Choke: 2 (Pillage Trilogy (Pillogy)) by Obert Skye Page A

flickering, but I think he nodded.
    “The stones must be stored properly or the soil will ruin them,” he said hotly. “You didn’t take care of the stone.”
    “I didn’t know.”
    “How foolish your father has been.”
    I didn’t like him talking about my father that way so I changed the subject. “I still don’t understand why you’re here. And what are these passages?”
    “I was coming to see you,” he insisted. “As for the passages, ask your father.”
    The old man pushed on the wall behind him. A part of the wall moved back and opened like a door. I could see and hear the outdoors. The old guy now looked nervous and shaky.
    “So, you’re a Pillage?” I asked, thinking he had to be related.
    “Find the stone,” he insisted, ignoring me. “Tend it properly and then destroy her when she is born.”
    “I can’t find . . .”
    “You must,” he roared. “If not, in seven days it will be too late.”
    “Even if I could find the stone, where do I take care of it?” I argued. “Half of the conservatory is knocked down, and I’ve seen people hike through just to take a peek.”
    Whitey was silent.
    “People are always trying to take pictures of the conservatory,” I added. “There’s not as many curious weirdos as there used to be, but I can’t risk it.”
    “Interesting,” he said. “Then look behind the garage.”
    “Where?”
    “Behind the garage,” he barked.
    “Sorry,” I said, taken back by his bark. “Do you know there’s nothing but trees behind the garage?”
    “Look down,” he said nervously.
    I looked at the floor.
    “Not in here,” he scolded. “Behind the garage. You’ll find what you should follow.”
    “I . . .”
    “You listen,” he said hoarsely. “I’m taking a great risk coming here, but you’re taking a far greater risk abandoning that stone.”
    “My father’s said nothing about stones growing by themselves.”
    “Your father knows nothing of dragons,” Whitey said. “He has chosen to hide himself instead of participate. His ignorance is self-inflicted and may be the ruin of us all.”
    “Don’t . . .”
    He interrupted me again. “You have seven days.”
    “Okay, okay. Starting now?” I asked. “And does that mean exactly seven days, or is it sort of an estimate?”
    “This is no joke,” he insisted. “Seven days.”
    I was going to say more, but the old man pinched out the flame on the candle and slipped out the open wall. It was dark, but the moonlight outdoors was spilling in, making it possible to see the outline of things. I could hear the sound of falling water. I stepped though the door and was surprised to find myself in the courtyard near the twisted snake statue. I looked at the wall I had just come through and carefully pushed it closed. Once it was shut it was impossible to tell it was there. The patterns of the stone hid any trace. I looked across the courtyard to where the back door was and marveled over this secret place being there all along.
    “Who designed this place?” I whispered.
    I looked up at the gargoyles hanging off the top floor, but they didn’t answer me. I walked over to the back door and made my way up to my father’s room. I had a few things that I needed to ask him.
    When I got to the top floor and knocked on his door, there was no answer. I knocked louder but there was still no reply. I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The windows were open, and a soft wind was blowing around. The light switch didn’t work but I could see the outline of the few pieces of furniture.
    “Dad,” I called.
    No reply.
    “Dad.”
    I was alone. I climbed down the stairs to the floor below but there was still no sign of my dad. I sat down in a large wingback chair to wait for my father to come back. I was a little worried, but more than that, I was a lot intrigued.

    Illustration from page 9 of The Grim Knot

CHAPTER 7

Don’t Lose Your Head
    I was having a vision about finally getting a cell phone when the