The Bonehill Curse by Jon Mayhew Page B

sprang from the skin. Cullwirthy’s jacket sleeve shrivelled into his arm as it became stick thin, black and shining. More bristles sprouted. With a crack, his left leg gave beneath him. Cullwirthy howled in agony as his body cracked and twisted, forcing him to the floor.
    ‘No, please,’ Cullwirthy shrieked. ‘I have something. I do!’
    Ness gave a scream as a new leg burst from Cullwirthy’s other side.
    ‘Look at you now,’ the djinn spat. ‘Out of all of them I despised you almost as much as Bonehill. A hypocrite, sermonising every Sunday while enjoying the spoils of your evil ways and lusting after Widow Quilfy. What could a worthless insect like you possibly offer me?’
    Ness felt sick. Cullwirthy’s head now poked out of the fat, bloated body of a beetle. Fronds and bristles waved from the shining black thorax.
    Cullwirthy’s voice had taken on a croaking tone. ‘A Lashkar boy . . . with a silver sword.’
    ‘WHAT?’ The djinn reared up, seeming to grow in stature.
    Ness threw herself behind an armchair as Azuli burst back into the room, howling and swinging the sword – or was it the scimitar that howled?
    For a moment, Ness saw real terror on the djinn’s face. He launched himself backward as the sword cut through the smoky air.
    ‘I know you, djinn, and your name is Zaakiel.’ Azuli’s voice sounded strong and full of authority. ‘Allah can see you and you shall perish.’
    Another swing narrowly missed the djinn, sending him tumbling over tables and chairs. Hurling a plant pot at Azuli, the djinn pointed at Cullwirthy, who writhed and quivered on the floor. With an ever-diminishing scream, the Reverend began to shrink. Ness screwed her eyes shut as the djinn slammed his foot down hard on the place where Cullwirthy had been and the screaming stopped.
    ‘So the Lashkars of Sulayman still march?’ the djinn snarled. His laughter had gone now.
    ‘You are the last djinn. This is the last sword,’ Azuli said, carving an arc just inches from the djinn’s head.
    ‘The last sword, eh? But you’re a mere boy,’ the djinn scoffed. ‘Are the Lashkars so desperate? Will they send old women to stop me next?’
    ‘Azuli, don’t listen!’ Ness cried. She could see the danger. Zaakiel was goading him. Anger and precise swordsmanship never mixed; Ness had learned that very early in her training.
    ‘The Lashkars will vanquish you, Zaakiel!’ Azuli yelled, his face reddening.
    He swung the sword sideways and Zaakiel raised his wrist to meet the blow. Azuli gave a cry of victory as the djinn’s hand went spinning off across the room, spattering green blood over carpet, walls and furniture. The djinn doubled over with a scream of agony. For a moment he remained still and Ness held her breath. Is he dying? But then the creature began to shake. No , he’s laughing , Ness thought. Slowly the djinn raised his head, grinning.
    ‘Your mistake,’ he panted, clamping his remaining hand over the stump of his wrist. Azuli stood staring helplessly as the blade in his hand began to vanish. ‘The blade is melting but it hasn’t slain me. Now I have something for you.’ He stretched forward and opened his mouth, spitting a fountain of foul-smelling green slime at Azuli.
    The boy fell back as boils bubbled up on his face and arms, sweat soaking his clothes. He dropped the scimitar handle and gripped his throat.
    ‘No!’ Ness threw herself at the djinn but he exploded into smoke as soon as she made contact with him.
    ‘I would flee if I were you, little Necessity,’ Zaakiel chuckled. ‘He will die and become one of mine. You think me evil and twisted, but life is hard and it will not leave you unscathed, believe me.’
    ‘Release him, you monster!’ Ness yelled as the djinn swirled around her.
    ‘I never wished for this,’ he hissed. ‘My silent prayers went unheeded across the gulf of three thousand years. All because I wouldn’t bow to a tyrant.’
    ‘A tyrant?’ Ness squatted down and cradled