Run, whispered the monkey part of Andrew's brain. Scramble back the way you came.
His head only reached up to the djinn's nipples, although the creature sat in a mockery of the Buddha pose: a mound of flesh rising in the warehouse's center. Those sausage fingers, Andrew thought, could crush a spinal cord as easily as they would a moth. Yes, there were chains which snaked toward the walls and coiled round two concrete . . .
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- The Grantville Gazette Staff