The Maloneys' Magical Weatherbox by Nigel Quinlan

Author:Nigel Quinlan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626720343
Publisher: Roaring Brook Press

CHAPTER 16

LIZ

Mrs. Fitzgerald’s hand lashed out, quicker than a striking snake. The arrow jumped off its path, vanishing into a clump of nettles. I took the bow by one end, raised it over my head, and smashed it down on the hands in which the Gray Thing was holding Neetch.

It snatched its hands back, and made a sound like an animal or a bird, or like rain falling a certain way. It was a sound like nothing I’d ever heard—a gasp of hurt and puzzlement and betrayal. How could this be a Season, a mighty and powerful being, one of the great spirits of the skies? It was older than me, but maybe, for a Season, it was still just a baby.

“I’m sorry, Baby Season!” I whispered. I felt like I’d just kicked a puppy.

Neetch fell to the ground, landing with all his feet churning. He tore off like a small red cannonball across the clearing, to the sound of claws ripping through greenery. I sprinted along behind him, slinging my bow back over my shoulder.

Now I could feel her at my back, feel her reaching for me, black hair blowing wild around a face white as bleached bone, dress billowing like huge black wings. I didn’t bother to turn around to see if she was really there. If I’d made her angry, we could be in real trouble. I’d fired an arrow at her son. She was probably furious. Worse still, maybe it was all for nothing. She had managed to force Neetch to come all the way up here against his will. All she had to do now was call him back again. Maybe the two hags below were awake now. Maybe they’d noticed their pet missing. Maybe they’d call him back to them.

I caught up with Owen and slowed down to stay behind him. Neetch was darting along the path ahead of him, stopping every few seconds to let Owen catch up.

Behind us, I heard rustling and crunching, as something big slipped through the trees and down the path. I grabbed Owen’s shoulder, pulling him off the path and behind a tree. The Baby Season went past, searching, its head lowered, turning this way and that, its black eyes peering up and down. Neetch leaped out of a bush and Owen and me followed him.

The Baby Season stopped and turned, swinging around after us, moving gracefully and easily.

“Neetch!” I yelled desperately. “Get big! It’ll squash us!”

Neetch didn’t, though. Maybe he couldn’t because he was still too hurt after last night. He zigged and zagged ahead of us, leading the way through the trees. The Baby Season was moving fast on its long bendy legs, barely touching the branches or the leaves overhead or the undergrowth below as it went, stepping carefully, bending away from and around anything in its way. It was right on top of us.

I skidded to a stop, my sneakers raising a shower of dirt and twigs and leaves, grabbed a long crooked stick from the ground, and swung it wildly at the Baby Season.

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