May Contain Traces of Magic Read Online Free PDF Page B

just one more peek, and somehow the fact that she’d lied (confidential stuff, mustn’t leave the office; yeah, right) made it seem tantalisingly easy. This time, though, he fought it back, and that made him feel rather proud - she’d lied, he’d resisted temptation, so he’d managed to fight his way back to the moral high ground, which is always nice. He turned off the lights and went to bed.
    The blue Shotwell & Hogue carrier bag waited until it was quite safe - the humans were making loud respiratory noises, indicating deep sleep - then stirred, its thin plastic fabric shivering like the shell of a hatching egg. If anybody had been there to see, he’d have had a frustrating time of it, because as the bag shivered it sucked in darkness from the surrounding shadows, a useful trick well known to its kind. When it felt dark enough to be safe, it shook itself like a dog and stood up, the plastic stretching and moulding itself into a new shape: humanoid but short, bow-legged, crouching. It took a step forward, leaving the cap, the shoes, the book and the empty biscuit wrapper (it had been peckish) lying on the carpet. Treading carefully, it stepped over them and walked silently through the hall into the kitchen, following the human’s scent trail. It found nothing of great interest there, though it did pause to lap up the few drops of spilt milk, and went on into the sitting room, where it rubbed itself against the television screen, happily absorbing the static electricity, pulled out the plug and licked the brass prongs. A few sights and smells there, but nothing it could really use; the good stuff had faded, dried up so that it tasted dusty and bitter, all the nourishment desiccated out of it. A pity: if it had been there a week earlier it could’ve had a feast. It yawned and stretched; then, taking extra care not to make a sound, it gently nudged open the bedroom door and peered round it, to stare at the two humans asleep in the dark.

CHAPTER TWO
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    T here were two women on his shoulders, one beautiful and nice, one ugly and nasty, and as he approached the end of the road, they were both yelling at him: turn left, urged the nice one, turn right, said the nasty one, and he wished they’d both shut up so he could think . And the junction was getting closer and closer, but instead of slowing down he was speeding up, towards the brick wall, so unless he decided which way to turn right now , he was going to crash and die—
    The noise wasn’t screaming brakes after all; it was the alarm clock. He shot out a hand, knocked it over, groped, grabbed it, erupted out of bed and ran, his thumb still searching for the stupid little button that turned the stupid thing off . . .
    Safely into the kitchen, and Chris was fairly sure that he’d made it without waking Karen up. She was, he supposed, a nice enough person really, but if her sleep was disturbed she turned into a monstrous clawed snarling thing, and stayed that way the rest of the day. He flopped down in a chair, put the clock on the table and caught his breath. Then, very carefully, he sneaked back into the bedroom and got his clothes.
    A quarter past five in the fucking morning. Chris didn’t have time for breakfast, or even to boil a kettle, but his mouth was sticky and foul and he desperately needed caffeine in some form; he caught sight of the coffee pot, picked it up and felt a certain amount of liquid shifting around inside it. Last night’s coffee, cold and full of grounds. He put the spout to his mouth, tilted the pot and glugged thrice. Disgusting, but better than nothing. I am not a morning person, Chris admitted to himself as he tried to remember how to tie shoelaces. On the other hand, this isn’t the morning, it’s the middle of the fucking night. Therefore, I am in my element, on the top of my form, one hundred per cent functional and ready for anything. Right, then, let’s go.
    The car