Outsider Circle

“So, here’s the exercise,” Ebenezar said, and passed me the knife. If he was in pain, it didn’t show up in his voice. “Defensive circle first. We go at the same time. The smell of the blood is going to drive them crazy, and they’re going to try to get at me. While they do, you’ll lay down a circle and activate it, then banish them.” He eyed me. “And just so I’m certain you haven’t missed the lesson, please also observe that every single point of the plan is vampire-free.”
The corners of the lowest level of the parking garage began to glow with a sickly blue light.
“Sir,” I growled, taking the knife. I bent over and walked around us in a quick circle, tip of the knife scoring the concrete as I went, until I had a closed shape that mostly looked like a circle. I stepped into it, touched the score mark, and made a minor effort of will, feeling the magical circle spring up around us like an invisible screen of energy. “There’s a time and a place for everything. This is neither.”
I offered him the knife back by the handle. The old man pumped his fist several times and made sure the blood kept dripping. Then he folded the pocketknife and put it away, taking up his staff and holding it upright and parallel to his spine with both hands, carefully keeping it inside the circle. Cornerhounds began to thrash and tear their way into our world. Half a dozen more joined the one coming down the ramp in erratic bursts of speed—then simply crouched and waited.
“You sure?” he asked. “How about we check with one of your stalwart vampire allies who are here in your hour of need?”
I glowered at him. “That’s a cheap shot and you know it.”
“Eleven, twelve,” the old man counted, “thirteen, aye. The whole pack is here. Now they’ll get serious.”
“You think these things are smart?” I said.
“Damned smart,” he said. “But so single-minded and alien you almost can’t tell.”
“They’ll try to stop me from laying down a circle, then,” I said. “We need a smoke screen—but they don’t even have eyes. Do they? They don’t have eyes at the backs of their throats or something, do they?”
“You don’t want to know,” said the old man.
Suddenly, three of the cornerhounds speed-slithered close to us, tentacles flailing. One of them struck against the boundary described by the circle. There was a flash of light, a cascade of angry fireplace sparks, and a shuddering bass note of pain, and then the three cornerhounds went still again. The one with a singed tentacle was no more than two feet away from me.
I swallowed and did a quick scan of the circle with my eyes. A magical circle was proof against beings summoned to the mortal world, Outsiders included, but if any solid object fell across the scratch in the concrete, the circle would lose integrity and collapse, and we’d be at the things’ mercy.
“But they run on audio?” I asked him.
“Like bats.”
The cornerhound near me rose onto its hind legs, tentacles probing, as if seeking a way around the curtain of force provided by the circle. There were sharp popping sounds as tentacle tips brushed against the circle and recoiled in little bursts of sparks and low rumbles of pain.


Peace Talks Chapter 12, Page 99-100