Free Shining On by Lois Lowry Page A

them. You're not into ear-twisting, are you?”
    I shake my head, still too surprised to joke.
    “So Angela really gave you a hard time? I just can't imagine her doing stuff like that.”
    “No one else could either. Whenever I told on her she batted those blue eyes and looked so sweet and innocent that no one believed me. I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't talk about her like that.”
    “No, no—tell me more,” I say, picking up the beat and dancing again.
    Up above, sparkling in the strobe lighting, Angela is taking off her halo, folding her feathery wings, little horns sprouting through her blond curls. She's waving her new forked tail at me. My bad sister.

Celia Rees

    I n August, the great house had looked benign and beautiful; the honey-colored stone glowing in the sunlight, the banks of leaded windows shiny and square, open to the air. Now the stone was mottled and dull. The casements were fastened tight and all the little panes looked blank and black, as if the house was filled with darkness. The gates were now closed with a computer-printed notice cased in plastic and taped to the bars:
Open again April 5th.
The house had only been shut for a month or so, but moss had begun to coat the carefully raked gravel like velvet. The neat flowerbeds looked ragged, and leaves drifted in heaps across the lawns; the grass was patched with tattered black ink caps and rings of slimy little toadstools.
    It hadn't taken long for the house to take on a deserted,even neglected, air. Jules was cold already; the prospect of living here made her shiver more.
    “We're not going to live in
there,”
her mum said, peering through the bars with her. “We've got a flat over the stables. All mod cons. Central heating. Furniture from IKEA. You don't even have to go into the old part, if you don't want to.”
    “But
you
do.”
    Her mother laughed. “I don't spook as easily as you.”
    “Yoo-hoo!” They both turned to see a short blond woman, gesticulating at them. “You can't get through that way! Over here!”
    They followed her round to the stable yard.
    “This
is where you'll be living.” The blonde peered at them. “Didn't they explain?”
    “I know,” Jules's mother said. “We were just having a look, that's all.”
    “It's Zadie, isn't it?”
    “Sadie,” Jules's mother corrected.
    “Of course!”
    “Nice to meet you again, Monica.”
    “And this is?” Monica squinted harder, as if screwing up her eyes would help her remember.
    “Jules.”
    “Julie! I remember! You were at school with my Katie!”
    “A while ago.” Jules scuffed at the yellow gravel. “Yeah.”
    “Now, Zadie—”
    “Sadie.”
    “Yes.” She teetered back on heels a little too high for her rounded frame. “Sorry.” Her big red-lipstick smile did not rise to her pale blue eyes. “Is that the time?” She looked over at the church tower. “Here are the keys.” She handed Sadie a big bunch. “I'm sure you've been over everything with Derek. Here's my card if you encounter any problems. Must run.” She was already stepping backwards towards her car. “I've got a meeting in Cheltenham.”
    She let out a cry and nearly toppled over as fur brushed the backs of her legs. Jules had to stifle giggles. The cat must have been under her car, but he'd appeared as if from nowhere to rub himself against Monica's substantial calves. He was big, sinuous and long—obviously a tom—with un-usual markings: his deep, amber fur thickly barred with black. There was definitely a touch of the Siamese about his narrow face and tilted green eyes.
    “That reminds me. You're expected to feed the moggies. I don't know which one this one is….”
    “The cat's name is Aloysius,” Jules said.
    “How do you know that?” Monica asked, astonished.
    “When we were here in the summer, one of the guides told me.”
    “Oh, right.”
    Monica reached down to stroke him. The cat's ears flicked back, lying flat against his sleek head. He opened his mouth to show long,