Sting

Carlyle knew the dangers of the Mexican Jungle. He was counting on them.

The jungle was full of deadly creatures. The puppet spiders that could control their hosts from the inside. The piranha ants, with jaws bigger than human teeth but much sharper. And of course the stinger cat with its lethal venom.

That was what he was after.

In truth, the venom of the stinger cat wouldn't generally kill you unless you got stung multiple times. Or unless you were a child, or had an unusually weak constitution. But for an adult human, one sting would hurt a hell of a lot, but it wouldn't put you down.

At least, not unless the venom was... enhanced a little. And one of Carlyle's associates in the Alembics had found a way to do just that. Blue Morgan had whipped up a concoction that, when mixed with the stinger cat's venom, would increase its potency at least threefold. Make it really something to be reckoned with. A truly deadly poison the Alembics of Diego could use to... deal with troublesome elements of the other fraternities and put themselves in charge of the town.

Carlyle patted the vest pocket where he had a sample of Morgan's brew. He looked forward to seeing it put to the test.

A rustle in the bushes behind him. Carlyle turned just in time to see a flash of spots—camouflaged, but not quite well enough.

He was in luck. He'd found one. He took out his crossbow.

He looked around for the stinger cat, but didn't see it now. He knew it was here, but... maybe that camouflage wasn't so bad after all.

Then he saw the flash of movement, just in time to dodge the cat's scorpion tail as it lashed forward. He fired a crossbow and heard the cat's yowl as it hit home. Fired again. Again.

And it was silent.

Carlyle stepped forward, pushing aside some underbrush to get where the stinger cat had been. And there it was, lying on the ground dead.

No, not quite dead. He could see it breathing raggedly. But as good as. And it would be soon. He lifted his crossbow again to deal a killing blow.

He was taken by surprise when the tail lashed forward again, hitting him in the chest. But even as he felt the pain, he let the crossbow loose, and hit the cat in the heart.

It hadn't been dead before, but it was now. Carlyle laughed weakly, and lurched forward onto his knees to harvest the cat's venom sac.

It was hard to breathe. It shouldn't be. The cat had only hit him once, after all. He'd be fine; he was just surprised, was all.

He took out his knife, fell forward onto hands and knees, crawled to the back of the cat. Had to stop a while to catch his breath. Lifted the knife, and then dropped it.

Damn it. Cat got him good. He shouldn't feel this weak; it was only one blow. Only one blow in the—

He felt for his vest pocket, and he blanched. The cat's stinger had gone right through the pocket, right through the packet within. The packet containing Blue Morgan's concoction that increased the venom's strength.

Damn it. He wasn't going to die here. Not like this. He had to—he had to breathe. He had to inhale. He had to—

Carlyle fell forward onto his face, and didn't move again.