Pure Dead Trouble by Debi Gliori

Author:Debi Gliori [Gliori, Debi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-49744-4
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2004-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

“Stop the car!” Latch begged and, well-used to such demands, especially after last call at the Auchenlochtermuchty Arms, the taxi driver did as he was bid.

“Are youse sure youse're a' right, big man?” he inquired as Latch, pale and trembling, crawled back into his seat after a noisy communion with the rhododendrons of Argyll. No answer being forthcoming, the driver pressed the pedal to the metal in the fervent hope of delivering this fare to his destination without further mishap.

Flora McLachlan carefully drew back the covers from her side of the bed and eased her legs onto the floor. She hadn't slept at all, spending the night propped upright on pillows, fending off sleep in order to maintain a guard on Pandora. Pandora, who despite the horrors of Coire Crone had instantly fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep the moment her head had touched the pillow…

Wee girls, Mrs. McLachlan thought, regarding her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and reached for a dry towel. Och, honestly, she continued, if it's not one, it's the other, slipping out of bed and getting up to all sorts in the middle of the night.

“Wee girls,” she whispered, conjuring up the image of Damp and Pandora before her, visualizing the girls standing in the exact center of a sunlit lawn, surrounded by an unbroken daisy chain of spells, one enchantment seamlessly linked to the next, the whole forming a perfect circle of light that was designed to keep them safe from whatever lay in the shadows beyond. Utterly still, Mrs. McLachlan reached out with her mind and scanned the circle, checking and rechecking the hidden joins where Old Norse melded with Sanskrit, where rune flowed into hieroglyph, and where corruption might sniff and lick and try to force a way through….

“Flora?” She heard a hoarse whisper at the bathroom door. “Flora, it's me, Latch. I've got to tell— It's important — Oh, for the love of heaven, woman, would you stop powdering your nose and let me in?”

He sounded so normal, huffing and shuffling his feet on the other side of the door, unable to disguise his impatience. Mrs. McLachlan wrapped a dressing gown around herself and undid the lock, her eyes shining as she opened the door. Perhaps she'd jumped to conclusions about what had happened to Latch, wrongly assuming that he'd been damaged by a close encounter with a demon…. After all, she scolded herself, what evidence did she have to back this up? A stench of sulfur and a temporary memory loss? Maybe both could be explained by a bacterial attack rather than a demonic one?

One glance at Latch's face dispelled such thoughts, for Latch looked as if he'd gazed into the abyss and the abyss had gazed back into him. To Mrs. McLachlan's raised eyebrows, Latch merely nodded, closing his eyes briefly to erase the memory of what he'd seen.

“It…I…he…,” he stammered.

“Hush, dear. I understand.”

“It wanted something, Flora. It's going to come back for it.

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