Icefire by Chris D'Lacey

They only come out at night.”
    “And he won’t like being disturbed,” added David. “You’ve probably scared him off.”
    “Or your
witch
has.”
    “Oh, pack it in, you two,” Liz scolded. “Things are difficult enough without the pair of you bickering like a couple of sparrows. Lucy, stop calling — Zanna, is it? — a witch. I’m sure under all that makeup and metal she’s a very nice girl. You certainly know how to pick them, David. She’s got a gorgeous figure.”
    “Eh?”
    “Don’t pretend you haven’t
looked,”
said Lucy. She turned again to her mom. “What shall I do?”
    “What about?”
    “Spikey.”
    Liz batted a hand. “I agree with David. If Spikey’s got any sense he’ll have gone next door for some peace and quiet.”
    Lucy dropped her shoulders and sighed.
    “Anyway, have you seen Bonnington this morning?”
    “No.” Lucy switched her gaze to the tenant. “If I say I’ll talk nicely to you again, will you look for Spikey when you go next door?”
    “No, I’m busy.”
    “But you promised
ages
ago that you’d help me look after any animal that came to our garden.”
    David opened the door to the hall. “I’m
busy,”
he repeated. “I’ll go and make some space in my room,” he said to Liz, “then I’ll pop next door and see what’s what.” He shot Lucy a withering glance. “Oh, all right. When I get a chance I’ll root around Henry’s garden, OK?”
    “Yes,” she smiled, balling her fists. “Spikey’s important. You ask Gadzooks.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” David yawned, and he drifted away.
    It took about fifteen sweaty minutes to rearrange half his room into a corner and pack some loose things away into his wardrobe. He even dragged his desk into the opposite alcove to give Aunty Gwyneth as muchspace as possible. The last thing he did was move Gadzooks. “You don’t want to go to Henry’s, do you?” he asked. Gadzooks offered no opinion either way. David tickled his snout and took him to the wardrobe. “Brought you a friend,” he said to Grace, and slid Gadzooks into place beside her. Grace stared frostily back.
    “Try and look a bit more grateful,” said David, and hurriedly closed the wardrobe door.
    In the hall, on his way out, he bumped into Aunty Gwyneth. She was dressed in a watery, lilac-colored suit that looked to be a replica of the one she’d arrived in. “Leaving?” she enquired with a faint air of triumph. “You appear to have forgotten your bag.”
    “I’m coming back to pack, after I’ve spoken to Henry.”
    “Make it short,” she said, and sailed into the kitchen.
    What nerve!
thought David, sticking out his tongue. He went to the front door and opened it. But on thestep, he teetered and changed his mind. Maybe the weird old lady was right. Pack now. Get it over with. Grab some things. Go.
    He banged the door shut and returned to his room.
    He was reaching underneath his bed for his gym bag (and having a strange bout of déjà vu) when a pair of eyes glittered like sequins in the darkness and he realized Bonnington was under there, too. “I wouldn’t stay there if I were you, Bonners. Aunty Gwyneth is moving in. I don’t think you’ll be allowed to share the blanket with her.”
    Bonnington didn’t budge. “Come out,” David whispered, scratching the mattress. Still Bonnington wouldn’t move. Frowning, David stretched out a hand and grabbed the loose skin at the back of the cat’s neck, dragging him forcefully into the open. Bonnington gave out a pitiful
meow,
jumped into the gym bag, and huddled in the bottom. “What’s the matter?” David sighed and hauled him out, spreading the cat longways against his shoulder. Bonnington flattened his big brown ears and dug his claws into thetenant’s chest. Mystified, David bounced him like a baby till the faint swell of purring was rippling through the air. “Come on, let’s get you some
Truffgood,”
he said, and carried the cat into the hall. He was about to shoulder his way