the tunnel now, and quickly?
At least she had to get to the workroom and find out if the portal was open.
Snacking would have to wait. Marley fished out a manageably sized chew for Winnie before slamming the cupboard door. Winnie’s favorite big plastic bone would be a liability when Marley was trying to move quietly. She pushed her feet into flip-flops, grabbed up her robe and pulled it on while she hurried from the flat, scooping up her keys as she went. Winnie gamboled along behind, her snorting made louder by the rawhide between her teeth.
Marley wasn’t sure of the time, but the sky had lightened past early dawn and she could see minuscule droplets of moisture whirling in the beam from an outside wall lamp. This would be another hot and humid day. The beat of music from a radio, or a band in a loft somewhere, pulsed under her skin.
Sykes would dance down the steps, but he was moresure-footed than Marley. More than once she had slipped on the painted metal treads when they were damp. She was satisfied with letting the music take an edge off the fear that propelled her.
When she reached the courtyard, she raised her chin to see what lights showed in the upper-floor flats. Nothing above the shop, where Uncle Pascal lived, and nothing in Willow’s place, or in Sykes’s, to the right of her own. Not that Sykes was known for using lights much.
None of the lights in Sykes’s most often empty flat had been visible after Gray left and Marley ran to get home. For all she knew, Sykes had gone elsewhere after he had made himself completely invisible to her.
She hurried on, acknowledging the silent angels as she went. They held a mystery she still hoped would become clear to her. Since she’d been a small child, this courtyard had been her favorite place.
Inside the shop, Marley quickly turned off the alarm system.
All of the Millets’ senses were highly developed, but even in the world of paranormal powers, conventional science had its uses.
Utilizing the ambient glow from highly polished surfaces, she dodged quickly between stock displays on the floor and, clinging to the banister, dashed up the flights of stairs to her workshop.
She unlocked the door, let herself and Winnie inside, and bolted them in.
Stacked high all around, her projects obscured any immediate view of the workbench, but looking in that direction, she could see flickering, like green flame, reflected on the ceiling in that direction.
As always, what she did next was her choice. But she wouldn’t discount Belle’s plea yet, just in case.
Winnie cried behind her.
“Quiet,” Marley hissed. “Not another sound or UnclePascal could wake up.” Wake up, come to find her and make it very difficult to continue what she’d started.
She went to stand in front of the bench and stared at the chinoiserie house. Whatever happened, she would not disclose that it had sinister connections.
No wavering tunnel extended from the roof or one of its walls. No urgent whispers begged her to enter. But the leaping glow, a fiery dance of green tongues, turned the ceiling above into a wild reflection. The lightest touch of her left hand on the peeling roof caught at her skin like warm gum.
With each step backward, a funnel, blue, turquoise, whirled to life, pulled bigger and bigger as if it were moldable liquid spun from the very tips of Marley’s fingers.
A bump against her legs caused Marley to glance down. Winnie looked back, her chew still gripped in her teeth. Marley scooped the dog up with her free arm and sat in the old leather chair with her.
Finally the Ushers came, but not to whisper. They babbled, squabbled, their sounds rising and falling, angry and frightened by turns.
They were arguing.
Marley closed her eyes to concentrate and her limbs became heavy. She couldn’t raise her eyelids again.
“We know we should help her to go, but we don’t want to this time. It’s too dangerous.”
She understood what the Ushers were talking about. For
At least she had to get to the workroom and find out if the portal was open.
Snacking would have to wait. Marley fished out a manageably sized chew for Winnie before slamming the cupboard door. Winnie’s favorite big plastic bone would be a liability when Marley was trying to move quietly. She pushed her feet into flip-flops, grabbed up her robe and pulled it on while she hurried from the flat, scooping up her keys as she went. Winnie gamboled along behind, her snorting made louder by the rawhide between her teeth.
Marley wasn’t sure of the time, but the sky had lightened past early dawn and she could see minuscule droplets of moisture whirling in the beam from an outside wall lamp. This would be another hot and humid day. The beat of music from a radio, or a band in a loft somewhere, pulsed under her skin.
Sykes would dance down the steps, but he was moresure-footed than Marley. More than once she had slipped on the painted metal treads when they were damp. She was satisfied with letting the music take an edge off the fear that propelled her.
When she reached the courtyard, she raised her chin to see what lights showed in the upper-floor flats. Nothing above the shop, where Uncle Pascal lived, and nothing in Willow’s place, or in Sykes’s, to the right of her own. Not that Sykes was known for using lights much.
None of the lights in Sykes’s most often empty flat had been visible after Gray left and Marley ran to get home. For all she knew, Sykes had gone elsewhere after he had made himself completely invisible to her.
She hurried on, acknowledging the silent angels as she went. They held a mystery she still hoped would become clear to her. Since she’d been a small child, this courtyard had been her favorite place.
Inside the shop, Marley quickly turned off the alarm system.
All of the Millets’ senses were highly developed, but even in the world of paranormal powers, conventional science had its uses.
Utilizing the ambient glow from highly polished surfaces, she dodged quickly between stock displays on the floor and, clinging to the banister, dashed up the flights of stairs to her workshop.
She unlocked the door, let herself and Winnie inside, and bolted them in.
Stacked high all around, her projects obscured any immediate view of the workbench, but looking in that direction, she could see flickering, like green flame, reflected on the ceiling in that direction.
As always, what she did next was her choice. But she wouldn’t discount Belle’s plea yet, just in case.
Winnie cried behind her.
“Quiet,” Marley hissed. “Not another sound or UnclePascal could wake up.” Wake up, come to find her and make it very difficult to continue what she’d started.
She went to stand in front of the bench and stared at the chinoiserie house. Whatever happened, she would not disclose that it had sinister connections.
No wavering tunnel extended from the roof or one of its walls. No urgent whispers begged her to enter. But the leaping glow, a fiery dance of green tongues, turned the ceiling above into a wild reflection. The lightest touch of her left hand on the peeling roof caught at her skin like warm gum.
With each step backward, a funnel, blue, turquoise, whirled to life, pulled bigger and bigger as if it were moldable liquid spun from the very tips of Marley’s fingers.
A bump against her legs caused Marley to glance down. Winnie looked back, her chew still gripped in her teeth. Marley scooped the dog up with her free arm and sat in the old leather chair with her.
Finally the Ushers came, but not to whisper. They babbled, squabbled, their sounds rising and falling, angry and frightened by turns.
They were arguing.
Marley closed her eyes to concentrate and her limbs became heavy. She couldn’t raise her eyelids again.
“We know we should help her to go, but we don’t want to this time. It’s too dangerous.”
She understood what the Ushers were talking about. For
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