Gregor and the Curse of the Warmbloods-3 Read Free Page B

him. He went up one flight and sat on the landing.
    No one would disturb him here, not with the elevator working.

    He slid the scroll out of his shirtsleeve and unrolled it with shaking hands. It read: Dear Gre gor,

    It is most urgent that we meet. I will be at the Stair where Ares leaves you when the Overland clock strikes four. We are at your mercy. "The Prophecy of Blood" is upon us.

    Please do not fail your friends,

    Vi kus

    Gregor read the note three times before it began to register. It was not what he had expected. It was not about Luxa and his other missing friends. It did not tell him about Ares.
    Instead, it was a flat-out cry for help.

    "The Prophecy of Blood" is upon us.

    "It's here," Gregor thought. His heart began to pound as a sense of dread coursed through him. "The Prophecy of Blood."

    He didn't really need a mirror to read it anymore, although looking at the lines sometimes helped him figure out parts. By now he knew the thing by heart. There was something in the rhythm of the words that made it get in your head and stick there, like one of those annoying songs on TV commercials. It played in his brain now, adjusting to the beat of his boots as he slowly climbed the stairs.

    Warmblood now a bloodborne death

    Will rob your body of its breath,

    Mark your skin, and seal your fate.

    The Underland becomes a plate.

    Turn and turn and turn again.

    Y OU see the what but not the when.

    Remedy and wrong entwine,

    And so they form a single vine.

    Bring the warrior from above

    If yet his heart is swayed by love.

    Bring the princess or despair,

    No crawlers care without her there.

    Turn and turn and turn again.

    You see the what but not the when.

    Remedy and wrong entwine,

    And so they form a single vine.

    Those whose blood runs red and hot

    Must join to seek the healing spot.

    In the cradle find the cure

    For that which makes the blood impure.

    Turn and turn and turn again.

    You see the what but not the when.

    Remedy and wrong entwine,

    And so they form a single vine.

    Gnawer, human, set aside

    The hatreds that reside inside.

    If the flames of war are fanned,

    All warmbloods lose the Underland.

    Turn and turn and turn again.

    You see the what but not the when.

    Remedy and wrong entwine,

    And so they form a single vine.

    Gregor had survived two other prophecies by the man who had written this one.
    Bartholomew of Sandwich. It was Sandwich who had led the Underlanders far beneath what was now New York City and founded the human city of Regalia. When he died he had left behind a stone room whose walls were entirely carved with prophecies, his visions of the future. And not just the humans but all the creatures in the Underland believed Sandwich had been able to see what was to come.

    Gregor went back and forth on how he felt about Sandwich's predictions. Sometimes he hated them. Sometimes he was grateful for their guidance, although the prophecies were so cryptic they seemed to mean a lot of things at once. But within the loaded lines you could usually get the general idea of what awaited you. Like in this one...

    Warmblood now a bloodborne death

    Will rob your body of its breath,

    Mark your skin, and seal your fate.

    The Underland becomes a plate.

    Gregor had figured out it was about some kind of disease, a deadly one, and a lot of people were going to get it. Not just people, but anything that was warmblooded. Any mammal.
    Down in the Underland, that could include the bats and rats...he really didn't know how many other creatures could be affected. And what was that scary line about a "plate" supposed to mean? That everybody got eaten up?

    Bring the warrior from above

    If yet his heart is swayed by love.

    Bring the princess or despair,

    Nocrawlers care without her there.

    The warrior was Gregor, no use trying to kid himself about that. He didn't want to be the warrior. He hated fighting, hated that he was so good at it. But after having successfully fulfilled two