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copper-colored studs he wore underneath. The straps cut visibly into his expanding
flesh, and when a strange, yellowish blood began to run down his arms, legs, and chest,
Marla realized the copper studs were actually the heads of nails—the harness was nailed
to him, and as he expanded against the bonds, the nails dug in and wounded him. He
gasped, standing eight feet tall now, but hunched over in the constricting harness. Marla
didn’t relax, but it was clear Ch’ang Hao wasn’t about to attack anyone.
“That’s some serious fucking bondage,” Rondeau said.
“Hush,” Marla said. But he was right—it was bondage, and not of the consensual,
recreational sort they’d seen at the party.
Ch’ang Hao shrank down to his old size, wincing. “If I were in possession of my full
powers, I would destroy you,” he said solemnly.
“That’s quite a trick, changing size while retaining your original shape,” Marla said.
“I’ve never known a sorcerer who could do that, not without getting cancer in the
process. That kind of stuff plays hell with your cellular integrity.” She was on edge,
prepared to reverse her cloak at the slightest renewed threat from this man,
consequences to her humanity be damned. She didn’t understand what he was, and that
made her nervous.
The man spat. “I am not a sorcerer. I am older than your kind. I lived with the serpents
before man rose up on two legs.”
Marla squinted, looking beyond the obvious. She was starting to get a headache, peering
into the magical realm so often tonight. She could see the tiny silver threads now, like
puppet strings, attached to Ch’ang’s throat, shoulders, wrists, waist, and ankles. “But
you got caught by a sorcerer,” Marla said. “There’s a serious thrall laid on you. And that
harness keeps you from getting too big and dangerous, huh?”
“I am dangerous enough for most purposes at this size,” he said. “I did not expect you to
be so formidable. I confess, I did not recognize your fighting style.”
“Jeet Kun Do, mostly,” she said. “The style Bruce Lee invented.”
“I do not know Mr. Lee,” he said, as if it saddened him.
“You’ve never heard of Bruce Lee?” Rondeau said. “You’re even more clueless about
pop culture than Marla is.”
“I don’t imagine our friend in Chinatown lets Ch’ang out of his box very often,” Marla
said. “How big can you get anyway?”
Ch’ang Hao almost smiled. “When I am unencumbered, I can grow just large enough to
defeat whatever enemy I face. No more, no less.”
“And our friend in Chinatown is afraid of you getting big enough to defeat him, huh?”
“I see that you comprehend my situation fully.”