Pure Dead Magic Read Online Free

with a shriek. “AAAAAAARGH!” And then, for he had a headache of monumental nastiness, “Aaaa … oww … shhhhhhhh.”
    His eyes roamed around his cell, taking in his floor-level view of four stone walls, one slatted bench, one solid door with peephole and lock, rather too many ceiling-mounted lightbulbs searing his eyes, and what looked ominously like a potty within olfactory range of where he lay.
    Things were not looking good, he decided, slowly getting onto all fours and then gently easing his stiff limbs onto the slatted bench. It
was
a potty.
    This is a prison cell. This thing throbbing and pounding on the end of your neck is a head. Use it, Luciano. Think back, hecommanded himself, what was the last thing you remember?
    He’d been in a huff for some reason, stomping along the little lane that connected StregaSchloss with the main road to Auchenlochtermuchty. It was raining, he recalled, which was why …
    He was momentarily distracted by the sight of a cockroach climbing out of the potty and pausing on the rim for a spot of grooming. To his disgust, it appeared to be smacking its tiny lips.
     … which was why he’d been only too glad to accept a lift from the driver of the black Mercedes who’d stopped to ask for directions. The car’s windows were made out of dark-tinted glass, so he’d been unaware …
    The cockroach keeled over and, with an almost inaudible splash, fell backward into the potty.
     … that sitting in the back of the car was a man dressed in black, gun lying casually in his lap, beckoning him inward with a full hypodermic syringe, which was promptly emptied into his arm …
     … which would explain the pounding headache and brain-fuzz that made his recall of events so much more difficult. So that was how, but where was he now? And why? And who?
Who
had kidnapped him? He had the sneaking suspicion that whoever it was did not have his best interests at heart.
    This opinion was further reinforced by a ghastly scream from somewhere outside Signor Strega-Borgia’s cell door. “NO, NO, NO, scusi, Don Borgia, I so sorry I overcook da pasta, I never never do eet again. On my mama’s grave, I swear I never turn eet into stewed knitting ever again, NOOOOOOOO. AAAARGHHHHHH. Not the sharks! NOOOO!”
    And, disturbingly, another voice, a vaguely familiar voice,“Act like a man, Ragu. Pull yourself together, it’s not the sharks, stupido, it’s the piranhas, haa-haa haaa.”
    Signor Strega-Borgia turned pale and began to shake.
Don Borgia? Don Lucifer di S’Embowelli Borgia?
The most evil, heartless, amoral being ever to walk the earth? The man whose idea of a noble deed was to help little old ladies cross the street into the path of oncoming traffic? Whose idea of entertainment was rounding up stray cats and cooking them in a microwave? Whose childhood had been spent in torturing his half brother—his half brother Luciano Strega-Borgia—who was currently sobbing his eyes out on a gray prison-cell floor and begging a drowned cockroach to exchange lives with him?
    Yes.
That
Don Lucifer di S’Embowelli Borgia, and none other.

E-rats
    L ife goes on, as it always has. Worlds collapse, people go to war, divorce, and cause each other immense amounts of grief, but diapers still have to be changed, food cooked, and parents, no matter how unhappy, still have to go to work.
    Thus it was at StregaSchloss. Mrs. McLachlan settled in, Damp fell in love with her, and Titus and Pandora had to admit grudgingly that her fries were indeed crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle.
    Signora Strega-Borgia bid the children a tearful farewell and set off to complete her degree in Advanced Witchcraft, returning to StregaSchloss on weekends.
    In the absence of her mother, Pandora opened Multitudina’s cage door and allowed her pet rat the freedom of StregaSchloss. By default, this freedom was also granted to Multitudina’s thirteen offspring.
    Seizing the opportunity to unlock the secrets of his