The Maloneys' Magical Weatherbox by Nigel Quinlan Read Free Book Online Page A

them.
    Owen and his cat, well, kitten, actually—I could have sworn it was bigger earlier—were playing on the grass with a piece of paper tied to some string. At least someone was having a good time. Liz was sitting in a chair next to me, half listening to the interrogation and half watching Owen and the kitten intently—as if one of them was going to grow fangs or something.
    Dad sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other and rubbed his chin. He was frowning, and his face looked worn and worried and haunted.
    â€œThe thing under the lake has been sending strange weather to us all Summer. I think it was trying to get our attention. After the first few times, I knew something would have to be done, but I couldn’t risk doing it alone. I’ve been trying to contact the Weathermen’s Club for the last two months. I’ve phoned, e-mailed, written letters. No response. They’ve either vanished from the face of the Earth or they’re sulking because I haven’t tried to get in touch with them since … well, since I became Weatherman. I’m a bit worried.”
    â€œCouldn’t you just go to them?” I asked.
    Dad made a face.
    â€œWe Weathermen don’t travel,” he said. “It’s not a rule, exactly, but there’s a strong taboo against going farther than a few miles from the Doorway. It looks like I’ll have to, though, doesn’t it? I’ve been putting this off too long. Tomorrow, when the Autumn has arrived, I’ll see about getting a lift to the train.”
    I nodded. No farther than a few miles? As the future Weatherman, I did not really like the sound of that.
    â€œWe’ve always known there’s something … off about Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Dad said. “We’ve stayed well away from her. Now it turns out we were right and we should have been more on our guard. Mrs. Fitzgerald wanted the thing free from the lake. For some reason only the Weatherman or his heir could do it. My guess is that though she couldn’t get at it, she must have scared it somehow. It became desperate and reached out to me—to the Weatherman—in the only way it could. Now she’s captured it, and God knows what she’s going to do next.”
    I blushed furiously and sank deeper into my chair. It creaked loudly.
    â€œSo what is it?” said Liz. “Is it an elemental?”
    Dad shook his head.
    â€œNo. And yes. It can control the weather, but it seems more aware than a simple elemental. I don’t know what else it can be, though.”
    â€œBut, Dad,” I said, an odd feeling inside me, a sick-scared-excited feeling. “It was trapped in the Doorway. It was trapped by the Doorway. It must have been going through the Doorway when the Doorway was moved and it got caught. Simple elementals don’t move through the Doorways, Dad.”
    â€œNo,” said Dad. “They don’t.”
    â€œIs it a Season?” asked Liz, seeing as no one else was going to come out and actually say it.
    â€œIt can’t be,” I said.
    â€œYou opened the Door for it,” Mum said. “You merged with it. What was it like?”
    â€œIt all happened too fast,” I told her, remembering that shimmering image of the tall shadow standing beside the lake. “It was scared and angry and sick of being under there, but mostly it was afraid of what was waiting for it.”
    â€œMrs. Fitzgerald,” said Liz.
    â€œSounds to me,” said Ed Wharton, “as if we’ve got a new Season. Five Seasons. How about that? What’ll we call it?”
    Everything was blue and dark in the twilight cool. Ed was leaning casually against the corner of the house, arms and legs crossed. Bats flew around the eaves over his head. Or maybe his beard came to life at dusk and went hunting for food. He straightened and before anyone could challenge him for eavesdropping under the eaves, he pointed at