Hell's Eyes

BRIANNA SHAFFERY

A growl rumbled behind them, raising the hair on both their necks. Before she could stop herself, Elsie whirled around. Her eyes fell on the charcoal fur of a large beast with sharp elongated teeth and a snarl that the very sight of drained the blood from her face. “Don’t look into its eyes!” Mr. Basil cried, leaping in front of Elsie. The grown cerbertes lunged. A blast of cool teal magic flashed before Elsie’s vision, forcing her to shut her eyes and turn her face against the brightness. A whimper wrenched her heart. Peeling her eyes open, Elsie gasped, “Herman!” In a blink, she drew her bow and loosed her arrow. A sick thump filled her ears, followed by a wet yowl—turned broken whimper as the cerbertes kit fell. “Miss Elsie, are you all right?” came Mr. Basil’s frantic reply. Herman whipped around, his hand glowing with his teal-colored magic as he prepared to fight the new threat, but found a tragic scene written over Miss Hyacinth’s face. She took a deep shuddering breath, but did not turn away from the sight of the cerbertes kit that had drawn its last breath. “Elsie, come now,” he said softly. “There is nothing more to be done here.” But she did not answer. “Miss Hyacinth?” he asked, taking a step forward. A twig cracked under his foot, piercing the stark silence. Elsie flinched violently. Her wild eyes glanced about, trying to find the source of what had sent her heart pounding furiously against her chest so hard she feared it would burst through her skin—a fear that only made it beat harsher still. “Oh dear,” Herman murmured under his breath. “You’ve glanced at its eyes, haven’t you, Miss Hyacinth?” “I-I—” Elsie started, unable to form neither words nor thoughts beyond the scene that played before her mind’s eye.

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