Read Online Curse of the Midions by Brad Strickland - Free Book Online Page A

hopeful tone. “If you and the Dodgers are thinkin’ about movin’ out of this place, how’s it if my lot take up here? The tippers are sniffing awfully close to our digs in the attic of the sick-house down by the river. Besides that, it ain’t healthy, over there where so many go to die.”
    â€œTake it, then, and welcome,” Betsy said. “Only don’t come in from the wide street by day, not ever. The alley’s the only way then. Tell you what, we’ll leave Charley for a few days to show you the ins and outs, how’s that?”
    â€œBag that up and sell it!” Charley snapped. “You ain’t ditchin’ me, Bets.”
    â€œNo,” Betsy agreed. “You’ll come along to you-know-where in a couple of days, after Ben’s bunch settle in here. You’re the best one to teach them, and you know it. So you stay, and that’s that.”
    Charley leaned back against the brick wall, arms still crossed, head lowered and a scowl on his face. Uneasily, Jarvey wondered if Betsy somehow knew about the warning Charley had given him. Was she trying to separate Charley from the group because he knew things that she didn’t want Jarvey to learn?
    Betsy fielded more questions, and Jarvey listened with his head spinning. In all his life he’d never been involved in anything more serious than a hard-fought game of baseball, but these kids played for their lives, every day and every night. He nervously fingered the book wrapped up in his old shirt. He wore clothes like the other kids now, given to him by Betsy. The buttonless pullover shirt, coarse as burlap and a dreary gray, hung on him like a tent. He wore faded black pants, their legs loose and floppy, hacked off short three inches above his ankles. The only things of his own that he kept were his sneakers. He felt ridiculous in that getup, but mostly nervous about all those eyes staring at his face, filing away images of him for future reference.
    As Betsy dealt with the group’s curiosity, Jarvey gratefully sank down and sat, glad to be out of the spotlight. He wondered what had become of Zoroaster and what Zoroaster knew about the Grimoire. The weight of the book seemed to be increasing, and just touching its covers gave Jarvey a peculiarly cold, sick feeling. He hated the thing and wished he could throw it away, but it seemed to be his only hope.
    Jarvey tried to make sense of the fragments Zoroaster had told him. When Siyamon Midion had used his dark art on Mom and Dad, what had happened to them? Were they enslaved in one of the deadly mills?
    Maybe the clues he needed were inside the book—but if the book wouldn’t allow itself to be read . . .
    But he was a Midion, and even old Siyamon had said he had the art. How could he use it, though? How did the evil Midion sorcerers learn the magic they had? He didn’t know and couldn’t even guess.
    Jarvey forced himself to listen to the debate in the cellar. Betsy was again urging caution to the boy who’d asked for use of the Den.
    â€œStop your worryin’. We ain’t never been nipped yet,” the boy Betsy had called Ben said with an air of confidence. “No fear of that. And any time you want to come back, we’ll find another snug. Thanks, Bets.”
    Betsy nodded, though she still looked doubtful. “Well, then. We’ll move out come good dark tonight. That’s it, then, but I want you all to take one last look at the new boy. Jarvey, up here.”
    Hands helped boost him, and Jarvey scrambled up onto the machine to stand beside Betsy. He tugged at the gray shirt, far too big for him, and felt acutely aware of sixty or more eyes staring at him.
    â€œLast time, now, so get a good look,” Betsy said. “Look at the face, not the togs. Be ready to tell the rest of the folk what he looks like, and send along word to them he’s protected, right? Another thing, if anybody hears of anybody