Lost Places Read Free Page B

on his enormous bed and gazed at the ceiling, tapping the tips of his fingers together, thinking. No point in telling Sir Timothy about this, he decided. He’s so Molly obsessed, he’d never believe that getting rid of her is the only way toensure his existence in this form .
    He lifted a glass of sherry from the night table. “And this ragged, desperate, corrupted form is the Timothy Hunter I like best.”
    The door opened again, and Timothy Hunter slumped in. “I—I can’t go out there,” he rasped. “It doesn’t feel right. It’s too…unstable.” He sank to the floor, huddling in the corner.
    Barbatos smiled. “You stay right here, master,” the demon soothed. “And let Barbatos take care of everything.”

Chapter One
    Present Day London
    T HIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD TIM Hunter sat on the stoop of the Swan Dance School, enjoying the early spring day. Winter was definitely over, and although his neighborhood tended to stay gray in even the best weather, well, he just didn’t care. He was in too good a mood.
    â€œCareful there, Hunter,” Tim scolded himself. “You nearly started whistling. No one would recognize you in this unusually cheerful state.”
    He stretched out his legs and leaned his elbows on the step behind him. He had good reason to be a mite cheerier these days. No matter that his whole life had been turned upside down ever since those wacky blokes he called the Trenchcoat Brigade had popped into his life and let him in on one big whopping secret: He had thepotential to become a powerful magician. Big deal .
    That was nothing compared to finding out that the man he grew up with wasn’t really his father and that his real dad, now dead, lived in another world and could turn himself into a falcon at will. So what?
    And just because he’d faced Death—actually met her in person—and been chased, attacked, and nearly killed more times than any other thirteen-year-old boy that he knew, well, just another day in the life. Tim still felt as if he could start whistling or bursting into song like they did in the movies his father—er, Mr. Hunter, that is—enjoyed on the telly.
    And all because of Molly. Molly O’Reilly. “My girlfriend,” Tim declared, testing out the words. It was new, this boyfriend-girlfriend thing, and he was still getting used to it. So far, he liked it—liked it a lot. Most important, he now had someone he could share all of his bizarre experiences with, someone he could trust. Someone…
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, Tim, you are taking up a lot of space,” a familiar voice behind him observed. “How are we supposed to get down the stairs?”
    Tim tipped back his head and gazed at Molly. She stood above him, hands on her hips, thick dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, browneyes sparkling. Beside her stood their friend Marya, a girl Tim had met when he had saved her world, Free Country, and encountered again after she had decided to stay permanently in London.
    Marya grinned. “Maybe we should try to jeté over him.”
    Molly hooted. “Be my guest,” she told Marya. “You’re a lot better than I am at jetés . I don’t think I’d clear him.”
    Tim scrambled over to the side of the stairs. “Take all the space you need. I don’t want to get caught in the face by your feet. I’ve heard all about toe shoes.”
    The girls laughed. “You’re right to be scared,” Molly said, dropping down beside Tim on the step. “Those toe shoes are really hard! I don’t know how you can wear them,” she said to Marya.
    Marya leaned against the railing, her long red hair blowing slightly in the breeze. “You get used to them, I guess,” she said. “And they make pirouettes so beautiful!” She bounded down to the sidewalk and did a few turns in her sneakers. She made a face at her feet.