Free Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard Page A

nearby—”
    “No!” said the other boy, jumping forward.
    “Seriously, Steven, it’s fine.”
    “But . . .”
    “Steven, I make the decisions. Now, let’s go.”
    •••
    Stumbling along between Ani and the older boy, Syl found herself guided up a set of litter-strewn stairs and through a doorway that seemed to open as if by magic when the younger boy—Steven, was it?—pressed a little tune on its crusty doorbell. They went into a cramped hallway where another tune was coaxed from a keypad by a door that looked like wood but sounded like metal, and then they were in a funny little kitchen. The windows had boards nailed over them, but it was quaintly cheerful and bright nonetheless, with polka-dot red vinyl on the table beneath a row of fat yellow lightbulbs. The floor was made of polished checkerboard stones and the walls were lined with scrubbed pine cupboards, each shelf teetering with mismatched mugs and plates, vases and knickknacks, all in bright, crayon-box colors. An enormous old kettle sat on a squat stove, waiting to be used.
    Ani pushed Syl gently into a chair.
    “Where are we?” she said, watching as the older boy set the kettle to boil, deftly counted tea bags into a green-striped pot, and then poured in the steaming water before covering the whole thing with a fluffy yellow tea cozy.
    He looked over at her and smiled genuinely for the first time.
    “Oh good, you’re back with us. You okay?”
    She nodded and returned his smile.
    “Everyone else okay?” he said. “Steven?”
    The younger boy nodded, and grinned as if to underscore exactly how okay he was.
    “That was amazing! It was crazy!” he said.
    “Amazing?” said Ani, rounding on him. “ You must be crazy!”
    His face fell, and he turned to scratch in a cupboard, finding a sugar bowl and some fruitcake in a tin.
    “Whatever,” he mumbled to nobody in particular, but the older boy patted him gently on the back before turning to the girls.
    “I’m Paul, by the way,” he said, smiling again and extending his hand, but then snatching it back and wiping it clean on his jeans before they shook.
    “Syl,” said Syl, without thinking, and his warm hand gripped hers. And then she realized what she’d done.
    “Syl?” He looked baffled for a moment, his grip tightening, then said: “Short for Sylvia?”
    “Yeah, that’s me,” she said, forcing herself to smile, trying to sound as much like a regular human girl as she knew how. “And this is Ani.”
    “Annie,” said Paul, shaking Ani’s hand and nodding. “That’s more like it. When you said Syl, it sounded like an Illyri name.” He laughed drily, and Syl and Ani joined in.
    “Oh, and this is my brother, Steven.”
    They all said hello and then went silent, eyeing each other awkwardly, the Illyri females still with their glasses incongruously perched on their smudged faces. Ani looked more ridiculous than Syl; at least Syl’s glasses resembled something a regular person might wear on a day like today. Ani, by contrast, should have been lying on a sun lounger and drinking a cocktail.
    “You can probably take your glasses off now,” said Paul.
    “No!” said the females in unison. In a rush of words, Syl explained that Ani had a nasty eye condition from toilet chemicals, and Ani said Syl had a squint.
    “A squint?” said Paul.
    “Uh-huh.” Syl nodded, but gave Ani a kick under the table.
    Paul and Steven looked at each other, and then Paul turned to fetch the teapot, pouring them all large colorful mugs and loading Syl’s with sugar, “for shock,” before slopping in milk. She took a sip. It was sweet and treacly, and vaguely disgusting, but she drank it anyway, feeling the color returning to her cheeks, the vitality reawakened in her strong Illyri bones.
    “Where are we, then?” said Ani, breaking the silence that descended again as they all munched on cake.
    “Just a place,” said Paul, waving a hand vaguely, and Steven gave a meaningful cough.
    “A place? I