did not stop pushing it backward until she pounded the hellhound up against the steel door where it smashed its head against the remaining glass.

Before it could even twist its head to snap at her, Tasìa flung her body forward.

She tried to somersault up on the workbench but she missed with only the tips of her toes hitting the edge of the table.

It was not sufficient enough surface contact in which she could leverage the rest of her body up.

The hellhound was readying to spring on her as she landed.

As she came crashing down Tasìa pushed her right foot up towards the hellhound. Not knowing how limber the little human spider-monkey was capable of being, the fiend took the bait and clamped down on the sole of the Teflon-dense hard rubber shoe.

With her free left leg pushing down steadily, Tasìa stood up. She lunged the stiletto into the hellhound's left-side nostril. She repeated with the right-side nostril before the beast could jerk away from her. It banged into the door once more, shaking and coughing up a black oily substance in between its angry growls.

Tasìa eased up onto the workbench.

She turned back around flashing the stiletto in the air, whipping it about in a silvery gleam.

The hellhound twisted around and got back up on its hooked claws. It rose its head to meet Tasìa's glare that set above an insolent frown.

It snarled back at her.

"It's called the Evocación de la Daga, you abomination," she told it. "I will take your ears first."

In truth, when she grabbed the blade she did so only because she had not reloaded her pistol. The Manifested deterioration of Tasìa's hand spooked her from completing what for her came as a conditioned reflex.

Still, appropriately, the ritual of the dagger kill was old, occulted lore from her maternal Amerindian lineage. Very few people knew of it, or its purpose as it had never to her knowledge been written down.

Her maternal grandfather taught her of the practice.

She also understood from him it was now considered a metaphorical ceremony. Engaging a real coyote in a pit was considered to be cruel even in her grandfather's father's time, he said.

'You slay the pernicious coyote inside you by means of his ears first', (he placed a silver-bladed gladius over her ears, each in its turn), 'his tongue', (gently, her grandfather pointed the short sword over her lips), 'his tail', (and down-tipped just below her core ovum), 'his claws', (he lowered the device to her feet), 'and finally his head', (lastly, he swayed the blade in the space across from her neck), 'before you take from him his pelt.'

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

(Her grandfather walked behind her. The blade she felt in a gentle caress as it scraped down her back.)

The ritual spoke to the soul of her nine year old self, immensely.

Would a ritual killing, no matter how justified or spiritually cleansing, be too cruel for even this beast?

She decided it would be. Its condition of being a natural predator compounded by being transitioned into a chitinous and leathery ghoul-beast made the hellhound no less pitiable than any other creature.

When she got the chance she would make its death quick.

The hellhound's howls threw her back into the moment. It voiced its frustration.

The choice of route towards her was complicated by its four-legged frame. Without the space for a running start, it would fall short.

Its eyes, dark pools of oil, glowered towards its right. Alex had pushed a wooden chair over and fenced-in the desk.

"Come at me, boy," Tasìa taunted to keep the beast's attention focused on her. "Drench my blade even more."

It growled for her to come down and join her in another round of their fight.

The hellhound grew agitated as it paced the confined space of the workshop. Then it did something entirely unexpected. The hellhound whimpered.

It lowered its head in fright and the beast shivered. On the other side of the door stood Geminetta and Geminiäs, the Dark-Eyed Ones.

Tasìa glared at the pale twins.

"Did you set the dogs upon me," she accused.

Geminiäs looked away; his brow furrowed and his frail form seemed ever more so. His sister only answered with a twist of her lips that for the first time in Tasìa's encounters with them bore a malicious intent.

The twins backed away in unison, and they continued onward, down the gas-lamp lit corridor.

Before the hellhound could recover its composure, Tasìa fed a clip into the magazine of her .32 pistol, she flicked on the laser sight. With the red dot centered on the side of its skull, Tasìa emptied the clip and took the top of its head off.

"Alex, how are you holding up under there?"

"Thanks to you, I'll live."

Though he chortled and coughed as he said the words, Tasìa could not help but to hear the wane in his tone.

"My friend, you do not sound so excited about that prospect."

He made quite a bit of commotion as he pushed the wooden chair back up-right and then more noise in the form of grunts and groans as he sat down in it.

The demi-ghoul lowered his head. The little that remained of his hair drooped along the crest of his shoulders. It was long and silvery blond.

"When I first agreed to help the Hijos Lux with their developing problem," he spoke and once more swept his hand across his chest, "my intentions were only to do good works. But, I was intrigued by the strangeness of Hijos Lux. I was entirely drawn in.

"Especially to the unique world view of Maestre Rubinne. He teased out a plausible rationale for old, long disputed alchemy out of the biochemistry of the Cull Spores and the Manifest transfiguration.

"Intrigued, I no longer just treated the Hijos Lux with the ghoul condition growing prevalent, I became his assistant. My damnation came with my first bite of the human liver. I resisted the urge to partake for the first several months I was here. After all, cannibalism.

"Finally, desiring nothing more than to gain Maestre Rubinne's complete trust, I said to myself, 'The person is already dead. I had nothing to do with that. One bite. What harm could it do?'

"All the harm in the world, little Tasìa. All the harm in the world. Thereafter, I woke up every night, shivering, in cold sweats, even shitting myself from the withdrawal pains. I felt like I had to continue or I would die."

Alex grew silent. He grimaced and bit his lips. There was more to be said.

She thought of Sinclair and her struggles. Would the pretty Canadian pull through her own withdrawal? Or, would she seek the tainted meats from henceforward?

Alex then whispered a question for her.

"He is dead, isn't he? Maestre Rubinne? Somehow, when I was watching you embrace your third eye, I could tell by the change in your reactions, from joyous rapture to a horrific shock as you must have witnessed his murder."

Tasìa shook her head.

"I did not see his death, but when he was made to beg for his life, I did not see even a quantum of compassion on Geminetta's face. She meant revenge."

Alex let out a long whistle. He turned away.

"What are you thinking, Alex?"

He folded his arms around the chair's back and bore down his face.

"Do you want to know why, Tasìa, it only took me a few minutes to recover that LSD?"

With his question merely rhetorical, Alex continued to speak.

"Just before I got the call to aid Hector, I was prepared to end it all. A vial of LSD, and a vial of Belladonna concentrate. Next, sweet, sweet Oblivion."

Tasìa grimaced and she stared into the blood sport she made of the hellhound's skull. An idea occurred to her.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Tasìa pleaded.

"I'm tired of the struggle. Just so exhausted from it. The craving, the change, the emptiness, knowing I'm far too gone in my depravity to ever be my mother's equal."

Tasìa walked over and squeezed her hands against his shoulders. Was there enough strength there?

"There is another way, Alex. Can you help me lift that corpse up to the rooftop?"

"Barely, but I'm healing rapidly. This condition does that to you. It is an odd question to ask though. What do you have in mind?"

She insisted that he stood up. With that goal accomplished, she hugged against him to steady him.

Before speaking, Tasìa looked up into Alex's eyes.

"You are not giving up on life just yet, healer-man. We are going to make you Golden."