Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper Read Free Page B

needed it.
    With the dream or vision or prophecy or whatever-it-was still fresh in his mind’s eye, Arthur knew he’d have to let his friends in Dublin know what he’d seen. He always dreamed of Asgard when Loki was up to something.
    He had barely been in contact with anyone from Dublin since he and Joe had moved last Sunday. Part of him had expected Ash, his best friend, to email or text. But the other part of him realised that she was still hurt by his leaving. On Wednesday evening, he’d had a text from Ellie Lavender, one of their other friends, suggesting that they should all have a video chat at lunchtime on Saturday. Well it was only after eight o’clock now, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He picked up his mobile phone from the bedside locker – about to call Ellie to have her bring forward the video chat – when it rang.
    A JPEG of Ash filled the screen along with the text ‘Incoming Call’. He held the phone at arm’s length, unsure how to proceed. Then, on the fourth ring, he pressed the ‘Answer’ key and put the phone to his ear.
    â€˜Hi,’ he said.
    â€˜Hey,’ Ash’s voice came through the tinny speaker. ‘We all need to talk.’
    â€˜I know. Ellie arranged a video chat for twelve-ish. Didn’t she mention it?’
    â€˜She did but I mean we all need to talk now.’
    â€˜Why? What’s happened?’ Had Loki done something to her? Or Max or Ellie or any of them?
    â€˜We had a dream. We had the dream.’
    â€˜What? Who?’
    â€˜All of us.’
    â€˜Huh? Max and the Lavenders too?’
    â€˜No, Arthur. You don’t get it. All of us. My parents, the Lavenders’ granddad, everyone.’

    Loki bit his fingertip with a sharp canine, breaking the skin. A pearl of blood formed on the tip: a perfect, glistening orb. He pressed his finger to the calendar and drew an X across the day’s date. As he dragged his fingertip across the paper, the wound stung. When he was finished, for a couple of seconds the fingertip was encased in a bright green light, and when the light faded it was healed. He looked down at the calendar. Just over a week to go until the next full moon. The full moon – fundamental to the source of Fenrir’s power – would help him find the wolf.
    â€˜Good morning, Wolf-father,’ said a voice at the door behind him. The girl was wearing her black hair loose for a change and it hung sleekly down by her shoulders. When Loki had brought her here she’d been wearing an antique frilly dress from the early twentieth century, made grubby and stinking after the explosion. Now she was wearing a pair of denim jeans and a black fleece hoodie that he’d found for her amongst the teenage boy’s spare clothes. Her name was Drysi and she was the first person that Fenrir had turned into a wolf, a thousand years ago. This, technically, made her Fenrir’s daughter and Loki’s granddaughter. She certainly had more sense than Fenrir, Loki thought, and had remained by his side since his return, unlike her turncoat father.
    She rolled into the kitchen in the wheelchair they’d been lucky to find in the attic. Neil had left it there for when his frail mother-in-law came to stay for a couple of weeks every summer. Unlike the bamboo contraption Drysi had been used to, this was simpler to manoeuvre and she was able to move around the house with ease. She’d lost the use of her legs a hundred years ago, during the 1916 Rising, when a roof had collapsed on her. But she believed to this day that Loki, when the world was finally his, would restore her ability to walk.
    â€˜Good morning, Drysi,’ Loki said. ‘Did you sleep well?’
    Drysi went to the fridge, where she raided the bag of food the Conifrey family had arrived with the night before.
    â€˜I slept well,’ she told him, before adding spitefully, ‘but I suspect our guests