by Maz Evans
The door flew open. In the doorway was a soaking wet Josie. And wrapping his coat around her was Dave.
‘Get off me!’ Josie shrieked, clawing at him. ‘You monster!’
‘I’m so sorry, Elliot,’ said Dave, looking grimly at the welfare officers. ‘I had no choice. I heard her shout from the field – she fell in the pond.’
‘You pushed me! You pushed me, you evil—’
‘Mum!’ Elliot cried, taking her into his arms.
‘Calm down, no one pushed anyone, you just had an accident . . .’
‘And you are?’ Ms Givings asked.
Dave gave Elliot an apologetic look.
‘I’m David Hooper,’ he said. ‘Elliot’s father.’
‘I see,’ said Ms Givings, consulting her notes. Elliot felt the world grow heavier around him.
‘Forget him,’ exclaimed Josie angrily, shrugging off the coat and grabbing Mr Trick by his collar. ‘Who are you? GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!’
4. Oh, Brother
The past two months had given Thanatos little to smile about. The boy still had the Earth and Air Stones. The Daemon of Death had no idea where the Water and Fire Stones were. His faith in his mother’s plan was fading by the hour. And he was still in a foul mood.
But as he sat upon his throne of bones in the Cave of Sleep and Death, the front page of the Daily Argus, the immortal newspaper, brought a long-awaited smile to his lips.
WISE COUNCIL
By Pliny, Political Editor
At a time when the good news is sadly elusive
The Argus has landed a great big exclusive
This story is massive! A journalist coup!
(The bloke down the pub told my mate it was true)
The Zodiac Council has said that it’s time
To step up their efforts to minimize crime
There’s no need to panic, it’s nothing too drastic
(Although Elementals might feel less fantastic)
Just raise the alarm if they’re being suspicious
(Those Unicorns always look mighty malicious)
And they’ll be invited to have a brief stay
In Tartarus, where they are out of harm’s way
And if they require a little assistance
The Titans are free to prevent their resistance
So try not to worry, whatever you do
(But if you’re Elemental, we’re all watching you . . .)
‘Excellent,’ Thanatos murmured to himself, a new plan forming in his mind as Nyx swept into the cave in a plume of black smoke. ‘Hello, Mother. Long time no see.’
‘I can’t stay long. Some of us are busy retrieving our Chaos Stones,’ said the Goddess of the Night. ‘How delightful it must be to have the luxury of time to sit around reading the paper.’
‘Help yourself,’ said Thanatos, tossing it towards her.
Thanatos looked over at his brother, Hypnos, Daemon of Sleep, who had been in an enchanted slumber ever since Nyx turned his own sleep trumpet on him.
‘I still say we should finish him,’ said Thanatos. ‘You’re getting soft in your old age, Mother . . .’
The Goddess of the Night flashed a look that warned her son not to try her patience. Thanatos knew he’d be wise to heed it. She turned her attention to the newspaper.
‘The Titans?’ said Nyx slowly. ‘Haven’t seen them in a while.’
‘My thoughts entirely,’ said Thanatos. ‘We’re long overdue a catch-up.’
‘Indeed,’ said Nyx.
‘I’ve decided to take an extended break in Tartarus,’ said Thanatos.
‘To do what?’ asked Nyx.
‘Rally the troops,’ said Thanatos. ‘War is coming. We need to be ready.’
‘What can you do?’ Nyx objected. ‘Without your Chaos Stones, the Daemon Army is trapped. What use are you there?’
‘Oh, you’ll see,’ smiled Thanatos. ‘But this does mean I’ll be unavailable to babysit my dear brother.’
‘Well, what do you propose?’ said Nyx. ‘I can’t be here. I’m busy.’
‘You know my thoughts. He won’t stay like this for ever. More’s the pity,’ sneered Thanatos. ‘His Daemon strength will fight the magic. He will awaken. And soon.’
‘I know this,’ hissed Nyx, following Thanatos towards his throne of bones. ‘But he’s still—’
‘My brother,’ yawned Thanatos. ‘Don’t I know it.’
‘I was going to say, “potentially useful”.’ Nyx glowered. ‘For our plans to succeed, we need as much help as possible. Hypnos is still virtually unknown on Earth; he could be an asset. If you’re going to be in Tartarus and I’m going to be—’
‘What was that?’ said Thanatos, interrupting his mother as a noise from the next chamber pricked his senses.
