The Second Siege by Henry H. Neff Page A

the witches throw me in a sack and cart me away.”
    “Don’t even joke,” said Max, poking his head out of the reading room to glance at the door to the Archives. “Do you think those shedu will eat me if I leave here alone?”
    “I don’t think so,” said David, stifling a yawn. “They’re more concerned with who gets in than who gets out. Do you want me to walk you up?”
    “No,” said Max, gazing out the door and up at the frescoes high above. “I’ll be fine. If you find anything out, tell me right away—even if I’m sleeping.”
    “Will do,” said David, giving a little wave before burying his nose back in his book.
    Max hurried out of the Archives, past the stony shedu, and up the many stairs to emerge once more in the gloom of Room 313. By the time he arrived back at his room, he noticed that the door was ajar by the tiniest of slivers. Walking cautiously inside, Max saw Connor lounging with his textbooks by the fireplace on the lower level. On the table stood Mr. Sikes, dressed impeccably as ever and clasping his hands expectantly.

5
    D ARK M ATTERS

    M ax took comfort in the fact that he had walked this path many times before. Etched in his memory were the lane’s muddy grooves, its gentle rise, and the slow curve that would bring the grand house into view. And there it was, a jagged silhouette on the hill whose narrow windows spilled warm light into the evening. As usual, the wolfhound was waiting for him. It padded slowly from the underbrush to block his path, a monstrous, tangled thing of gigantic proportions that stopped and appraised him in the twilight.
    As the hound approached, something caught Max’s attention. There, hidden behind the trunk of an alder tree, was the small, slim form of Mr. Sikes. Max scowled at the imp’s luminous cat’s eyes.
    “Go away,” Max murmured. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
    “Just ignore me,” purred Mr. Sikes, raising a tiny finger to his lips.
    Max would have argued, but the hound was almost upon him, bigger than a horse and smelling of wet fur and earth. Its great, panting head loomed above Max. Holding his breath, Max braced himself for the question that he knew would come.
    “What are you about? Answer quick or I’ll gobble you up!”
    Max hesitated.
    True to its word, the hound’s jaws yawned open and Max was swallowed up in one great gulp. He shut his eyes as the hound’s teeth crunched closed behind him. For several dizzying moments his body seemed to slide, limp and languid, down the beast’s gullet and into the soft, spongy bed of its belly.
    When Max opened his eyes, he glimpsed that Mr. Sikes was still watching from the safety of the alder tree. A low growl sounded from Max’s throat; he swung his heavy head full round to glower upon the little imp. Mr. Sikes retreated farther into the shadows.
    Shifting his weight, Max dug a massive paw into the soft earth.
    With a sudden pop Mr. Sikes transformed into a field mouse and fled up the path in a series of zigzagging hops. Max gave a roar and chased after, running with terrible speed on his four legs as the mouse made for the lights of the house.
    The intrusive imp was not nearly quick enough.
    Mr. Sikes had gained the front steps when Max overtook him, seizing the mouse in his jaws as his momentum brought them both crashing against the door. Scrambling to his feet, Max growled and gave the mouse a sudden shake, tossing its body far out onto the wet grass.
    The door opened behind him, and light streamed out onto the lawn, spotlighting the small, still form of the mouse.
    “Max, what have you done?”
    Max whirled at the sound of his mother’s voice. She stood in the open doorway, hand in hand with his father. She was just as he remembered her. Max felt a sudden stab of longing to come inside the house and join them.
    Something in his mother’s features stopped him, however. Her dark eyes widened as she raised a trembling hand and pointed beyond him. Max turned to look again at