That was the only word for it—a monster. True to Tadg’s description, it was the ugliest Beast Barclay had ever seen, and that included the Styerwurm in the Woods that had once swallowed Viola and Mitzi whole.

The Brutopod was some awful version of a crab or lobster, but fifty times as large—so large that one of its pincers could snap Barclay’s entire midsection. And Barclay counted four of them. Its shell was red and spiky, and its eyes were milky white.

Barclay threw the underwear aside and scrambled back. The Beast advanced until it towered over him. Its claws and antennae thrashed.

Barclay had never used his Lore on a Beast so big before. But, desperately hoping for the best, he lifted his palm toward the Brutopod and thought, Wind!

A gust blasted from his hand down the alley, blowing sand and window shutters and laundry with it. The Brutopod squared its shoulders as it was shoved back, but then its feet caught on the cobblestones, and it held its ground.

Barclay looked behind him, wondering if he should flee and find a new route to the fire. But then someone screamed on the other side of the Brutopod.

“Help!” they called. They sounded like a child.

Barclay’s heart pounded. Now was not the time to test out a new type of Lore. Not when he had yet to master simpler moves. Not when there was so much at stake. But someone was in trouble, so there was no time to second-guess himself. Returning Root to his Mark, Barclay turned and backed against one of the alley walls. Then he took a running start and blasted a gust of wind at the ground, propelling himself into the air. His chest landed on the rooftop, making him let out a loud “oof!” He grasped onto a pipe and held tight.

While he flailed his legs trying to hoist himself up, the Brutopod lunged forward. Its claws reached for Barclay’s foot and closed with a loud snap! But Barclay had just managed to kick himself over the gutter.

He climbed to his feet and raced across the rooftop. Two more Brutopods stalked the street below. Like the first, they thrashed about, smashing all nearby windows and carts.

“Help!” shouted the voice again, and Barclay spotted a small boy cowering behind some trash barrels. Barclay jumped down off the roof, slowing his fall with a bit of wind. But his landing was far from smooth. As soon as he struck the ground, he tumbled into wooden fencing. The line of pickets came down with a crash.

Dizzy but unhurt, Barclay ran to the boy’s side.

“Come on,” Barclay told him. “I’ll help you get out of here.”