Hollowpox The Hunt for Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend Page 0,94
was that?’ someone shouted.
‘Darling, where are you—’
‘I can’t see a thing!’
The glowing green lights left the three bodies behind and came together in one strange, nebulous shape in the darkness. It swarmed Morrigan, swimming across her skin, dancing around her as if trying to find a way in. Wherever the light touched her, she felt cold.
Finally, it seemed to give up and simply floated in mid-air.
‘Jack,’ she whispered, her voice trembling. ‘Can you see it?’
‘Yes,’ he said, in a soft voice full of confusion and wonder
It felt like the light was … watching her. Assessing her. Like maybe the strange green something was just as baffled by her as she was by it.
And it was, she knew now with one hundred per cent certainty, something.
The Hollowpox was a living thing.
Morrigan felt her energy ebbing away; all the Wunder she’d gathered had been depleted. The shadows disappeared as suddenly as they’d arrived, like the flick of a switch, and the lobby was once again flooded with light.
In a flash, the Hollowpox was gone – split not into three, but dozens of tiny green specks of light that flew away in all directions. Some seemed to disperse among the crowd in the lobby, and some left the building entirely, but they all disappeared.
Morrigan felt her knees weaken. It was taking all of her energy just to remain standing. She gazed down at the floor, where the three bodies lay still, their eyes wide open.
The owlwun. The giraffewun. And the dogwun.
‘They’re dead!’ someone screamed. ‘They’ve been murdered!’
‘No, you fool,’ shouted another, ‘it’s the pox – the Hollowpox has taken them.’
‘It was the CAT!’
The lobby was once again a cacophony of noise and confusion as people tried to get away from the lifeless Wunimals, as if their misfortune might be contagious. Morrigan, Jack, Hawthorne, Cadence and Fen moved quickly to form a barrier around the three bodies, protecting them from being crushed by the hundreds of people now rushing for the doors in a great stampede.
The cool autumnal breeze turned to a gale, whistling through the crimson trees. As the last guests fled into the night, the leaves turned brown, fell from the branches, and chased them out the door in one big whoosh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rescue Rings
Morrigan’s bedroom was a soothing summer oasis that night, yet she didn’t sleep a wink. Three hammocks strung between palm trees swayed in a light, balmy breeze. Gentle waves lapped at the sandy island floor beneath her, and above her the ceiling was a clear starry night.
Her brain and body were so exhausted from her first effort at shadowmaking she might have gone ten rounds in the Trollosseum with Grimsgorgenblarg the Mighty. But sleep wouldn’t come.
It might have been Hawthorne’s soft, persistent snoring on one side, or Cadence’s occasional sleep-muttering on the other. Or more likely, it was the fact that Morrigan had been counting down each tick of the clock until dawn, ever since Fenestra had insisted they all go to bed.
After the ambulance had come to take away the three stricken Wunimals, Morrigan had grabbed her brolly and tried to leave for the Nevermoor Bazaar right away, to find Jupiter and tell him what had happened. But Fen scuppered those plans in a heartbeat.
‘That is exactly the kind of distraction Jove doesn’t need on the last night of the Bazaar,’ she’d said, marching Morrigan, Hawthorne and Cadence upstairs to bed.
Just before dawn, when the starlit black sky began to lighten ever-so-slightly, Morrigan crept out of her room. She’d thought to sneak in early to the Smoking Parlour and put the tea on, ready to tell Jupiter everything about the gala and hear everything about the Bazaar in return. But Jack was already there, lingering outside in the hallway.
He held a finger to his mouth then pointed to the parlour door, which was slightly ajar. Raised voices – and a faint, sunshine-yellow trail of lemon smoke – came from within.
‘—little more than speculation at this point, of course.’
‘What are you going to tell the public?’ The second voice was Fenestra, and she was pacing. Morrigan could tell because of the rhythmic, agitated thumping of her tail hitting the wall. ‘You are going to tell the pub—’
‘Fen, I’ve told you, it’s not up to me. Elder Quinn believes it would only cause more panic. Inspector Rivers thinks that if it makes no material difference to public safety, we should keep a lid on it. If it did come from—’
‘Typical Wunsoc,’ Fen growled. ‘Always thinking they know what’s— Oi!’