‘Nothing,’ said Nyx. ‘Just the wind. You’re getting paranoid in your old age . . .’
Thanatos raised a lone eyebrow at his mother’s gleeful grimace.
‘My brother cannot be trusted,’ he said. ‘How much more proof do you need? He betrayed me to Zeus. He lost us our Chaos Stones. And he told the boy where to find them. He is a liability.’
‘Maybe he’s learnt his lesson,’ said Nyx.
‘Or maybe he’ll wake up seeking revenge,’ said Thanatos. ‘Face it, Mother: the stakes are too high now – there is no place for a treacherous fool.’
Nyx’s black wings fluttered in a sudden breeze. She wrapped them around her and stood as still as a tomb while she thought.
‘Who’s going to do it?’ she said at last.
‘Oh, please let me have the pleasure,’ said Thanatos, rising happily from his throne. ‘Don’t get me wrong – it’s a much easier death than I’d hoped for my evil twin, but taking his kardia will have to do. Let’s get on with it—’
‘Wait!’ said Nyx, holding up a talon. ‘He’s still my son. He deserves a final farewell from his mother.’
‘If you must,’ sighed Thanatos, slumping back on his throne. ‘But make it quick.’
Nyx walked nervously to the dark corner of the cave where Hypnos’s sable-covered bed lay in the shadows. The black curtains wafted in the dank air. Nyx took one in her talons and slowly drew it back.
Thanatos cracked his knuckles. He’d been looking forward to this for centuries.
‘THANATOS!’ cried Nyx. ‘He’s . . . he’s—’
‘He’s what?’ snapped Thanatos impatiently. He strode over and snatched back the curtains. He stared down at Hypnos’s bed with a horrified gasp.
‘He’s gone!’ screeched Nyx.
5. Bottoms Up
Being headmaster of Brysmore School was very stressful. But then, for Graham Sopweed, lots of things were. Most aspects of daily life caused Call Me Graham untold stress. Maybe the weather forecast had predicted light drizzle when it was actually moderate. Maybe he’d left his favourite biro in his other cardigan. Or maybe Friday just didn’t feel . . . Fridayish enough. Every day brought unique challenges for Graham as he navigated life’s path. A path that, for Graham, was beset with uneven paving stones, sharp thorns and dog mess.
But no more. A month ago, Graham had decided it was time to seek help for his dreadful nerves. His wife Lilith had reported great results with hypnotherapy – she was losing over thirty pounds a week! And, as she kept insisting, it was only a matter of time before she shed some weight too. Lilith said her hypnotherapist made her feel like ‘a different woman’ – and made her realize how much she wished Graham were ‘a different man’. So Graham decided to take the plunge and booked his first hypnotherapy session.
It was the best decision he’d ever made. As Lilith pointed out, he had been lucky to get an appointment – Dr C. U. Cumming was much in demand. His hourly rate was a steal – and as he only accepted cash, Graham didn’t have to worry about card fraud (just to be sure, the hypnotherapist kept his wallet for the whole time Graham was in a trance). And to top it all, Dr Cumming’s practice couldn’t be more convenient, located in a gazebo in the supermarket car pa
rk.
Dr Cumming had given Graham techniques that had changed his life. He had taught Graham to clap his hands three times every time he got stressed. For the following few seconds, Graham would enter a deep hypnotic trance that completely cleared his mind. He had no idea what happened in these brief absences, but when he emerged, he was as calm as a vegan’s pet pig. Dr Cumming had spent hours perfecting this technique and it had proved invaluable. Graham was a fortress. Graham was a rock. Graham was a . . .
‘PATHETIC LITTLE SLACKER!’ roared Mr Boil, storming into the office without an invitation.
Graham felt his heart quake.
‘I want a word!’ demanded his deputy.
‘Yes, of c-course, Mr B-boil,’ stammered Call Me Graham. ‘Just one moment.’
He quietly turned away and clapped his hands three times.
‘My PIN number is 2679,’ he chanted, quite unaware he was doing so.
‘What are you . . . ?’ Boil spluttered. ‘Who cares . . . It’s about Hooper.’
‘Which one?’ sighed Graham. ‘Elliot or Anna?’ ‘Both,’ glowered Boil. ‘They’ve been playing truant.’
