totally incomprehensible!”
Arshad shook his head.
“Maybe so,” he mumbled. “But I make a lot of sense.”
Edibe held out a tray of pastries to Arshad.
“Something
else
that makes sense,” Arshad continued, “is the delicious, portentous taste of
Doomsdanish ® .
”
He unwrapped the mushroom cloud–shaped pastry, and took a big bite.
“Mmm … a taste to die for!” Arshad said with a wink. Just then, Galiah reentered the room, strutting to the tray, and scooped up several Doomsdanishes.
“Be sure to collect them all!” she said with a mischievous smile. “Like me and all of my totally cool friends do!”
Galiah ripped off the cellophane, lifted her veil, and sunk her teeth into the flaming skull-shaped pastry.
“Oh, and Father,” she added with a smirk, “bite me!”
The family laughed good-naturedly as the stage lights dimmed.
“And …
cut
!” Mr. Welles shouted as the stagehands shuffled props around to prepare for the next shot. Milton sidled close to him as he handed the rotund director the next script.
“Doomsdanish?”
Milton commented. “That’s kind of creepy.”
Mr. Welles nodded while he flipped through the pages of the script.
“Yes, I have to concur, Miss Fauster,” he replied. “But show business is indeed a
business
—and these disturbing products from Fibble are paying for my comeback.”
“Fibble?” Milton croaked. “But that’s where they send kids who lie.”
Like my sister disguised as
me, he thought.
“It’s ingenious, really,” Mr. Welles said, distracted, ashe framed the set with his hands. “Who better to devise ways of marketing to kids than kids themselves? I probably would have thought of that myself, had I thought of it.”
Just then, a stooped demon pushed a cart of mail next to Milton.
“Delivery for Mr. Welles,” the ancient creature wheezed, holding out a bulging manila envelope with no return address.
The writing, Milton noticed as he studied the envelope, was precise yet florid and very distinctive.
The Man Who Soldeth the World! Milton thought.
It must be the next episode
!
“I’ll take that,” Milton chirped as he snatched the envelope quickly from the demon’s leathery hands and signed for it. “Mr. Welles is really busy.”
The wrinkled demon shrugged its bony shoulders and pushed its overflowing mail cart away. Mr. Welles chewed on his cigar like a tobacco-filled pacifier, deep in thought as he perused his script.
“So, Mr. Welles, you—um—mentioned that there was a place where I could watch dailies of the latest shows and review submissions—”
“The Vidiot Box,” he grunted, gesturing to the back of the bowl-shaped band shell behind the rotating stage.
Milton nodded and clutched the envelope tightly underneath his sister’s alabaster arm.
I know that television is bad for you
, he thought as hestomped toward a large wooden crate sprouting dozens of cables,
but I have a feeling it’s going to get a lot worse unless I do something. What that something
is,
I’m not quite sure … but I have a feeling this freaky show will show me the freaky way
.…
12 • REIGNING CATS AND DOGS
ANNUBIS PADDED ONWARD in the dark. The tall, slender jackal-of-all-trades who had extracted and appraised the souls of the darned for time immemorial (before impulsively eating his gelatinous associate Ammit) had no idea how long he had been walking. His extended tour of duty in Limbo’s Assessment Chamber had permanently hampered his concept of time.
Despite this setback, Annubis was certain he was traveling in the right direction. His love for his family—his lovely Weimaraner wife Anput and young daughter Kebauet—was like a compass inside him, leading the deposed dog god straight to the Kennels: the howling, mewling basement of the Furafter, where the cries of the caged echoed, unheeded, off cold concrete.
As Annubis staggered forward, the ground beneath his hind paws began to crinkle.
Newspaper
, he thought.
I must be
Arshad shook his head.
“Maybe so,” he mumbled. “But I make a lot of sense.”
Edibe held out a tray of pastries to Arshad.
“Something
else
that makes sense,” Arshad continued, “is the delicious, portentous taste of
Doomsdanish ® .
”
He unwrapped the mushroom cloud–shaped pastry, and took a big bite.
“Mmm … a taste to die for!” Arshad said with a wink. Just then, Galiah reentered the room, strutting to the tray, and scooped up several Doomsdanishes.
“Be sure to collect them all!” she said with a mischievous smile. “Like me and all of my totally cool friends do!”
Galiah ripped off the cellophane, lifted her veil, and sunk her teeth into the flaming skull-shaped pastry.
“Oh, and Father,” she added with a smirk, “bite me!”
The family laughed good-naturedly as the stage lights dimmed.
“And …
cut
!” Mr. Welles shouted as the stagehands shuffled props around to prepare for the next shot. Milton sidled close to him as he handed the rotund director the next script.
“Doomsdanish?”
Milton commented. “That’s kind of creepy.”
Mr. Welles nodded while he flipped through the pages of the script.
“Yes, I have to concur, Miss Fauster,” he replied. “But show business is indeed a
business
—and these disturbing products from Fibble are paying for my comeback.”
“Fibble?” Milton croaked. “But that’s where they send kids who lie.”
Like my sister disguised as
me, he thought.
“It’s ingenious, really,” Mr. Welles said, distracted, ashe framed the set with his hands. “Who better to devise ways of marketing to kids than kids themselves? I probably would have thought of that myself, had I thought of it.”
Just then, a stooped demon pushed a cart of mail next to Milton.
“Delivery for Mr. Welles,” the ancient creature wheezed, holding out a bulging manila envelope with no return address.
The writing, Milton noticed as he studied the envelope, was precise yet florid and very distinctive.
The Man Who Soldeth the World! Milton thought.
It must be the next episode
!
“I’ll take that,” Milton chirped as he snatched the envelope quickly from the demon’s leathery hands and signed for it. “Mr. Welles is really busy.”
The wrinkled demon shrugged its bony shoulders and pushed its overflowing mail cart away. Mr. Welles chewed on his cigar like a tobacco-filled pacifier, deep in thought as he perused his script.
“So, Mr. Welles, you—um—mentioned that there was a place where I could watch dailies of the latest shows and review submissions—”
“The Vidiot Box,” he grunted, gesturing to the back of the bowl-shaped band shell behind the rotating stage.
Milton nodded and clutched the envelope tightly underneath his sister’s alabaster arm.
I know that television is bad for you
, he thought as hestomped toward a large wooden crate sprouting dozens of cables,
but I have a feeling it’s going to get a lot worse unless I do something. What that something
is,
I’m not quite sure … but I have a feeling this freaky show will show me the freaky way
.…
12 • REIGNING CATS AND DOGS
ANNUBIS PADDED ONWARD in the dark. The tall, slender jackal-of-all-trades who had extracted and appraised the souls of the darned for time immemorial (before impulsively eating his gelatinous associate Ammit) had no idea how long he had been walking. His extended tour of duty in Limbo’s Assessment Chamber had permanently hampered his concept of time.
Despite this setback, Annubis was certain he was traveling in the right direction. His love for his family—his lovely Weimaraner wife Anput and young daughter Kebauet—was like a compass inside him, leading the deposed dog god straight to the Kennels: the howling, mewling basement of the Furafter, where the cries of the caged echoed, unheeded, off cold concrete.
As Annubis staggered forward, the ground beneath his hind paws began to crinkle.
Newspaper
, he thought.
I must be
Similar Books
