Death's Shadow by Darren Shan Read Free Book Online Page B

puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. I nod bitterly. There must be people with guns outside, or more werewolves. Either way, we can’t go via the window. We’ll have to try sneaking through the house.
    We backtrack past the study, then follow the crawlspace round to the right. A short distance later, Dervish removes a panel and slips through the hole in the ceiling beneath us. He helps me down, grabbing my legs and easing me to the floor. Some of his memories flow into me — mostly about Bill-E — but the contact is brief.
    We’re in a short corridor on the second floor of the house, close to the hall of portraits, which is filled with paintings and photographs of dead family members, most of whom turned into werewolves. Soft growling sounds come from that direction. Dervish listens for a moment, looks around uneasily, then starts towards the hall. Meera and I dutifully follow.
    The hall is a mess of shattered frames, ripped paintings, and photos. In the middle of it all squats a werewolf. He’s roughly tearing a large portrait to shreds, stuffing bits of canvas into his mouth, chewing and spitting the pieces out. He’s urinated over some of the paintings, either marking his territory or showing undue disdain for the Grady clan.
    The werewolf doesn’t spot us until we’re almost upon him. Then Dervish steps on a piece of frame hidden beneath scraps of paper. It snaps and the werewolf’s head shoots up. His growl deepens and his lips split into a vicious sneer. Using his powerful legs, he leaps at us, howling as he attacks. He slams into Dervish and drives him to the floor.
    No time to use my axe. I yelp and grab the werewolf’s jaw, trying to keep his teeth from closing on Dervish’s unprotected throat. Jumbled, fragmented memories shoot from the werewolf’s fevered brain into mine. What I learn disturbs me, but I don’t dwell on it — I have more urgent matters to deal with. The werewolf’s teeth are only a couple of inches from Dervish’s jugular vein.
    I prepare a spell to force shut the werewolf’s mouth, but Meera’s faster than me. She takes quick aim, then brains the werewolf with her mace. The werewolf’s head snaps to the left. His eyelids flicker. Then he slumps over Dervish and it’s simple enough to slide him off.
    Dervish is furious when he rises. “I should have seen that one coming a mile away,” he snarls, wiping blood from his left arm where the werewolf gouged him.
    “You’re getting old and slow,” Meera taunts him. “What now?”
    “The cellar,” Dervish says.
    “We’re going to cage ourselves in and get drunk?” she frowns.
    “It connects with the secret cellar,” Dervish says impatiently. “That’s a place of magic. We can seal the doors and keep our assailants out. Unless they —”
    He’s interrupted by howls from the floor above. The three werewolves have either broken through the door or heard the howl of the one we knocked out. They’re coming. We leap over the unconscious animal and flee for the staircase.
    Racing down the stairs, the werewolves no more than a handful of seconds behind. If there are more on the ground floor, or snipers with a clear view, we’ll be easy targets.
    But luck is with us. We hit the ground without encountering any enemies. The howls and screams of the werewolves pollute the air. It sounds like they’re poised to drag us down at any moment, but we can’t risk looking back to check.
    Dervish hits the light switches as he passes, turning them off, to hide us from the snipers. He hurries to the cellar door, barges through, waits for Meera and me to streak past, then slams it shut and locks it. A werewolf batters into it less than two seconds later. This door isn’t as sturdy as the one in the study. It won’t delay them long.
    We spill down the steps to the cellar, automatic lights flickering on as we hit the bottom. This is where Dervish stores his priceless wine collection. Rack after rack of vintage bottles. Behind one