‘Really?’ said Graham. ‘When?’
‘This morning,’ leered Boil. ‘While I was having my . . . procedure.’
‘Yes – how did that go?’ whispered Call Me Graham. ‘All sounded very . . . personal.’
‘The doctors say I should make a full recovery,’ said Boil. ‘But I’m to avoid putting undue pressure on the affected area.’
‘You have to admit,’ laughed Graham nervously, ‘it is rather ironic that you of all people should get a boil on your—’
‘Bottom!’ pronounced Boil, thrusting a register in Call Me Graham’s face.
‘I didn’t know it was common knowledge . . .’ murmured Graham.
‘The register!’ snapped Boil. ‘Look at the bottom. Hooper times two. My substitute noted them down as absent! Expulsion is the only way forward!’
‘Ah – not to worry, Mr Boil,’ said Call Me Graham. ‘Their absence was fully authorized. Today was their inspection by the school welfare team.’
‘It was?’ asked Boil, with something the headmaster thought might be a smile. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m about to find out – Ms Givings should be here any moment,’ said Graham, putting a folder on his desk. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me . . .’
‘No, no, no, headmaster,’ smiled Boil. ‘I am your deputy. I should be aware of any issues regarding my students – especially one as . . . special as Hooper. I’ll stay.’
‘I’m not sure that’s—’ Graham began.
‘Worth my time?’ Boil cut in. ‘I know, but I do like to go the extra mile for my students.’
‘I thought you liked to run a mile from your students,’ said Graham.
‘Enough!’ roared Boil, making Graham jump. ‘I am staying and that is final.’
Graham clapped his hands beneath the desk.
‘My bank account is 21369743, sort code 39-42-06,’ he chimed.
‘What are you blithering about?’ asked Boil.
‘Sorry?’ said Graham serenely. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘Yes, you did,’ snapped Boil, plumping down in the nearest chair. ‘Owwweeeeee!’
‘Ah, yes,’ winced Graham as Boil leapt into the air. ‘Your . . . affected area. Perhaps you put undue pressure on it?’
There was a gentle tap on the open office door.
‘Hello, Mr Sopweed,’ said Ms Givings. ‘Is now a good time?’
‘Of course – do come in. You’ll have to excuse Mr Boil, he’s just recovering from surgery.’
‘Nothing serious, I hope,’ said Ms Givings.
‘Just a . . . routine procedure,’ groaned Boil.
‘Well, I hope they get to the bottom of it,’ said Ms Givings, pulling a chair up to Graham’s desk. ‘So, I wanted to get my findings back to you immediately. I’m afraid it’s not good news.’
‘Really?’ Graham shivered. This sounded stressful. He kept his hands at the ready.
‘I’m afraid so. I’ll email my full report, but I’m sorry to say that my initial assessment is . . . that Josie Hooper is sadly not capable of caring for Elliot.’
A fleeting movement caught the corner of Graham’s eye. Surely Mr Boil hadn’t just fist-pumped?
‘Oh, no!’ Graham exclaimed. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘During our visit, Mrs Hooper was variously unresponsive, confused, vacant and finally very aggressive. From what I observed – and I’m no doctor – I think that she is in an advanced state of mental deterioration. I believe Josie Hooper to be suffering from some form of dementia.’
‘No!’ gasped Graham. ‘That’s awful! Dementia? But she’s not old enough, surely?’
‘Some people can develop it as early as their forties,’ explained Ms Givings. ‘It’s called “early-onset dementia”. It’s rare, but very serious. And, sadly, it will only get worse.’
‘That poor, poor boy,’ whispered Graham, clapping his hands. ‘The spare key to my house is under the gnome with the pink spotty hat.’
‘What was that?’ asked Ms Givings.
‘Nothing,’ said Graham, exhaling deeply. ‘It’s just so—’
‘Yes, yes, all very sad,’ grinned Boil. ‘So what are you going to do about Hoop . . . young Elliot and Anna?’
‘That’s where it gets a bit complicated,’ sighed Ms Givings, consulting her notes. ‘Anna has her parents – Brad and Bridget, I believe? Although neither of them was there during our visit. But we did discover another adult residing in the house. David Hooper, Elliot’s father.’
‘The criminal!’ cried Boil.
‘The ex-offender,’ Ms Givings corrected. ‘Elliot’s been hiding him.’
