Outside the great lodge of Ketjack there burns a wall of fire, crackling and smoking dry leaves. Beads of sweat on Van Mile's brow. Howls of alarm from the woods, wolfish. Shadows shifting.
اذا طال الزمن ولم تروني فهذا اختراقي بيدي فتذكروووني
ما طار طير وارتفع ئلا كما طار انسدح
نا وأنتم ركبنا البحر عاصفة ً
رياحُهُ وهديـــــرُ المـــــوج يصطخبُ
إنا وأنتم حفظنا عهد مسجدنا
His eyes scan over torn pages of Arabic text, trying to make sense of the hastily scrawled notes in English: Creep, Crawl, You, Thait, Khcmk, The Devil— åßÑ
"Remember, this is penetrative," his Dagomban contact had said. "Wuni, a Wuni mbala. You must make sacrifice to it."
The vision of a werewolf, sword raised.
How he had gotten here? Too many unsolved cases, weaving together into some terrible web. He feels ensnared in it now.
The howling is louder, closer. There is a heavy pounding, shaking the very foundations of the lodge; The Wolf is at the Door.