The Curse of Eelgrass Bog by Mary Averling

Author:Mary Averling [Averling, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2024-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Once we’re all back inside, Holloway builds a fire in the hearth and tosses a fistful of tea leaves—For Warmth—into the flames. They burn dark pink and immediately warm me through, chasing the wet from my clothes within minutes. The whole house starts to smell of raspberries. Holloway gets straight to work emptying plastic bags, candy wrappers, and tin cans from her pockets; no bones, of course. I’ve only managed to collect a fancy-looking snail shell.

To tell the truth, I’m a little spooked by everything that’s happened. There’s something about how everyone is treading around the Endling Society and the Drowned World that feels . . . well, darker than I expected. Like maybe Lilou and I could end up the same as Dr. Stoat, bog ridden and plagued by nightmares, unable to go home. But I also know that uncovering the secrets of the Endling Society is the best way for me to save my Unnatural History Museum. All the stories we’ve been told are snippets of something bigger, something important. I know we’re on the right track, even if it’s a murky one. And I’m not the kind of person who’s turned around by a spot of darkness.

We’ll find the Endling Society. We’ll save the museum.

I know it.

I chew up my unease and swallow it like a spoonful of porridge. Holloway has barely spoken since we left the river, though I catch her muttering to herself under her breath as she puts her newfound throwaways into drawers. The incident with Dr. Stoat must’ve rattled her too. There are so many more questions I want to ask, especially about witches and megafauna and the girl who might’ve been my mother, but I decide it’s best not to push her too far today.

I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and go to sit with Lilou, who’s crouched by the fireplace. Pink flames crackle and cast rosy shadows over her face, as though she’s got a permanent blush.

“I don’t think Holloway’s gonna let us into the tunnel,” I say softly, pulling the blanket over my knees.

Lilou has retrieved the box she was trying to open earlier, the one with the Endling Society’s crest, and is jimmying the lock with a bobby pin. “Do you think she has a point? About staying away from the tunnel, I mean? If it really is as dangerous as she says . . .”

I shift uncomfortably. “Maybe.”

“Personally, I haven’t ruled out poisonous gases,” Lilou says. “Maybe there’s something down there that makes people hallucinate. Or believe they’re hundred-year-old witches.”

“She did know your grandpa,” I point out. “How d’you explain that if she isn’t a witch?”

“I don’t know,” Lilou admits brightly, “but I’m going to find out. No evidence for witchcraft yet.”

“What if the Endling Society visited the Drowned World?” I wonder aloud. “What if they got cursed to be witches too, and that’s why they need saving?”

Lilou twists the bobby pin, tongue poked out in concentration. “Or they also breathed poison gas. Otherwise Grandpa would’ve—aha!”

The lid pops open.

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