The hair of Sloat's Twinner was long, black, flapping, somehow dead-looking. His hair renewed itself, growing forward, first tinting the rondure of his skull, as if some invisible being were coloring Uncle Morgan's head, then covering it. As he came he did his own werewolf number, changing from Morgan Sloat, investor, land speculator, and sometime Hollywood agent, into Morgan of Orris, pretender to the throne of a dying Queen. Jack stood, paralyzed, as Sloat bulled his way through the hole between the two universes. Sorry, but I've got to see if I can avoid getting drowned by Wolf's herd before I see if I can avoid getting fried by your doomstick there. The parka wavered, disappeared for a moment, then came back as a cloak and hood.Īnd the small silver thing in his hand had turned to a small rod tipped with crawling blue fire. 'Wolf' Jack screamed, but thunder exploded across the blue sky again, drowning him out. It was like listening to a man shout inside a telephone booth. His voice carried, but it had a muffled, dead quality as it came from the reality of that world into the reality of this one. 'There you are, you little shithead' Morgan bellowed at him. He stood at midstream in water that was crotch-deep, cattle passing on either side of him, baa-ing and bleating, staring at that window which had been torn in the very fabric of reality, his eyes wide, his mouth wider. A moment later another of the terrified cow-sheep struck him and bore him under again.
Wolf bent over and retched up a great muddy sheet of water. He got up again quick, coughing and choking, one hand feeling inside his jerkin for the bottle, afraid it might have washed away.
One of them bunted his hip hard and Jack went over, inhaling water. Jack fought his way toward those hands, still dodging the cattle as best he could. He saw Wolf's head going down again, both hands waving. Jack whirled clumsily around in the stream, barely avoiding another cow-sheep, this one floating on its side, dead in the water. He's found me, oh dear God, he's found me. Morgan started forward, his face swimming and rippling as if made of limp plastic, and Jack had time to see there was something clutched in his hand, something hung around his neck, something small and silvery.
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