The Bag of Bones Read Free Page A

throw you out too?”
    “Help.” It wasn’t clear who or what Gubble was referring to, but Gracie could see he was giving her his broad, toothless grin. “Help.” And then, “Help Gracie.”
    “Oh, Gubble,” Gracie said, patting the top of his bald head, “thank you! Thank you so much! Does — does that mean you’re coming with me?” She didn’t say how very much she hoped he was. The path to Gorebreath was long, crossing through the Less Enchanted Forest and over several hills that eventually led to the Rather Ordinary Woods and the Five Kingdoms, and although the moon was high in the sky, the shadows were extremely dark. A substantial troll would be a comforting companion. And if they did meet with some Deep Magic, at least there would be two of them.
    Gubble grunted. “Gubble come too.” And he stomped off ahead of Gracie up the winding track.

“WOW!” the small bat’s mouth hung wide open in amazement as he stared at the swirling purple mist. “WOW! Look at
that
!”
    “Alf! Close your mouth this minute!” Marlon snapped. “This is serious! That stuff’s Evil, that is. Gotta take some action, kiddo.”
    Alf looked at his uncle in admiration. “What’ll we do?”
    “We?”
Marlon frowned. “This ain’t no game. This is the big time, kid. You buzz off home. Me, I’m going to have a peek from the other side.” And with a flip of his wings, he was gone, leaving his nephew staring indignantly after him.
    From beneath the tree a small voice said, “Crones. What is crones, please?”
    Alf peered down in surprise. “Excuse me, miss — were you talking to me?”
    Loobly blinked. “Was talking. Yes. What is crones?”
    “They’re old, old women,” Alf explained. “Live a long way away. They’re . . . they’re kind of magic.
Good
magic.” He flew down, landed close to Loobly’s head, and whispered proudly, “I take messages for them!”
    Loobly had no way of knowing this wasn’t strictly true, and she looked impressed. Alf had once taken a message, but only under the critical eyes of his uncle; Marlon would have been shocked to hear his boast. Loobly, however, took him at his word. “No take messages,” she said firmly. “Take Loobly! Take Loobly NOW!”
    “What?” Alf was suddenly alarmed. It was beginning to occur to him that there was something odd about this girl. She didn’t sound or look at all like Gracie Gillypot, who was the only girl he had ever spent much time with. On the other hand, despite smelling faintly of cheese, she didn’t seem particularly evil.
    Loobly glanced in the direction of the purple mist. It was slowly dissolving, and shadowy figures were gradually emerging. With a muffled squeak of terror, she slid in between the trees; Truda Hangnail stood revealed, her eyes gleaming and her long green tongue flickering as she tasted the night air.
    “There’s something strange hereabouts,” Truda muttered, turning back into the mist.
    A moment later she had dragged Evangeline Droop to her side . . . but it was a very different Evangeline from the tall, imposing figure who had made her authoritative way to the weekly Cauldron Fest on Wadingburn Hill. This Evangeline was old, twisted, and bent; her face was covered in large, purple, whiskery warts, and her eyes were blank and expressionless.
    “Tell me!” Truda hissed, and she shook Evangeline until her teeth rattled in her head. “I heard you — I heard you calling to someone. Are they in the bushes?”
    Evangeline waved a hand. Her mind was still filled with misty confusion and anger at the butcher’s boy. “Boils on his nose . . .” she chanted. “Boils on his toes . . .”
    Truda shook her again. “TELL ME! Who were you calling?”
    “Boils . . .” Evangeline repeated, but she frowned as a different memory floated up from somewhere behind the butcher’s boy. “Rats . . . pickled rats . . . where’s the pickled rat . . . ?”
    With an exasperated snort, Truda dropped