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The cracks in the world around her sharpened with encroaching menace. She had a dull recollection of a parallel universe of roots and swamps. Her addled brain fired muted messages of danger through her nerves. She had to purge the toxins before the archon took the opportunity to destroy her.

She brought her teeth to her wrist and clamped deep into the artery. Sickly brown blood seeped, then sprayed, over her dress. She gnawed deeper into the vein, her blood propelling out in a voluminous arc.

A harsh crack in the world came crashing down on her. She barreled to the side and plunged into the tar, forcing herself under the surface despite the buoyancy that tried to push her back up. Her wrist continued to hemorrhage chunky globules of bilious plasma. The cracks and lines followed her underwater, even as the black oil stung her eyes and should have rendered all sight inoperable. All she needed was for enough blood to leave her that the effects would wear off, and then she could replenish her supply with simple magic. She applied pressure with her thumb to expel the blood faster.

The Incubator swam along in the murk, his fur remaining pure white despite the unctuous ooze around him. Why the Incubator? Why not Claudia? What was this hallucinogenic venom supposed to show?

More and more blood pumped out the frayed vein on her wrist. The Incubator grew transparent, began to fade. She blinked, forcing the oil from her eyelids, and when she opened them again she saw only blackness.

Phew! That was close. The first time she had ever felt herself in real danger during the entire expedition. She supposed it wouldn't be a good archon romp without at least one near-death experience.

Still submerged, she quickly filled herself with nice, clean blood and sealed the wound on her wrist. Unsure how far beneath the surface she had sunk, she began to swim upward.

(Chapter 11)