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voice would prevent the officer from doing something rash.  
    “Shut up, you freak! Get your hands up!” The cop’s voice cracked on the last word.
    Maintaining his calm demeanor, Artan continued, “The killer is nearby. We are not safe here.”  
    The horse was smarter than its rider, sensing approaching death. Jerking its head, it attempted to flee the clearing. Static crackled over the police officer’s radio. The cop palmed his walkie-talkie but never got a chance to respond. A winged shadow peeled away from the trees and descended, the world reduced to a tornado of fluttering wings, sharp talons and splashes of gore. As the gargoyle lifted the police officer into the air, his horse exploded into panicked motion.  
    The cop’s scream rang out as he disappeared among the swaying trees and rustling leaves. Artan stood, body coiled and adrenaline pumping, braced for another attack…  
    The mangled officer came crashing from the thick canopy and slammed into the grassy slope below. Lifeless eyes stared back at Artan. A helpless rage made him forget his fear. Too many people had fallen prey to these monsters. He had thought the nightmare was over.  
    Artan looked up, expecting to feel sharp teeth digging into his flesh, but the gargoyle was still hesitating. Why hadn’t it struck him down in the same fashion as the officer? Was his past connection to the ancient evil of Ireland making the beast hold back? Either way, Artan doubted that the monster would wait much longer to launch its next attack. He was sure whatever vestiges of Fomor blood might still course through his veins wouldn’t be enough to spare him.  
    Without a weapon, retreat was Artan’s sole recourse. And he already had an idea how he might put some distance between himself and the deadly monster. Without hesitation, his battle-honed instincts guiding him, Artan hurled himself toward the terrified horse as it pounded past him. His bones jolted and teeth chattered as both his hands snapped around the saddle horn.  
    The animal tried to shake him, but Artan refused to let go as he pulled himself fully astride. Jaw clenched with effort, one hand clung to the pommel, while the other closed around the reins in an attempt to gain control of his new steed. Above, the trees shook as the gargoyle relentlessly pursued them, the winged demon invisible in the dense canopy.  
    Artan decided a change in scenery was in order. As long as he stayed in the park, he remained exposed and vulnerable. The gargoyle could swoop down on him and attack before he could fight back.  
    The ground suddenly rumbled as a subway train passed near the wall enclosing the park, and his eyes lit up with an idea. Out here, he made for an easy target—but what if he could disappear underground? The dark network of subway tunnels offered an advantage in a confrontation with an aerial attacker. The creature wouldn’t be able to surprise him from above, and the close confines would prevent the beast from flanking him. If he could somehow make it across the street to the 86 th station….  
    Almost as if the gargoyle sensed Artan’s plan, it at last came in for the kill. He felt the creature’s approach more than saw it. There was a rush of air, and then a heavy mass slammed into him. All hopes of riding to safety were crushed as the impact catapulted him out of the saddle. For a split second, he stayed airborne before the ground came rushing up to greet him. He landed with a loud whoomp , the fall knocking the wind from his lungs, jarring his teeth, and jostling his bones.  
    Groggy, he lay splayed on the grass, the nearby sounds of traffic distant yet close. There was something almost soothing about the steady pulse of the city whispering at the edge of his awareness as his consciousness slipped away.
    Get up and run , he ordered himself, his mental voice bristling with the authority of the King of Kirkfall. Before he could move, an enormous shadow fell across him as the