Curse of the Midions Read Online Free PDF Page A

he held. “Who are you? Kitchen boy?”
    â€œI’m Jarvey Midion,” Jarvey began.
    The man dropped the candle he held, and it went out with a splash of melted wax. “The devil you are! Another one?” He took a step forward, narrowing his eyes. “Hair like—”
    â€œDon’t say it!” Jarvey said. “Look, I have the Grimoire. Siyamon Midion—”
    The man bent forward. “That can’t be—not the Grimoire? Here? Impossible!”
    Jarvey grated his teeth. “I want to find my mom and dad!” he snapped.
    The candelabra shivered on its table, doing an eccentric little dance, the flames flickering. The man grabbed it. “The Grimoire here,” he repeated. “What year is it? Tell me quickly.”
    â€œIt—it’s 2006,” Jarvey stammered, bewildered.
    The man groaned, sinking into a chair. “Then the Curse of the Midions endures into two more centuries! The book, the cursed book!”
    Jarvey’s eyes flew wide. “I know you! You looked a lot older, but you warned me. You said to beware the book, and I saw you fighting Siyamon with some kind of magic—”
    â€œQuiet,” the man said. “I have no time to explain now. Jarvey—that is your name, you said?—you are in grave danger. That book is deadly here. It could cause—well, it could cause the world to end.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œShh! Not so loud! Listen, I am—well, call me a cousin, and that won’t be far wrong. You must trust me. Keep that book safe, keep it out of Tantalus Midion’s hands at all costs, do you hear? You have come directly to his house, to Bywater—”
    â€œIt’s Siyamon’s house,” Jarvey said.
    â€œIt may be in your world. This is not your world, do you understand? This is not your world, not your year, not your past. This is all a fiction, a dream made real by Tantalus Midion, as his ancestors used the Grimoire to make their own evil dreams real and then went to inhabit them. You, I, all of this around us—we are inside the book you hold!”
    â€œI don’t understand you!” Jarvey shouted. One of the candles drooped and ran, liquid dripping over the man’s hand. It left a long stalactite of wax, but he did not seem to notice it.
    â€œWe must get you out of this,” he said, setting the candelabra down. “Call me Zoroaster. You must trust me. I will try to find some safe place for you, but you must not call attention to yourself. Wait here.” Zoroaster slipped out the door, pulled it shut behind him, and his footsteps faded. Jarvey slumped into a chair, feeling as if his legs had turned to water. What had happened to his parents?
    In a few moments, the door opened again. “Here,” Zoroaster said, tossing a cloak to Jarvey. “Wrap this around you, and keep that book under it. You are to follow me and keep still. Don’t say a word!”
    â€œI want my mom and dad,” Jarvey insisted.
    â€œI—very well, then, I shall try to take you to them. Only do as I say, and quickly! We haven’t a moment to lose!”
    Jarvey draped the cloak around himself, and Zoroaster fastened it at the throat. “Keep that book hidden, whatever you do. Now, you must follow me. Stay three steps behind me, look down at the floor, and don’t speak a word. Let’s go.”
    Jarvey nearly jogged in Zoroaster’s wake as the man strode fast out into the hall. They followed the corridor away from the library, stepping out into an enormous room whose ceiling was so high that it lost itself in darkness. A man stepped forward, offering a much longer cloak and a silver-headed cane. “Leaving, my lord?”
    Zoroaster threw the cloak around his shoulders. “Yes. This boy brought an urgent message.”
    The man opened the front door, and Zoroaster led the way out into a damp, fog-wrapped night. In the distance gas lamps flared, but they