The sense of urgency, of panic, of hunger, seemed to have diminished. Like a fire that has been banked but not extinguished. He walked through the cold and drafty corridors of the second floor, peering into empty rooms, looking for something that he could not name, while at the same time knowing that what he sought was not here. Suddenly he heard something. A deep-chested grunt, a soft footfall with the thin sound of nails scraping on floorboards. Lawrence crouched and turned. Whatever it was—the thing was just around the next turning. The sword cane was downstairs. He had only his fists to fight— A hulking shape rounded the corner, moving through shadows toward him. Yellow eyes burned in the darkness. Then the thing moved from shadows into a spill of candlelight. Samson. The monstrous wolfhound padded toward him. Lawrence shrank back from Samson as the dog approached. The moment their eyes met, the dog froze in place. So did Lawrence. The awareness of each other was immediate and deep and different.
