Gallows at Twilight Read Free

the dark creatures and explaining some of the mysteries of her world. Already it was difficult to think of life without Pandora.
    Jake was halfway across the glade when he stopped dead. This instinct for seeing the colour of a soul had come so suddenly and naturally to him that he hadn’t questioned it. Now he wondered if it might be something like the feel for evil that he had inherited from the Witchfinder. It was a comforting thought—maybe he was tapping into those old powers again. As soon as this idea occurred to him, however, the magical instinct seemed to fade. Pandora came forward, and the lantern-glow around her grew dimmer until, finally, it was extinguished.
    Old doubts began to whisper in Jake’s ear. Ever since he had destroyed the Door into the demon realm he had felt the powerful magic of the Witchfinder slipping away from him. He had tried his best to hold on to it, summoning memories of those times when he had sensed the magic at its strongest. Times when he had been angry or despairing, like on the night his mother had been murdered by the witch, Tobias Quilp. Sometimes these memories sparked his powers, more often they failed. His father had reminded Jake that, as a clone of Josiah Hobarron, magic was part of Jake’s genes, his DNA. All he had to do was find a way back to that forgotten place inside himself.
    Jake tried to push his doubts aside. Tonight was their first real chance to rescue Simon Lydgate. His best friend was counting on him, and so Jake could only pray that the magic would be there when he needed it.
    Two of Pandora’s arms wound around Jake’s waist. A pair of hands gripped his shoulders and another cupped his chin and lifted his face.
    ‘Really wish you wouldn’t hug me like that, Pandora,’ Jake complained. ‘It feels like I’m being frisked by a dozen cops.’
    ‘I hope that ain’t prejudice I hear coming from your lips, Master Harker,’ Pandora said in her warm, Louisiana drawl. ‘Octo-phobia is not cool.’
    Yet another hand slapped Jake lightly across the cheek.
    ‘And lookee here, Miss Rachel Saxby, always a pleasure. Please tell me you’ve been practising with that bow, Rachel honey, we’re gonna need all the help we can get tonight.’
    Rachel came forward and kissed Pandora.
    ‘Religiously,’ she nodded.
    ‘Loving the confidence, girl. Show me.’
    In one fluid motion, Rachel swept the bow from her back and reached for an arrow from the quiver. The bow was loaded, the string drawn taut, and the arrow fired with lightning speed and deadly accuracy. It thunked into the skinny trunk of a sapling several hundred metres into the forest.
    ‘Woo-eee,’ Pandora breathed.
    As Jake watched Rachel trot into the forest and retrieve the arrow, his thoughts returned to that first night back at home after the Door had been destroyed. Despite being exhausted, his father had immediately started to research the Demon Father—that dark, infernal presence that had taken possession of Marcus Crowden. Likewise, Jake had begun practising his magic, trying to hold onto his already fading powers. For her part, Rachel was determined not to be left out. She had no magical ability, but Adam told her that, when the time came, there might well be creatures fighting for the Demon Father that could not defend themselves with magic. He had taken her to his study and, after half an hour of rummaging through his collection of mystic odds and ends, he had found the bow of Nuada.
    ‘Nuada was the one-armed king of the Tuatha Dé Danann,’ Adam said, handing Rachel the beautifully-engraved silver bow. ‘They were a warrior race that, in the mists of Irish legend, might once have been gods. The sword of Nuada was called Claiomh Solais—the Sword of Light. Once drawn, no enemy could escape its sting.’
    Taking the bow, Rachel had run her fingers over its curved sapwood limbs.
    ‘After the Claiomh Solais was destroyed in battle, splinters of the blade were embedded in the heartswood of a