By Charles L. Grant
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Extra resources for Bloodwind
Stephen said. Another familiar field that invited replowing. She retreated once again, this time hoping the politics of running an embryo department in an established school wouldn't prove too much for her to handle. Though she believed she'd proved herself handily by getting this far without losing her position, accepting the Fine Arts chair only meant more responsibility, not only for herself but for those working under her, the students who picked it for a major, the reputation of the college .
Greg, she decided. All very symbolic. Or Homer given life and protecting her, guarding her, shepherding her until she had returned home, to safety. She nodded in her sleep. That made sense. That made perfect sense. Greg the shepherd and Homer the sheepgrizzly. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it before? All her protectors lined up in a row, and why the hell couldn't she admit that she needed protecting now and then? The demon rose from the blue-black sea and slowly turned its head toward her.
And she couldn't help feeling that the shape was still watching. Her shoulders hunched in reflex, her arms folded again so her hands could grip her sides. On many occasions while she'd lived in New York she had walked the streets at night and had felt gazes following her from alleys and doorways. That was to be expected, and she'd turned it to a game the rules of which she forgot when she heard something crashing through the shrubs. Watching. Moving. The same feeling she'd had that afternoon when she'd fled the school to fetch Homer.
Bloodwind by Charles L. Grant