Free Lord Loss by Darren Shan Page A

and Grandad for almost a year. If other kids came near, I'd scream and attack them. Their parents stopped them from hitting back. One day, in a shop, I tried it on a kid when there was nobody around — he knocked the crap out of me. I was fine after that.”
    I offer my chin. “Take a pop if you want.”
    Bill-E pads over, makes a fist, then taps my chin lightly. “Come on,” he laughs. “Let's go see what whirling Dervish is up to.”
    The study. Dervish and Bill-E catching up. Lots of names I don't recognize. Bill-E talking about school, looking forward to the summer break. Dervish telling him about a new book on Bavarian sorcerors which he bought off the Web.
    “What about the eye spell?” Bill-E asks. He looks at me and points to his lazy left eye. “I'm supposed to have this operated on in a few years, but I'm sure Dervish can conjure up a spell to spare me the hassle.”
    “I've asked around,” Dervish laughs, “but the great magicians of yore didn't bother much with drooping eyelids. Besides, magic shouldn't be used for personal gain, Billy.” Dervish always refers to Bill-E as Billy. I guess he's known him so long, he finds it hard to change.
    “Tell that to great-great-wotsits Garadex!” Bill-E snorts. “He used his magic to make millions, didn't he?”
    “Bartholomew Garadex was an exception,” Dervish says.
    Bill-E treats the study as though it's his own. Pulls books out and only half-pushes them back. Shoves Dervish out of the way to go surfing on the Web. Opens a drawer in the desk to show me the skull of a genuine witch, “burned at the stake for casting lascivious spells on the virile young men of the community,” he informs me, waving it around in front of his face, poking his fingers into its empty sockets. Dervish lets Bill-E do as he pleases. Sits back and smiles patiently.
    “He's not normally this wound up,” Dervish remarks when Bill-E goes to the toilet. “Your arrival upset him. He's used to having the run of the house. I think he's worried that things are going to change now that you've moved in.”
    “Why does he come here?” I ask.
    “His mother and I were friends,” Dervish says. “She died in a boating accident, leaving Billy in the care of his grandparents.” He pulls a face. “All I'll say about that pair is they're aptly named —
Spleen!
A more cantankerous old couple you couldn't imagine. I felt sorry for Billy, so I started visiting and taking him out on my bike. Ma and Pa Spleen weren't too keen — they still do everything they can to stop his coming over here — but persistence is something I'm good at. I tend to get my own way when I really want to. The odd persuasion spell or two helps.” He winks. I can't tell if he's serious or joking.
    Bill-E returns, shaking water from his hands. “No towels, Derv,” he grumbles.
    Dervish raises an eyebrow at me. “Fresh towels are your department, aren't they, Master Grubbs?”
    “Sorry.” I grimace. “I forgot.”
    “If I was you, Mr. Grady, sir, I'd sack 'im,” Bill-E says with relish, then laughs and asks Dervish to teach him a new spell.
    “Will I make the two of you disappear?” Dervish asks innocently.
    “Yeah!” Bill-E gasps, face lighting up — then curses as Dervish shoos us out of the room and slams the door shut behind us.
    The hall of portraits. Bill-E knows the faces and names off by heart. Giving me a lecture, filling me in on my family background. I listen with pretend politeness, only paying attention to the occasional juicy snippet.
    “Urszula Garadex — pirate,” Bill-E intones, tapping the frame of a large canvas portrait. The woman in the picture only has one eye, and three of her fingers are missing, two on her left hand, one on her right. “A cutthroat. Utterly merciless.
    “Augustine Grady. Servant to some prince or other. Cause of death — he got kicked in the head by a horse.
    “Justin Plunkton — a banker. Nothing interesting about him.”
    And so on.
    After a while I ask