Serializations of the Hitherby Dragons novels

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– 16 –

– 16 –

“I,” Linus explains proudly, “am now a student at the Lethal Magnet Academy for Wayward Youth.”

“You? Wayward?”

“I know,” says Linus. He brushes imaginary crumbs off of his waistcoat. “But the truth is, I need an education.”

“Can’t you just,” and Edmund makes a vaguely magical gesture.

“Watch,” Linus says.

Linus’ black dog appears. It pants. It attempts to instruct them in geometry. It fails.

Edmund blinks and it’s gone again.

“I see,” Edmund says, because he does.

“Ever since Tom,” says Linus. He hesitates. Then he smiles a little. “Well, it struck me. I mean, what if someone cleans the Devil out of me someday? Don’t I need to be ready for an ordinary life? What if I wind up wanting — you know — kids, marriage, a career, all that stuff?”

“Dang,” says Edmund. “Being shuffled through an endless series of foster homes has done you some serious good, man.”

“Ha ha,” laughs Linus.

It should be embarrassed laughter. Edmund clearly thinks that Linus has been doing something normal and proper and civilized, like shuffling through a series of increasingly baroque and terrifying foster homes, when in fact he’s been living in a bloody box —

But it’s not embarrassed laughter. It should be, but it isn’t. Edmund’s here. He’s found Edmund.

The laugh’s just joy.

“Let’s go get a drink,” Edmund says.

“Pardon?”

“There’s a bar!” Edmund says. “They’re not allowed to serve us, but we’re totally allowed to steal drinks. I mean, ‘allowed.’”

“Edmund,” says Linus in a tone of pleased shock.

“Or coffee?”

Edmund spots Peter across the way. He waves vigorously. “Oi! Peter!”

Peter squints at them. He comes over.

He stares rudely at Linus.

“This is my mate Linus,” says Edmund. He beams. “Him and me, we used to hang all the fucking time. Fought Venusians and stuff.”

“Oh,” says Peter, in sudden fury, “so that’s how it is, is it?”

“What?” says Linus.

Linus draws back a bit from Peter’s glare. He blushes.

“Just, spit, spot, off and he’s making some other kid the antichrist? Is that all I was to him?”

“What?”

Linus Evans, it must be admitted, was the Devil’s second choice.

“Listen,” says Peter. He juts his chin. “You can just tell him that I don’t care. I didn’t want the job. That’s why I punched him! I am only in this to smoosh scissors.”

“Tell who?” Linus says, bewildered.

“Oh, yeah,” Edmund remembers. “Peter knows the Devil too.”

“Bloody bastard thinks I care,” says Peter. “Well, I don’t care! He can run around doing his Devil stuff with whomever he wants! I’m a good, church-fearing Christian. Going. Church-going. Dang it. Fudge.”

He snorts, turns his head away from Linus, and he stomps off.

“I guess,” says Linus, scratching his ear, “that he doesn’t care about the Devil.”

“Come on,” Edmund says.

There are ornamental statuary angels scattered through the Lethal Magnet School’s grounds. They are much like ordinary statuary angels but they are branded Lethal and have this look in their eyes like if there were any wolves there, they’d want to kill them.

Peter is kicking one of them, hard, over and over again, in the leg.

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