Pure Dead Batty by Debi Gliori

Author:Debi Gliori [Gliori, Debi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-80932-2
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-12-27T16:00:00+00:00

There was a boom, then a popping sound as all the displaced air rushed back in to fill the space they’d just vacated, but Damp was blissfully unaware. She was paying rapt attention to the silver thread that spun through her fingers, reeling her closer to something—someone she dared not yet name. Together, she and her familiar flew high over Lochnagargoyle—so fast that they began to turn time backward. Battling the slipstream, wings flapping, Vesper muttered something under his breath that sounded like “Cabin crew, doors to manual and cross-check.” Then he turned his attention to Damp. “We’d like to extend a warm welcome to you on board this flight today. For your comfort and safety, the cabin crew will now take you through the safety demonstration. Although you may have flown before, we would appreciate it if you give this demonstration your fullest attention. Please ensure your back is in the upright position and that your legs are stowed away for takeoff. Place all bags in the overhead lockers or below the seat in front of you. Please take a moment to locate the nearest exit to you … seat belts are fastened … and adjusted, so … masks will drop … place over nose and mouth and breathe normally … inflate by pulling on the red … top up by means of … a light and whistle for attracting attention—”

“Vesper?”

The little bat’s mouth snapped shut and he sighed deeply. “I know, I know. I’m talking nonsense. There are no seat belts, life jackets, oxygen masks, or emergency exits. I just made them up to take my mind off the blue, blue sky and big white clouds and that unforgivingly hard thing called planet Earth. We’re undoubtedly flying too high. We’re definitely going too fast. We’re probably going to die. In fact, we may be dead already. Whoooh, we’re flying by the seat of our pants today, ma’am. Where are we going? Terra incognita. How many miles? Lordy, how I do babble on. Three score miles and ten. Will I get there by candlelight—?”

“Vesper,” Damp groaned. “Shoosh. Nearly there.”

Following the silver thread to wherever it led, Damp and Vesper clung together, hardly daring to look down. Miles below, a gray and misty abyss reached up toward the blue heaven. A blink later they were in the fog; cold, wet, and without radar, blinded.

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