Hollowpox The Hunt for Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend Page 0,88
we stopped two attacks last night!’ Jack sputtered indignantly, sitting up and glaring at his uncle. ‘You wouldn’t even have seen that second one if it wasn’t for me!’
‘You were brilliant,’ Jupiter admitted, ‘and I couldn’t have done without your help this summer. But I’ve got a bad feeling about next Friday night. It’s the last night of the Bazaar and the Concerned Citizens of Nevermoor Party are stirring the place up like a hornet’s nest. Dr Bramble’s been hearing rumours that some of the Wunimal rights activists are organising some kind of response. If there’s going to be a clash, I don’t want you anywhere near it.’
‘But I can help!’ Jack insisted, pressing a hand to his chest. ‘You need me.’
‘I need you to be safe, is what I need.’ He looked from Jack to Morrigan with an apologetic smile. ‘Besides, I’ve ill-advisedly told Frank he can throw a very small end-of-summer dinner party in my absence, since his events schedule has taken such a hit this summer … so actually what I need is for you two to be here and supervise so he doesn’t completely wreck the place.’
Jack opened his mouth to protest one more time, closed it again and shook his head. Both he and Morrigan both knew it was pointless arguing with Jupiter when he’d set his mind to a course of action. Jack got up and made for the door. ‘Fine. I’m going to bed.’
‘Jack—’
‘I said it’s fine.’
The door slammed shut behind him. Morrigan and Jupiter sat in an awkward silence, sipping their tea, until finally he lay down on the chaise longue, heaved a deep, weary sigh and closed his eyes.
‘I’m not trying to be boring, Mog. Just … responsible.’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘Same thing.’
That, at least, made him laugh.
That night, Morrigan was woken by a soft tap-tap-tap on the black door in her bedroom. A glance at the clock told her it was eleven-thirty.
Tap-tap-tap.
Throwing off the bedclothes, she crossed the floor and pressed her imprint to the glowing circle in the middle of the black door. She tiptoed through the unlit wardrobe and opened the station door, yawning.
At first, she thought there was nobody there. Then a quiet, calm voice came from somewhere down near her feet, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
‘Good evening, Morrigan. Having a nice summer?’
‘Sofia!’ She rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up. This was the last person she’d been expecting. She hadn’t really been expecting anyone at all, on a Saturday night during the school holidays. ‘Er, yes, very nice thanks. I … is everything okay?’
‘Quite okay, yes,’ Sofia assured her. Morrigan thought she detected a tremulous note of excitement in her words. ‘But there’s something I think you’ll want to see.’ The foxwun ran to a little brass railpod waiting at the platform, looking back over her shoulder at Morrigan.
‘We’ll have to hurry. Come on!’
LʘCATIʘN
PARTICIPANTS & EVENTS
DATE & TIME
School of Wundrous Arts, rooftop of Proudfoot House, southern end
Gracious Goldberry, Avis Ku, Henrik Reiner
An advanced lesson in the Wundrous Art of Inferno, given by Goldberry to Ku and Reiner
Age of Industry, Seventh Saturday, Summer of Four
23:42—01:15
On the cold, dark rooftop of Proudfoot House, Morrigan and Sofia stepped through an incision in the air and felt time shudder around them.
The night was on fire.
Two young Wundersmiths stood back, watching a third wield Inferno in a way Morrigan had never seen before. The woman was tall and statuesque and cut an impressively frightening figure, with long waves of red hair that whipped around her in the wind.
‘Gracious Goldberry,’ Sofia told her. ‘And the students are Avis Ku and Henrik Reiner.’
Morrigan looked down at her, dragging her eyes away from the spectacle. ‘Wasn’t Gracious Goldberry sort of … horrible? Didn’t she—’
‘Call for the imprisonment of all Wunimals?’ Sofia finished for her. ‘Yes. She was a nasty piece of work. Very good at Inferno, though. Maybe the best I’ve ever seen.’
Gracious sent a tiny spark of flame dancing on the wind. It curled around Avis and Henrik, coming dangerously close to their hair and clothes and skin without burning a single bit of them. The small flame was followed by another, and another, and dozens more, one after the other. They were as tiny and delicate as dandelion puffs blowing on the wind, and yet they weren’t at the mercy of the wind at all. They were being directed, every single one of them at every single moment, by Gracious Goldberry, whose focus never wavered.