The Forest of Lost Souls by Anne Plichota Read Free Book Online Page A

flushed.
    “You can say that again,” replied Pavel tersely. “Let’s not hang around though. We won’t get a second chance.”
    He opened one of the many leaded-glass windows and stepped overthe frame.
    “Dad!” exclaimed Oksa, her hand over her mouth.
    “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of going down this way! The caretaker will be keeping an eye on the main entrance, so we don’t have a choice.”
    With that, he dropped into the darkness. Oksa rushed over to the window overlooking the street. Her father was on the ground, signalling to her. She climbed onto the windowsill, stretched her foot into the air, steadied herself, then floated down to the ground.

8
A F RAUGHT R EUNION
    T HE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION MEANT THAT EVERY single known Runaway was summoned to an urgent meeting. So the hard core—the Pollocks, Bellangers, Knuts and Abakum—contacted all the other Runaways who’d been identified throughout the world: Mercedica de La Fuente, the elegant Spanish woman, former Servant of the High Enclave and a close friend of Dragomira’s; Cockerell, a Brit living in Japan, former Treasurer of the Gracious’s family and now a banker; and Bodkin, a former industrialist, who’d retrained as a Master Goldsmith in South Africa. Three trustworthy people who’d been forced to become perfectly assimilated in the Outside world, and yet who were still desperate to return to Edefia one day. Another member of the group was Tugdual, the Knuts’ moody grandson, who’d just arrived, once more wreaking havoc with Oksa’s feelings.
    “Hi there, Lil’ Gracious!” he said, after greeting each of the Runaways with his customary off-handedness.
    He walked over to her and, for one terrifying second, she thought he was going to kiss her on the cheeks. Instead he gazed at her with his steely blue eyes and she felt herself blushing foolishly. Tugdual smiled, which made her kick herself, and finally looked away.
    “Well, if it’s not one thing, it’s another,” he remarked.
    “This really isn’t the time or the place for sarcasm!” replied his grandfather, Naftali, icily.
    Tugdual looked at him with an expression of mingled disillusionment and rebelliousness.
    “I’ve always said we had to expect the worst,” he retorted, casually flicking some dust off his black shirt. “But no one ever took me seriously. Or perhaps I should say: no one ever took
him
seriously… I mean Orthon-McGraw, of course.”
    “May I remind you that Orthon is dead!” snapped Mercedica curtly, favouring the sombre young man with a glare.
    Tugdual glowered back with the arrogance of someone who wouldn’t let himself be flustered by such a trivial point.
    “Allow me to have my doubts,” he replied to the haughty Spanish woman. “Evil can survive and continue to cause mayhem beyond death. Evil never dies, as we’ve seen today, haven’t we?”
    The question hung in the room, like a wisp of disquieting smoke floating just below the ceiling.
    “That isn’t the problem,” said Mercedica, slicing through the heavy silence.
    Abakum and Naftali shifted uneasily on their chairs, looking disapproving.
    “That is
exactly
the problem, my dear Mercedica,” said the imposing Swede, contradicting her. “Everything that’s happening now is Orthon’s fault. I’m convinced that Reminiscens was Impictured by her twin brother.”
    “How would that be possible?” asked Mercedica in amazement, pulling threads from her armrest with her red-lacquered nails. “The Soul-Searcher never makes a mistake!”
    “Well, we have to believe that it can, my dear friend!” retorted Abakum. “But now, we must put ourselves in Orthon’s shoes. Because we can only fight our enemies if we understand them…”
    “How can you talk about fighting enemies?” snarled Tugdual. “Frankly, I find it hard to see you in the role of brave little soldiers enlisted in the very Young Gracious’s army. None of you would even hurt a fly.”
    Surprised by this remark, the