‘Oh, Elliot,’ sighed Graham. ‘Can his father take care of him?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to establish,’ said Ms Givings. ‘But I’m having trouble tracking down Mr Hooper’s parole officer. Obviously, I need to know a great deal more about his situation. Especially as Josie may need to be removed from their home.’
‘Removed?’ trembled Graham.
‘Removed!’ sang Boil.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Ms Givings grimly. ‘Josie’s going to need specialist care as her mental and physical state deteriorates. What I now need to find out is if she appointed a legal guardian for Elliot.’
‘Who cares about that?’ asked Boil.
‘We do, Mr Boil,’ said Ms Givings firmly. ‘We need to know if Josie has chosen someone to take care of Elliot if she can’t. It’s very important.’
‘Won’t it be her husband?’ suggested Graham.
‘Maybe,’ said Ms Givings. ‘But if David Hooper has been in prison for ten years, he may no longer be Elliot’s legal guardian. We don’t even know if they are still married – many couples divorce and change custody arrangements when one partner is imprisoned. Unfortunately, Josie couldn’t answer my questions.’
‘So Hooper’s legal guardian gets to decide where he goes?’ leered Boil.
‘Potentially, yes,’ said Ms Givings guardedly. ‘If David Hooper isn’t responsible for Elliot, then we need to find out who is. They could hold his future in their hands.’
‘This is all so dr-dreadful,’ stammered Call Me Graham, clapping again. ‘I’ll be out of town for three days next week. The combination to my private safe is in my sock drawer.’
‘Er – thank you, Mr Sopweed. We’re already working on it,’ said a confused Ms Givings, rising to leave. ‘I wondered if the neighbour might have some insight – Mrs Horse’s—’
‘Porshley-Plum,’ grinned Boil. ‘Oh, yes. I think Patricia’s going to want to do everything she can to help.’
‘For the last time, I’m telling you – I locked Gorgy in his cage!’
Elliot glowered at Virgo as they walked to their maths lesson. They’d been having the same argument the whole way to school.
‘Then how did he get out?’ snapped Elliot.
&
nbsp; ‘I do not know!’ said Virgo. ‘Before I left for the Council, I put Gorgy in his cage, gave him a book, he wiped his nose on it and I locked the door. I remember it precisely.’
‘A lot of people seem to be remembering a lot of things that didn’t actually happen,’ scowled Elliot. ‘It was a total disaster.’
‘You cannot presume this,’ said Virgo. ‘Surely it would be optimal to save your foul mood for when you know you have something to be foul about?’
‘Just . . . shut up,’ huffed Elliot as he stormed past Call Me Graham’s office.
‘Hooper?’ an unwelcome voice called behind him.
Elliot charged on. He seriously wasn’t in the mood for Mr Boil.
‘HOOPER!’ yelled the history teacher. ‘Come here, I want to talk to you.’
Elliot stopped and clenched his fists. This was the last thing he needed right now. He turned to face his nemesis.
‘What?’
‘You are addressing a teacher!’ cried Boil.
‘What – sir?’ sulked Elliot.
Mr Boil’s face lit up with a horrifying grimace. What was he up to?
‘I’ve just been hearing about your house guest,’ whispered Boil. ‘So Daddy’s home?’
Elliot could feel his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands.
‘So?’ he said.
‘Must be nice for you, that’s all,’ said Boil. ‘Having some help. With your mother.’
‘How do you know—’ gasped Elliot.
‘Oh, I know everything, Hooper,’ hissed Boil. ‘Everything.’
‘Come along, Elliot,’ said Virgo, tugging at his blazer. ‘We need to get to maths . . .’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Elliot. He wasn’t in the mood for Boil’s games.
‘I mean,’ said Boil, bringing his flabby face far too close to Elliot’s, ‘that my days of looking at your insolent, disrespectful, horrible little face are numbered. I wonder where your new family will send you to school. Let’s hope it’s a long, long way away . . .’
Elliot’s heart raced. New family? What did Boil know?
‘I’m not going anywhere. Sir,’ he said, as firmly as he was able.
‘Oh, yes you are!’ Boil winked. ‘And so’s Mummy. I knew you were trouble the first moment I laid eyes on you. You’re a rotten seed, Elliot Hooper. Rotten to the core.’
