Becoming P.T. Lyfantod - 62
A serial fantasy novel
What follows is Part 62 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
“Where’ve you been?” Iain hissed. “Get down!” He hauled me to the floor to join the others crouching behind a wood and glass display case filled with old pots. I felt a twinge. We were clearly hiding from something. But what?
And their clothes… Iain looked normal enough, if nothing like himself, in a blue-and-white collared shirt and jeans. Except for the bright orange ascot hanging from his neck. But Merry… in a dress? A purple dress. With a familiar green scarf and purple hair band… I had never seen Merry wear a dress in my life. She looked so… girly. And Stuart. Oh, Stuart… Orange turtleneck sweater, matching socks… And a pleated red skirt that stopped just above his knobbly knees… I examined my own clothes: a tatty green shirt and rust-colored cord trousers. But—
“Where’s Scoob?” Iain asked me.
“He was here just a minute ago!” whispered Stuart, adjusting his thick, black-framed lenses.
“What if… they’ve got him?” Even Merry’s voice was more feminine.
“They?” I whispered, forgetting for a moment that there was no Scoob. “They who?”
“Shh!” Iain pulled me lower, peering nervously over the top of the display. “The Fomorians—”
“This is too weird,” I said. “How does this place even know about Scooby Doo? And where’s T—”
The sound of breaking glass came from the next room, and Iain slapped a hand over my mouth. “Don’t you see, Shag? It was him all along! Clyne Woods? The frogs? It was all just a ploy to get t—”
A cackle erupted from the direction of the noise. And a voice I recognized. “This is it! At long last, I’ve finally found it! After all these years…”
Tom Firth.
“We’ve got to stop him!” said Merry. “Before it’s too late!” She’d darted from behind the display case and sprinted from the room.
“Daph!” cried Iain.
“Daphne, wait!” Stuart had a hand over his mouth.
We ran after her.
Rain pounded at the windows, and outside, a thunderstorm surged. We dodged between benches and statues of marble and stone. Sped past glass cases filled with priceless antiques and books bound in dark leather. We rounded a corner to find Merry standing before a tall display whose front lay in shattered pieces on the floor. Inside, an empty cushion bore the dimples of whatever had rested there. There was no sign of Tom.
“He’s gone,” Merry clutched her collar. “We’re too late…”
“We’ll find him.” Iain put a bracing hand on her shoulder. “Split up, gang. Daph and I’ll go this way. Velma,” he nodded at Stuart. “You stay here and look for clues. And Shag—” he turned to me, “Find Scooby. We’ll need his nose before this is all over.”
“My name’s not—”
But Iain didn’t wait for a reply. He took Merry by the arm and before I knew it they were gone.
“Stuart—” I began. Except he was gone as well. “Where did he…?” I looked down. Stuart was on his hands and knees, crawling among the broken glass. I still couldn’t get over that skirt. “Stuart.” I said again. He ignored me. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Velma!”
He blinked up at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for clues! There’s bound to be something. A note, or a piece of—”
“What are we doing here? Why—why did Lightfoot send us to this place?”
“What do you mean? We followed Tom, remember? After we realized he wasn’t on our side.”
“I don’t remember, because this isn’t real. Why do you remember? What am I supposed to do?”
“Like Fred said. Find Scooby. If we’re going to stop Tom, we’re going to need him. We always do.”
“Stop Tom from what?”
“From convincing Lightfoot that he’s the hero. And we’re the impostors.”
“But I’m not…” Like falling dominoes, the inevitable cascade of events passed before my mind’s eye. Tom would get to Lightfoot. Persuade him that we were liars. Or spies. We’d arrive too late. Lightfoot would cast us out, if not kill us then and there. Tom would be rewarded for his betrayal. Learn all the spellsongs we were meant to; all the secrets we deserved to know. While he worked his way up the ranks of the Order, only to destroy it from within, the best we could hope for was lives of tedious mediocrity, neither the heroes nor the villains…
Nobodies.
“Where did you last see—err… Scooby?”
Stuart pointed back the way we came. “That way.”
I was nearly out of the room when his voice brought me up short. “Jinkies—!”
I spun around. “What is it?”
When I saw what Stuart was holding, my heart turned over in my chest. It was a strip of green ribbon. I didn’t have time to consider the implications. I turned on my heel and ran from the room. I had to find Scooby Doo.
