Free The Dark Secret of Weatherend by John Bellairs

lawyers who became detectives in their spare time, shooting at villains and saving beautiful women from danger. Now that I really am a lawyer, I spend my time reading great, thick, dull books and drawing up wills for elderly misers. I'm so bored that I'll even jump at the chance to take part in one of my sister's hare-brained schemes."
    "Thanks a lot, buddy!" said Miss Eells. She was sitting in her wing chair by the fire and sipping creme de menthe from a delicate liqueur glass. "Don't let my dear brother kid you," she went on to Anthony. "If he didn't believe that this whole thing was pretty darned serious, he wouldn't be down here. Would you, Em?"
    Emerson's manner changed. He stopped acting devil-may-care and grew very serious. Sitting down on the piano stool, he cocked one leg up on his knee. Then he folded his arms across his chest and scowled at the rug. "I wouldn't, indeed," he said, nodding gravely. "Something has got to be done—no doubt about it. As soon as Myra told me over the phone about the things that had been happening to you two, I knew right away that you had been the victims of a sorcerer."
    Emerson glanced up, and when he saw Anthony's astonished expression, he laughed. "Surprised that I know about such bizarre things? Well, I'm not nearly such an old fuddy-duddy as I may seem. Actually, I am interested in magic. I've read a great deal about wizards, and I've delved into their books of spells. I know what they can and can't do, and I can tell when a genuine master of the black arts is at work."
    Emerson smoothed his sweater fussily and then took his pipe out of the ashtray and began to turn it over in his hands. Suddenly he shot a piercing glance at Anthony. "We are up against someone who is very dangerous," he said, pointing a warning finger. "Unless I miss my guess, Anders Borkman is a cold-blooded fanatic who will stop at nothing to carry out the ghastly plans of his maniac father. According to an article I saw in the newspapers, he's already dragged those four statues out of the garage. There was a picture with the article showing the statues set up in a corner of his estate. Furthermore, I've looked at the copy that you made of old Borkman's crazy journal. Well, it doesn't take too much savvy to figure out what he has in mind! He wants to use the weather to wipe the earth as clean as a billiard ball so that the world could start all over, fresh and clean, shiny and new." Emerson grimaced. Then he laughed harshly. "Hah! He's not the first one who's thought that the world would be better if we could all go back to the beginning again! But none of the other crackpots who've had that idea have actually had the ability to turn their dreams into reality." Emerson shuddered. He was thinking of the power that Anders Borkman wielded. Then he looked hard at Anthony again.
    "If you decide to be part of our little raiding party," he said solemnly, "there is some risk involved. I wouldn't think you were a coward if you decided not to go along with Myra and me when we take a closer look at Borkman's estate."
    Anthony did not flinch, but met Emerson with a steady gaze. "I want to go with you, Mr. Eells," he said quietly.
    Emerson Eells smiled warmly. He got up and walked over to Anthony and gave him a good strong squeeze on the arm.
    "Good for you, my boy," he said. "Actually, if we manage this thing right, there won't be an awful lot of danger. But there's always the unknown factor, and I thought I'd better warn you. Now, then! I think we all ought to adjourn to the dining room. There are some documents and maps that we should be looking at. Myra, would you get Anthony a Coke and bring me a bottle of beer? Maps tax the brain and parch the throat, you know."
    A few minutes later Anthony, Miss Eells, and Emerson were all standing around the dining room table looking at a large cracked map that had been spread out in the middle of it. The four corners were held down by three German beer steins and a chunk of roseate