Home Improvement: Undead Edition

disappear. So I’d do my party trick. Simple. “Rainbows, and pixie dust, remember?” I said, pointedly.

His dark-pewter eyes showed a shocked rim of white as he caught on. “Nae, doll, you canna, ’tis too strong.”

Two boys’ lives were at stake. “We can but try,” I muttered, and focused on the Ward . . .

I called it.

For a second, nothing happened, and my stomach clenched in desperation. Then the Ward glowed like hot embers. Auntie hissed and her tail tightened round me, compressing painfully. The Ward melted from the doorframe and flooded like molten lava across the tiled floor toward me. She hissed louder, but just as she started to jerk me away, the Ward streamed over my legs—

—heat blazed through my veins, seared the breath from my lungs, shriveled the flesh on my bones—

And I fell into a furnace of fiery flames.

I CLIMBED MY way back to consciousness and blinked as the blurred writing in front of my nose rearranged itself into something legible: Round Wire Bright Nails, Steel–Self Color, 6.00 × 6 inch, 1-kg pack. I blinked again, tried to ignore the spike of pain that felt like a dwarf was hammering one of the six-inch nails into my brain, and scanned around. Apart from the statues in the room off the hallway, I was alone.

Good news: I wasn’t dead. Yet. My head was the only thing that was hurting. And the Ward on the front door was now bubbling away inside me like a malevolent spell in a black witch’s cauldron.

Bad news: Sucking up the Ward had killed my phone, there were still two kids hiding out in Aunt Snaky’s swimming pool, and there was no sign of the gold halter, so Tavish could be fishing the boys up for her dinner.

Good news: Tavish had said Aunt Snaky was near shedding her skin, and I’d gotten the impression that if she did it when the boys weren’t around, they’d be safe. Tavish was tricky enough to play for time.

Bad news: If the boys weren’t around, Auntie would eat Dora. And I wasn’t sure if Dora wasn’t as much victim as baddie in all this. And whether her camera was a sort of weird “sibyl accessory” or not, she’d obviously thought getting me involved was going to somehow save her.

But whether Dora needed saving or not, Tavish and the boys still might. I started to scramble up but promptly fell flat on my butt, and discovered why nothing but my head hurt. Aunt Snaky’s venom evidently contained some sort of neurotoxin; my legs were paralyzed and the rest of me was about as coordinated as a goblin high on methane. I clamped down on the dread threatening to short-circuit my mind and forced myself to assess the situation.

I could lie here and wait to be rescued, or die (cheerful thought), whichever came first. Neither prospect filled me with anything like joy. Or I could do something. Oh, and if I needed any more motivation, I still owed Auntie for biting me, and for my trashed trouser suit. I needed something to fight with. Half a dozen Stun spells would come in extremely handy right now, but all I had in my backpack was another Look-Away crystal. I surveyed the hallway looking for anything else that could help. There was the army of statues, but even if I had enough pixie dust to animate them—which I didn’t—they’d only end up damaging themselves. My eyes lit on the box of nails. And the sledgehammers lined up along the wall. Auntie was magical, and while her snaky skin might be as tough as old boots, nothing reacted well to having six inches of metal hammered into it. Using my arms to pull myself around on the smooth marble floor—thanking the gods it wasn’t carpet—I gathered the hammer, the nails, the spell, and two of the platters, which I’d discovered were actually small arm shields, and bundled them all up inside a drop cloth.

By the time I was finished, sweat was stinging my eyes, my arms were shaking with strain, and my headache was holding a fireworks party inside my skull.

I started dragging my haul toward the door down to the swimming pool.

Luckily, the door was open, and thanks to the thunderous sound of the waves crashing in the pool, sneaking stealthily down the stairs was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. Getting down them was. After much maneuvering I balanced the bundled drop cloth on the backs of my thighs, tucking an end into my waistband, and started crawling down headfirst. The numbing paralysis had crept up around my waist, which was a good thing: it meant I couldn’t feel my hips bumping down the sharp-edged stairs. I was going to be bruised six ways to Sunday.

“Always hoping I get to see Sunday,” I gasped, reaching the bottom.

I dragged myself along the opaque glass corridor, pushing snake scales the size of my palms out of the way, until I reached the open door to the pool room. I rested my forehead on the cool tile and went over my plan again, then sent a quick prayer to whatever gods might be listening.

I unpacked my loot from the drop cloth, my nervous fingers feeling like rubber sausages.

I propped the two shields—one copper, one shining silver—against the glass wall, activated the Look-Away crystal, and slid forward so I could peer into the pool room.

Hope and relief flooded into me as I searched for, but didn’t find, any signs of the missing boys.

Or Tavish.

And the sharks were gone.

But unfortunately Aunt Snaky wasn’t. She was swaying gently at the edge of the pool, staring out at the waves breaking its surface. She was fully snaked out, with a huge hood of black-and-red scales framing her head and shoulders. The rest of her was nude, if you discounted the diamond pattern of scales sweeping down her back and tapering into her coiled serpent’s tail. And around her waist was a wide shawl of what looked like crinkled plastic. I frowned, mystified, until I realized it was her partly shed skin.

Next to her, Dora sat huddled on the tiles, staring down at her camera. She was also nude; the same pattern of red-and-black scales marked down her back and arms, but hers was fainter, and her hair was still black spikes instead of a cobralike hood.

Showtime.

I crunched down on a mouthful of licorice torpedoes, grabbed a handful of the six-inch nails, and threw them out over the beachlike expanse so they landed between Auntie and me.

They chinked loudly as they scattered and bounced over the terra-cotta tiles.

Dora and Aunt Snaky both searched the pool room, looking for the source of the noise. In the wrong direction. Yay for Look-Away spells.

I threw more nails.

This time the spell failed, and they both turned my way.

Dora’s eyes widened in surprise and possibly hope.

Auntie hissed, her snaky red eyes gleaming angrily in her much younger and much less wrinkled face. She started sidewinding slowly toward me, her tail making a sizzling sound like water on a hot plate.

I rolled the copper arm shield out in front of me, swallowing back panic as I realized the numbness was creeping up my chest and into my shoulders. I shouted a warning to Dora. She jerked in shock, then lifted her camera to her face instead of moving. Damn. Her choice, though.

I reached deep inside myself for the solid lump of pixie dust, and then, using my will, I blew half of it so it sprinkled over the nails, and prayed the pixie magic would do its stuff. The nails jumped to attention, sharp points spiking upward, and formed my own little defense of six-inch spears. Auntie slid right over them. Dora was right; her skin was as tough as old boots. They didn’t slow her down much. But hopefully they’d done enough to persuade Dora to believe in me.

“Last chance, Dora,” I shouted.

Relief swept over me as she leaped up and dived into the pool.

Auntie’s huge tail whipped up and back—

I ducked down behind the arm shield I held and slapped the last of the pixie dust on the small bas-relief face carved on the shield’s front.

—the tail hurtled down toward me, shedding sharp-edged red-and-black scales—

A tremor shivered through the shield and its carved face let out a furious screech.

—the scales flashed to gray, and Aunt Snaky’s tail and the rest of her turned to stone.

I dropped my head to the cool floor and gave thanks.