Texting the Underworld Read Online Free PDF Page B

darkly, pouring granola into a bowl.
    â€œShe says she’s a banshee,” Conor said. “One of us is going to die.”
    His dad let out an exasperated breath. “Conor, my pop’s stories ain’t real.”
    â€œDad, come upstairs, okay? Mom?”
    â€œPixie, it’s seven-oh-six. I have to get in to the clinic early today. I’m already late.”
    â€œMom. Please.”
    Dad sighed and put his coffee cup in the sink. “Go ahead, Moira. Con, I’ll give you two minutes. Then I gotta go.”
    â€œI’m coming, too.” Glennie abandoned her granola even though she’d already poured milk on it. This was a bad omen: Glennie hated soggy granola. She probably thought there was a good story in the offing to tell her friends.
    â€œYou can’t say anything to anyone,” Conor said.
    Glennie half smirked, flicking a bit of granola off her pink skirt. Glennie often wore skirts, as well as ruffles and hair ribbons, in order to distract everyone from her soul-sucking true identity. Today’s temporary tattoo, on the back of her hand, was of a pink bunny with a wolf looming behind, ready to spring.
    â€œMom,” Conor pleaded.
    â€œGlennie, you stay right here and eat your cereal.” Mom swooped past the sink to give her smoothie glass a drive-by rinsing, then headed for the door. “And no telling the girls.” Glennie’s jaw jutted out, making her look like a fluffy blond version of Dad and Grump. Her parents ignored her and steamed out of the kitchen, Dad to the stairs, Mom to the coat closet in the front hall.
    Hand on his bedroom doorknob, his father fidgeting beside him, Conor hesitated. What if the banshee got mad? Would she turn into a wraith, bringing death to all who saw her? But Ashling hadn’t said
he
couldn’t tell anyone. So she wouldn’t mind, right?
    Still, he found himself tiptoeing across the carpet to the game cupboard, his father close on his heels.
    â€œMust be a pretty small banshee to fit under the eaves,” Dad said.
    â€œShhhh.” Conor pulled the door open and stood back so Dad could see.
    â€œHow small is this thing, Con?” His father stuck his head in the cupboard to scope it out, reemerging with the baffled look he reserved for his children. “Do I need a magnifying glass?”
    Conor almost whacked his head on the doorframe swooping in there. Empty. He jumped out again, and the banshee wasn’t hovering near the ceiling or outside the window. He flung himself on his knees to look under the bed. Not there, either.
    â€œConor,” his dad said. “There’s no such thing.”
    â€œShe’s gone.” A thought occurred to him. “Or she’s invisible. Hey, Ashling, if you’re here anywhere—”
    â€œOh, cripes, Con. You were dreaming.” His dad turned for the door.
    â€œNo, look, there’s her butt print on the beanbag.”
    His dad took him by the shoulders, gazed deep into his eyes. “Listen, kid, Grump’s nuts about this banshee business, and I know you think a lot of him. But it’s all an old man’s stories . . . like the kelpie that summer. I’m not letting this garbage take over your life, okay?”
    â€œ
WooOOOoooOOOoooOOO
 . . .
” Glennie, out in the hall. “I’m a
baaaan
shee and you’re going to
croooooak . . .
”
    Conor’s dad lifted his eyes toward the solar system on the ceiling, seeking calm. “Glennie, pack up your stuff for school.” He headed for the hallway. “Get dressed, Con. I gotta go and you’re gonna miss your bus.” Almost out the door, he turned back. “Oh, hey . . . I got the money together for hockey next winter. Tryouts in six weeks, Katie Miller says.” His face was aglow with sudden enthusiasm, never a happy sight for his children.
    â€œDad, I’m lousy at hockey.” Every day in a skating rink,