Novel - The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer Page A

together.”
    Mona pointed her lightning rod at her pint-sized companion. “Stop annoying me, Ditto. Do you think I wouldn’t gumball you? Is that what you think? Because if it is, you’d be mistaken.”
    Ditto raised his palms. “Threats of violence? I didn’t realize how serious this had become. So quick too: who would have guessed it?” He paused, smiling genuinely. “Seriously, though. He’s okay, that Cosmo kid. I’m glad you found a friend.”
    Mona tutted. “You make him sound like a puppy.”
    “I’m trying to be serious. You’re young, Mona. A teenager. You need somebody to talk to. I may not look it, but I’m too old. And Stefan—well, most of the time he’s not in the mood for talking.”
    Ditto’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Text from above,” he said, reading the screen. “ ‘What are you two playing at? Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open.’” The Bartoli baby waved in Stefan’s general direction. “You’d better keep your mind on the job, Mona, or I may have to pull rank.”
    Mona grinned. “You know something. If you weren’t three feet high . . .”
    “Three feet two,” said Ditto, pouting.
    On the factory floor beneath them, things were heating up. The minor races had been run, and now the prized cars were being ramped onto the assembly line. The Bulldogs were gathered around a six-wheel charger, hooting and loosing Shocker charges into the air. The charger had wide-profile tires, plasma decals, and twin double exhaust pipes vibrating at its tail. Like the Bulldogs themselves, the car was loud and rippling with muscle. The Bulldogs were obsessed with appearance. The victors in tonight’s drag would probably use their winnings to have some saline muscle sacs inserted under their skin.
    The Myishi racer appeared tame in comparison. Its bodywork was retrospectively curved, a single exhaust pipe poked from beneath the rear bumper, and there were only four wheels. Ridiculous. The Bulldogs were not impressed. They howled at the roof, their trademark method of expressing derision.
    Mona rolled her eyes. “Bulldogs. Nature’s leftovers.”
    Mona was not as calm as she sounded. Whatever was going to happen would happen soon. Death was gathering in the very oxygen. The Parasites could feel it too, and they clustered ever lower on the factory walls.
    Ditto’s phone vibrated again. “Another text,” he groaned. “What does Stefan think? I’m his secretary?”
    He pulled the phone from his pocket, reading the message. “You’d better read this,” he said in strangled tones.
    Mona reached for the phone, keeping one eye on the scene below. The letters stood out black against a green screen.
    Pigs have flown , said the text. The Bulldogs posted a sentry. He’s behind you .
    Mona heard a power cell charging beside her ear.
    Cosmo jumped to his feet. “We have to help them.”
    Stefan grabbed him by the lapels, dragging him back down. “Get down, Cosmo, you’re making a nice target of yourself.”
    “But they’ll be killed!” protested Cosmo.
    Stefan rolled over, clamping a hand on Cosmo’s mouth. “Listen to me carefully, Cosmo. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing it for the past three years. You have spent your entire life in an orphanage. All you know about combat missions could be written on Ditto’s underpants. Get the idea?”
    Cosmo nodded.
    “Good. We watch and see how this develops. Mona and Ditto may have some ideas of their own.”
    He removed his hand. Cosmo drew a shaky breath. “What if they shoot them?”
    Stefan turned his gaze to the scene below. He was blinking rapidly and his hands were clamped around the walkway bars. He was not as in control as he pretended. “If they shoot them, then they pay.”
    Maybe , thought Cosmo. But not as much as we do .
    The Bulldog sentry was naked except for black shorts, and his skin was dark. Unnaturally so. Ditto realized after several seconds’ scrutiny that the man’s skin had been almost completely