by Debi Gliori
The hatchling qualified as the most unusual newborn ever to appear at StregaSchloss. It scrabbled down the side of the jelly pan, flapped onto the floor, and crawled up a table leg in search of nourishment. On the tabletop it found a veritable feast laid out in welcome. By way of thanks to its absent hosts, the creature emitted a strangled sound halfway between a howl and an operatic high C. Glass preserve jars exploded, china mixing bowls cracked, and a pane of glass shattered in the window over the sink. With an ease that Damp would have envied, the creature slitted its eyes, drew a deep breath, and tried again. This time the priceless chandelier in the great hall shattered in an explosion of crystal, proving, as it did so, that all stories about the legendary Borgia Diamond were fact, not fiction. On the floor of the great hall, a gem the size of a quail’s egg rolled out from the wreckage of the chandelier and came to rest in the untouched dust beneath the shrouded grandfather clock.
The creature paused, abashed at having vandalized its newfound nest, then with a shrug, it dipped its head and crammed a handful of sticky chocolate brownies into its mouth. Their intense sweetness coupled with the creature’s complete lack of teeth caused its next howl to come out as a muffled shriek, accompanied by a shower of brownie crumbs. It gulped rapidly and cleared its palate by the simple expedient of draining an adjacent punch bowl. Clearing its throat, it threw back its head and howled loudly—so loudly that a rackful of bottles in the wine cellar exploded, showering Strega-Nonna’s freezer in vintage champagne.
There, that was more like it. Volume, that’s the thing.
From the distant hills surrounding Lochnagargoyle came an answering howl: the plaintive greeting of a legendary Scottish monster that had lived on its own for too many centuries, a mournful refrain that echoed across the meadow and bounced off the east wing of StregaSchloss. Again it came, masked by the sound of fireworks from the shore, but clearer now and more confident—a howl that sounded like a question: “Are you there? Hello? Hello?”
In the kitchen, in between mouthfuls of Black Bun, Ffup’s hatchling answered: “Yes, here I am. Hello? Hello?” And, a little later, “Dad???”
They all agreed that the last firework had been absolutely the best one ever. Even Damp had emerged from the cocoon of her parents’ arms to squeal as it exploded in a bouquet of vast dandelion heads made of white shooting stars that breached the night sky, their luminous tails streaking for an eternity across the loch. Deafened and dazzled, the party made its way sleepily back to StregaSchloss, unaware that the first of the new year’s surprises was already there, waiting, in the kitchen.
Also by Debi Gliori
PURE DEAD Magic
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Text and illustrations copyright © 2002 by Debi Gliori
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Distributed by Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in Great Britain by Transworld Publishers Ltd. in 2002.
KNOPF, BORZOI BOOKS, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com/kids
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gliori, Debi.
Pure dead wicked / Debi Gliori.— 1st American ed.
p. cm.
Sequel to: Pure dead magic.
SUMMARY: The Strega-Borgia children accidentally create 500 clones of themselves at the same time that the roof on their Scottish castle falls in, attracting evil contractors who want their home.
[1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Witches—Fiction. 3. Castles—Fiction. 4. Family life—Scotland—Fiction. 5. Scotland—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G4889 Pv 2002
[Fic]—dc21 2002066105
eISBN: 978-0-375-89026-0
v3.0
