He moved with the erratic agility of a frightened spider.
He leaped into the air, kicking off the bone-white pillars, tumbling across the mounds of treasure, dodging, weaving, and desperately throwing up hasty, emerald-green shields of magical energy.
CRASH! CRASH!! CRASH!!!
Seraphina's shadow spears obliterated everything they touched. They shattered the stone pillars, sending chunks of debris crashing to the floor. They pierced the enchanted mirrors, freeing the screaming ghosts within, who instantly fled the hall in terror.
The Trickster landed on top of a pile of rusted swords, panting, his patchwork coat torn and singed by the near-misses.
He felt a deep, burning humiliation rise in his chest, warring with his absolute terror.
He was an immortal!
He was a lord of illusions!
And he was being hunted in his own conservatory by a child who hadn't even lost all her baby teeth!
