The Power of Dark. Robin Jarvis

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СКАЧАТЬ wrinkled his nose at the droppings; they didn’t look remotely supernatural to him. Crouching down, he stroked the old West Highland terrier in her basket. Sally rolled over to let him tickle her tum.

      The boy cast his eyes round the Wilsons’ eccentric orange and black kitchen. It was a weird combination of Macbeth and IKEA, just what you’d expect from a couple of modern-day witches. He loved coming here. It was the complete opposite of his own home above the amusement arcade where his dust-phobic mother vacuumed the carpets and curtains daily and nothing was ever out of place.

      Lil’s parents were well known locally, being the owners of an occult shop in Church Street called Whitby Gothic, selling all manner of peculiar and supposedly magical things. They loved dressing the part too, mainly in black with a strong Victorian twist, which they had also foisted on Lil from the day she was born.

      Whitby was the perfect place for such a shop. This small seaside town was famous for being the spot where Dracula had landed, bounding off a wrecked ship in the form of a large black dog. But it boasted many other legends and eerie tales of ghosts and monsters. They, combined with the haunting beauty of the ruined abbey and weathered graveyard, high on the East Cliff, attracted seekers of the supernatural and romantic dreamers like a magnet. It was no wonder Lil’s parents had grown up to be witches.

      ‘Can’t your mum and dad cast a spell to keep the mice away?’ Verne asked. ‘Or maybe just the non-paranormal ones? That should be peasy magic.’

      The girl scowled at him.

      ‘No such thing,’ she said for the umpteenth time. ‘There’s no real witches in Whitby – or anywhere else. Just annoying people like my mum and dad who like to dress up and dance round fires making twits of themselves. Tragic, yes; magic, no.’

      Verne wasn’t so sceptical, but before he could reply, his stomach growled loudly.

      ‘Borborygmus!’ Lil declared.

      ‘What? Is that a magic word, like abracadabra?’

      Lil laughed. ‘It means belly rumbles,’ she explained. ‘It’s the latest find for my old word collection. I’ve been dying to use it. Great, isn’t it?’

      ‘Where’s that cake you promised?’

      ‘Sorry, I was so busy getting my badges ready, I forgot. We’ve still got plenty left over from my birthday yesterday. My mum might be a bit of a loon, but she’s a killer baker.’

      Verne agreed. The cake was a moist chocolate sponge, filled with purple butter cream and green jam, topped with a cobweb of yellow icing and twelve black spiders. Mrs Wilson called it Scrumptious Wickedness, and it was.

      ‘Make it a big piece,’ Verne said as Lil took the lid off a large, rodent-proof tin. ‘My mum’s on a faddy diet so she can fit into her costume on the Goth Weekend and we’ve all got to eat the same rabbit food as her so she doesn’t get tempted. No pies or chips allowed and absolutely no cake.’

      ‘Your mum doesn’t need to diet; she’s always jumping about in a tracksuit. And you definitely don’t! Why d’you think Tracy Evans calls you “Flimsy”? What’s your mum going as – a bonier than usual skeleton?’

      ‘Same as always,’ the boy answered, in between mouthfuls. ‘Steampunk Edwardian airship pilot in a leather corset with goggles and a ray gun. She was gluing the brass cogs on her flying helmet earlier. And my dad’s going as her robot butler. His outfit is almost done. It’s going to look look pretty good actually.’

      ‘The way the steampunkers and goths compete with each other over their mad costumes is so funny. The get-ups are more elaborate every time. Nowadays you can’t just have a top hat; it has to have smoke coming out of it and flashing lights. And if you’re one of the undead, you’ve got to have movie-quality make-up, preferably with giblets hanging out.’

      ‘Why are our folks so embarrassing?’

      Lil grinned. Their eccentric parents had been friends since their schooldays, and now she and Verne were best friends too.

      She began tidying away her modelling tools and showed Verne the smart, leather-bound journal she had been given for her birthday. By a happy coincidence, Verne had presented her with a beautiful quill pen, fitted with a biro nib, the feather of which was the same shade of blue as Lil’s fringe. Using the pen, Lil had already filled a couple of pages with a list of archaic words discovered in her parents’ books. Those forgotten words were fun to say and she was determined to use them in everyday conversation if she got the chance.

      ‘Mirificus,’ she read aloud to Verne. ‘That means awesomely wonderful, and mulligrubs is when you’re feeling down and grumpy.’

      ‘I like mulligrubs!’ the boy said, repeating it to himself.

      Sally stretched in her basket, then made her way to the back door, glancing backwards to let them know she wanted to go out.

      The oven timer pinged. Leaving Verne to remove the badges, Lil pushed the door open for Sally. The wind was so fierce it snatched the handle from her hand and wrenched at the hinges. Lil scrunched her face against the battering rain.

      At her feet, the little dog stood still, contemplating the severe weather. Lil gave her an encouraging tap on the bottom and the Westie hopped off the back step and ventured into the wild evening. Lil closed the door hastily and pressed her nose against the glass.

      The small garden was hidden by gloom. Beyond the shed, the ground climbed sharply, becoming the sheer slope of the East Cliff. This row of cottages was directly beneath it. Lil couldn’t see the top; it was lost in the storm. Up there was the old graveyard that every tourist loved to visit and where the goths regularly draped themselves across crumbling headstones, posing for melodramatic selfies.

      ‘It’s horrible out there,’ she told Verne. ‘I don’t think it’s going to blow over any time soon.’

      ‘These badges are great,’ he said, putting the hot tray on the table. ‘Wish I was artistic like you. You draw and make stuff, you knit . . . Stop being so talented, it makes me sick. What’ll you do with the money from these?’

      ‘Oh, I’ve got . . . plans,’ Lil said mysteriously. ‘Colourful plans.’

      Peering through the glass again, she could see no sign of Sally, but it was no use calling for her as the old dog was completely deaf. Lil didn’t want to get drenched fetching her in, so she reached for the small torch that hung by the door and shone it towards the far corner of the garden, by the shed. The beam flashed over Sally’s milky eyes and the dog came splashing through the puddles. Lil had a towel waiting.

      ‘You’re wet and filthy!’ the girl scolded.

      Sally made contented and playful grunting noises as she let herself be dried. It was one of her favourite games and she was disappointed when Lil stopped.

      The noise of the gale outside grew louder, angrier – raging in from the sea and howling down the cliff behind the cottage. The children looked at each other.

      ‘I’ve never heard anything like СКАЧАТЬ