Vault of Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page A

parts. Just because it hadn’t blown up during the fight with Iskiel did not mean that it couldn’t. Later, when there was time, Milo would come back and dispose of it properly. Ideally with Shark, who was much better at fixing—or deconstructing—things than any of the other kids.
    The camp was close, and as they approached, he noticed a figure in the shadows beneath a massive old elm. Even in that gloom Milo could see the deadly point of razor-sharp metal on the hunting arrow.
    Milo stopped in his tracks.
    â€œYou can stop right dere,” said a cold and deadly voice, but all Milo could see was a shaggy silhouette that seemed to be made of leaves and twigs, with narrow and knobby shoulders and long arms. It looked like Oakenayl, but the voice was clearly not his.
    â€œBarnaby, it’s me.”
    â€œI know,” said the Cajun scout as he stepped into the light. He lowered his arrow and grinned. “Just wanted to see how many shades of white you’d turn. You look like sour milk, you.” Barnaby let out a donkey-bray of a laugh.
    Milo glared hot death at him. “You’re hilarious.”
    â€œYou should see your face, you.” Barnaby wore full deep-forest camouflage: patterned clothes augmented by leaves, grass, flowers, and sticks attached by loops of strong thread.
    Milo cut a nervous look toward the camp. “Did Oakenayl see you?”
    Barnaby touched the foliage on his clothes. “Yeah, and he mad as a scalded cat, him.”
    â€œHe doesn’t like us to cut anything off the trees and—”
    â€œI didn’t do that. I picked all this stuff off the ground.”
    â€œSo why’s he mad?”
    Barnaby shrugged. “Maybe someone forgot to tell him that.”
    â€œâ€˜Someone’ meaning you? He’s an actual monster, you know. Messing with him’s not smart.”
    The Cajun shrugged again. “I didn’t do no harm. He don’t like it, that creepy tree boy can go whittle himself a new smile.”
    In the four days since Milo and the Orphan Army of supernatural creatures had stolen aboard the hive ship, recovered the Heart of Darkness, and rescued some of the camp survivors, the initial feelings of gratitude and mutual need had given way to old superstitions and prejudices. Most of the humans kept well away from the Nightsiders, and the monsters didn’t go out of their way to make human friends. It was depressing, and the tensions were increasing every day.
    Milo was about to say something to the Cajun about it when Barnaby finally realized who it was standing behind Milo’s legs.
    â€œOh my, my, my, my—where at you find this tataille-tayau, this scary hound dog?” He knelt down and held a hand out to Killer, who approached cautiously, sniffed, then wagged his tail with moderate enthusiasm. Barnaby stroked Killer from head to tail, and for a moment the Cajun looked genuinely pleased. He cocked an eye at Milo. “Big man know his dog be back, him?”
    â€œNo. Where is Shark?”
    Again Killer perked up at the name.
    Barnaby ticked his head toward the dense oak grove behind him. “Back there. Probably eating something he don’t need to eat, him. Like he always doing.”
    It wasn’t an entirely unfair comment. Shark had no qualms about stopping for a meal. Any meal, anywhere.
    â€œIs Evangelyne around?” asked Milo, and saw the scout stiffen.
    â€œMademoiselle Rougarou is off on her own, her, which is just fine with me.”
    â€œDon’t call her that,” said Milo. Rougarou was a local name for a particularly vicious breed of werewolf. Barnaby had always worn a pierced dime on a piece of twine as a charm against the evil of that kind of monster. It wasn’t a word he would dare say to her face.
    â€œWhy not? She ain’t here right now, her,” said Barnaby.
    Milo took a small step toward him. “No, but I am. Don’t call her that.”
    The scout was