Afterworlds: The Book of Doom. Barry Hutchison

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      “Now?”

      “Pretty much.”

      Phillip stepped forward and wrapped his arms round his grandson. Zac returned the hug and tried to control the shake he could feel taking hold of his limbs.

      “Be careful,” Phillip said. “And if you ever need me, just shout.”

      Zac smiled and hugged a little bit harder. “I will, Granddad. I will.”

      “I think your grandfather might be a total nutjob,” said Angelo as Zac returned to the bedroom. “No offence.”

      “Watch your mouth,” Zac snapped, shooting the boy a glare. “He isn’t a nutjob. He just... hears voices sometimes.”

      “I wasn’t talking about that,” said Angelo. “I read his aura and it was all jumbled up. All different colours, swirling together. I’ve never seen one like that.”

      “I don’t believe in auras,” Zac said. He pulled open his wardrobe and began rummaging inside. “I don’t believe in tarot cards or healing crystals or the power of prayer, or any of that stuff. And my granddad is not a nutjob.”

      “You don’t believe in crystals?” scoffed Angelo. “Next you’ll be telling me you don’t believe in star signs.” He watched Zac’s face. “You don’t believe in star signs?” he gasped. “You’re so cynical. I bet you’re a Scorpio, aren’t you?”

      “I have no idea.”

      “When’s your birthday?”

      “Look, here.” Zac tossed a bundle of black fabric to Angelo, who fumbled clumsily, then dropped the pile on the floor.

      “What’s this?” Angelo asked, bending to retrieve the garments.

      “Clothes. Put them on.”

      “But I’ve got clothes,” Angelo said. He pointed to his lifeguard T-shirt. “See? Exhibit A.”

      “OK: one – you look ridiculous,” Zac told him. “And two – you’ve wet yourself. Either one of those would be reason enough to change. Pick your favourite.”

      Zac turned his back as Angelo reluctantly changed into the black outfit.

      “No looking.”

      “Just hurry up,” Zac said. He listened to the sound of zips being undone and the clothes being pulled on. “So, you can just teleport us into Hell, right?”

      There was a momentary pause. “Yeah. Course. No problemo. I’m ready now – you can turn around.”

      “Right, so we should get going and—” began Zac as he turned back to Angelo. He stopped when he saw the clothes. “What... what have you done to them?”

      “It’s not my fault,” Angelo said defensively. “I’m part angel. Angels can’t wear black.”

      The clothes, which had been the very definition of black, were now a faint grey. As Zac watched, even the grey began to disappear. It sank in a swirling vortex pattern towards the bottom of the trousers, like murky water trickling down a drain.

      Zac looked down and saw black dye dripping on to his bedroom carpet. When he looked up again, the clothes were a shade of white usually reserved for washing-powder adverts.

      “I can do white or yellow,” explained Angelo sheepishly. “Light blue at a push.” He glanced at his feet. “Sorry about your carpet. If you get me a cloth, I’ll clean it up.”

      “Forget it, it’s fine,” said Zac.

      “Are you sure? Maybe I could just...” He rubbed the wet stain with a bare foot. “Oh no, that’s just made it worse if anything.”

      “I said leave it, it’s fine. We’ve got more important things to worry about.”

      Angelo blinked. “Have we?”

      Zac stared.

      “Yeah, yeah, right. Of course. I forgot,” Angelo said. He slipped his flip-flops back on. “How do I look?”

      “You look –” Zac hunted for something complimentary to say – “marginally less ridiculous,” was the best he could do in the circumstances.

      “Really?” said Angelo brightly. “You’re not just saying that?”

      “No, you look... good,” Zac said, but that last word came out much higher than he’d intended. “So, are you ready to do this?”

      “Before we go, I should warn you. Watch out for the demons. They’re horrible. And I mean really horrible.”

      “Seriously?” said Zac. “And here I thought they were going to be a right old barrel of laughs.”

      “Well, you’d be wrong,” said Angelo with absolute sincerity. “So it’s lucky you’ve got me to keep you right.”

      “Oh, yes. I’m a lucky guy,” Zac said. “Now, you ready?”

      Angelo took a few quick breaths. He held out his hand. “I’m ready.”

      “Then let’s do it.” Zac slipped his hand into the boy’s.

      Angelo grinned nervously. “Here we go, then. Bowels of Hell, here we come!”

      NCE THE WORLD had stopped spinning, Zac looked down at his legs. They were buried in snow up to the knees.

      A light flurry of flakes continued to fall from an otherwise bright blue sky above. Beside the boys, smoke curled lazily from the chimney of a large stone building with a thatched roof. Muted laughter and singing squeezed out through gaps in the shuttered windows and heavy oak door. It all sounded quite jolly, really.

      “So,” said Zac, “this is Hell, is it?”

      “Yes,” said Angelo.

      Zac shot him a withering look. “Are you absolutely sure?”

      “Yes. I mean, no. I mean... it might be.”

      Zac blew a snowflake off the end of his nose. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say it isn’t.”

      “You might be right,” Angelo admitted. He smiled shyly. “I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to teleporting.”

      “A novice? How often have you done it?”

      “What, including the two times with you?” Angelo asked. He began counting up on his fingers. “Twice.”

      “Twice,” СКАЧАТЬ