Read Online The Maloneys' Magical Weatherbox by Nigel Quinlan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nigel Quinlan
Ads: Link
fingers were long and elegant and graceful. There was a twist of annoyance to her smile. I stopped.
âThatâs Hugh,â she said. âDear sweet Hugh canât help himself. But this is between you and me, Liz. Let the boys have their fun.â
I looked at the door, in agony. I could hear the sounds of a high wind blowing, things breaking and smashing, Neilâs voice yelling, Mum and Dad and Owen rushing out of their rooms and running for the stairs. I wanted to be with them.
âStay a moment,â she said, and gestured at the bed. I slowly sat down on the edge of the mattress, ready to run for the door, knowing I wouldnât dare. She moved, her dress whispering, her skin glowing, and she was beside me, her hand on mine.
âPoor Liz,â she said. âThey donât know who you are, do they? The little girl? The mad one, the awkward one, always making trouble, an embarrassment and a shame. They only let you do what you want because itâs too much trouble to make you stop.â
I tried to pull my hand away. I couldnât move. The cacophony below was getting louder, more frantic and violent. If anyone got hurt â¦
I made to stand up. Her hand gripped my wrist. She rose and brought me with her. Somehow my bare feet passed over the glass on the floor without touching any. Her smile was still gentle, understanding. We swept toward the bedroom window. It gaped like a mouth full of broken teeth. She stooped and swept through and dragged me along behind.
We fell, we flew, sweeping down to land on the lawn in front of the house. Her hand was still around my wrist. My legs shook and my breath came in gasps. Inside the house the sound of the high wind and things breaking and people yelling came through the broken windows. Everything was dark and swirling and confused.
âYou could do that,â she said. âYou could do this, and you could do that. But not with them. With me. I would like a hostage, Liz. I would like an apprentice. I would like a daughter.â
The sky was bright. I could see the Weatherbox over the wall at the end of the front lawn. TELEFÃN . It was light enough to read and getting lighter by the minute.
Numbly, my ears ringing, a cold sweat making my body shiver, I shook my head. No, no, no, no, please, no.
But part of me, the part that was jealous because I could never become Weatherman, the part that looked at Mrs. Fitzgerald and saw someone strong and powerful and independent, the part that knew that even though we thought she was terrible, she must surely be the hero of her own story, that part, deep down, said yes.
Â
CHAPTER 9
NEIL
The shock of the noise drove me sideways, sliding along the table and tumbling to the floor. I hunched up, bracing myself, as wind rushed in through the windows. Doors blew open and slammed against walls. Things were falling and breaking all around me. The table tilted over onto its side. Ed Wharton tugged and pulled at it until it was facing the wind, and we hid behind it while crockery and cutlery and pots and pans and the blender and the tea towels and the potted plants flew around the room.
Roaring and whistling through every gap and over every surface, the wind, like a riot of invisible serpents, flattened and squeezed and smashed everything it met. Ed and I leaned our weights on the legs of the table, trying to keep it into the wind. It kept trying to tip over and fly away and take us with it.
At least the pain in my ears had gone. I couldnât have stood much more of that.
The fridge was blown across the floor, rocking along until it reached the limit of its electric cable. It was right in front of our table when it began to lean forward, hanging over us, until the weight of it dragged the plug from the wall. We went scrambling away across the floor just as the great ton of metal came crashing down on the table, crushing it to splinters. We went tumbling through the doorway and down the corridor,
âThatâs Hugh,â she said. âDear sweet Hugh canât help himself. But this is between you and me, Liz. Let the boys have their fun.â
I looked at the door, in agony. I could hear the sounds of a high wind blowing, things breaking and smashing, Neilâs voice yelling, Mum and Dad and Owen rushing out of their rooms and running for the stairs. I wanted to be with them.
âStay a moment,â she said, and gestured at the bed. I slowly sat down on the edge of the mattress, ready to run for the door, knowing I wouldnât dare. She moved, her dress whispering, her skin glowing, and she was beside me, her hand on mine.
âPoor Liz,â she said. âThey donât know who you are, do they? The little girl? The mad one, the awkward one, always making trouble, an embarrassment and a shame. They only let you do what you want because itâs too much trouble to make you stop.â
I tried to pull my hand away. I couldnât move. The cacophony below was getting louder, more frantic and violent. If anyone got hurt â¦
I made to stand up. Her hand gripped my wrist. She rose and brought me with her. Somehow my bare feet passed over the glass on the floor without touching any. Her smile was still gentle, understanding. We swept toward the bedroom window. It gaped like a mouth full of broken teeth. She stooped and swept through and dragged me along behind.
We fell, we flew, sweeping down to land on the lawn in front of the house. Her hand was still around my wrist. My legs shook and my breath came in gasps. Inside the house the sound of the high wind and things breaking and people yelling came through the broken windows. Everything was dark and swirling and confused.
âYou could do that,â she said. âYou could do this, and you could do that. But not with them. With me. I would like a hostage, Liz. I would like an apprentice. I would like a daughter.â
The sky was bright. I could see the Weatherbox over the wall at the end of the front lawn. TELEFÃN . It was light enough to read and getting lighter by the minute.
Numbly, my ears ringing, a cold sweat making my body shiver, I shook my head. No, no, no, no, please, no.
But part of me, the part that was jealous because I could never become Weatherman, the part that looked at Mrs. Fitzgerald and saw someone strong and powerful and independent, the part that knew that even though we thought she was terrible, she must surely be the hero of her own story, that part, deep down, said yes.
Â
CHAPTER 9
NEIL
The shock of the noise drove me sideways, sliding along the table and tumbling to the floor. I hunched up, bracing myself, as wind rushed in through the windows. Doors blew open and slammed against walls. Things were falling and breaking all around me. The table tilted over onto its side. Ed Wharton tugged and pulled at it until it was facing the wind, and we hid behind it while crockery and cutlery and pots and pans and the blender and the tea towels and the potted plants flew around the room.
Roaring and whistling through every gap and over every surface, the wind, like a riot of invisible serpents, flattened and squeezed and smashed everything it met. Ed and I leaned our weights on the legs of the table, trying to keep it into the wind. It kept trying to tip over and fly away and take us with it.
At least the pain in my ears had gone. I couldnât have stood much more of that.
The fridge was blown across the floor, rocking along until it reached the limit of its electric cable. It was right in front of our table when it began to lean forward, hanging over us, until the weight of it dragged the plug from the wall. We went scrambling away across the floor just as the great ton of metal came crashing down on the table, crushing it to splinters. We went tumbling through the doorway and down the corridor,
Similar Books
