There was something strange in Soren’s voice, but Barclay couldn’t put his finger on it.

Then a stinging pain shot through his Mark, just like in the Woods before the Styerwurm had attacked. Like a warning, Barclay realized.

Soren reached over to his desk and grabbed a number of instruments: some gauze, an elixir, and a scalpel.

“You were right, Barclay. I think we do have a Lufthund on our hands,” he said breathlessly.

“What are all those tools for?”

“I’m going to remove it, like you asked. Don’t worry—it will be free of charge.”

Soren pressed the edge of the scalpel against Barclay’s shoulder, and Barclay jolted back.

“You’re going to cut it off?” he asked, horrified.

“I need to see how deep it goes. It’s a shame it’s so large—some even touches your chest. Removing your arm? That would be easy. Clean. The chest? That gets messier.”

Barclay tried to scramble to his feet, but even though Soren was no longer touching him, Barclay suddenly felt a firm hand pushing him down.

Wisps of white swirled about the room. And then Barclay saw the hand clutching him. It was pale and skeletal, its bones held together with nothing but air. A figure began to come together beside him, and it was tall and gaunt and looked like it was made of smoke. It stood on two legs with hunched shoulders—almost like a human—but its long, narrow face reminded him more of a stag. Antlers grew out of its head in all directions. Its eyes sockets, empty and large, glowed crimson.

Barclay screamed but didn’t make a sound. The noise flew from his lips in white curls of smoke, and the Beast opened its mouth and swallowed them.

“This is an Ischray,” Soren told Barclay, his voice still calm as Barclay began to panic and squirm in his seat. “He’s truly remarkable. He can silence any noise. Ischrays are rare enough to be Mythic class, but they unfortunately aren’t powerful enough to pass the Prime class. But I’m still rather fond of him. I’m a collector, if you will.”

Soren pressed the knife into Barclay’s skin.

“And now your Lufthund will be mine too.”

Barclay should’ve heeded the sinister signs of the Bog’s Inn. Should’ve run as soon as he felt the warning pain in his Mark. He’d been so desperate for help that he’d left Viola and wandered right into a trap, and Viola wasn’t here to save him now.

Come out! Come out! he thought frantically. He didn’t know how to summon his Beast, but Tadg and the others had made it seem so simple. Come out!

A gust of wind tore across the room, making tears run from Barclay’s eyes and sending Soren’s papers fluttering to the floor. For a brief moment, the Ischray thrashed, its body of wisps and smoke blowing apart. Then the air stilled, and it came back together.

The Lufthund stood in the corner of the room. It had black fur, matching its black claws and black teeth. Though not nearly as large as Soren had described, it was the size of an average wolf—probably not fully grown yet. Its fur was thickest along its face and around its neck, thinning all the way down its back to where the vertebrae protruded out and Barclay could see its bones.