Paul Blofis to our old cabin at Montauk, where we'd been going forever. Paul had

taken me crabbing, and when he'd brought up a net full of the things, he'd shown

me how crabs have a chink in their armor, right in the middle of their ugly

bellies.

 

The only problem was getting to the ugly belly.

 

I glanced at the fountain, then at the marble floor, already slick from

scuttling crab tracks. I held out my hand, concentrating on the water, and the

fountain exploded. Water sprayed everywhere, three stories high, dousing the

balconies and the elevators and the windows of the shops. The crab didn't care.

It loved water. It came at me sideways, snapping and hissing, and I ran straight

at it, screaming, "AHHHHHHH!"

 

Just before we collided, I hit the ground baseball-style and slid on the wet

marble floor straight under the creature. It was like sliding under a seven-ton

armored vehicle. All the crab had to do was sit and squash me, but before it

realized what was going on, I jabbed Riptide into the chi nk in its armor, let

go of the hilt, and pushed myself out the backside.

 

The monster shuddered and hissed. Its eyes dissolved. Its shell turned bright

red as its insides evaporated. The empty shell clattered to the floor in a

massive heap.

 

I didn't have time to admire my handiwork. I ran for the nearest stairs while