Beads of sweat dripped from his brow, turning to ice as they fell through the air. He was pale as a corpse, shaking like a dead leaf in a high wind. The dark-haired boy stood in a pentacle of his own, smaller, filled with different runes, three feet away from the main one. Then two yellow staring eyes materialized in the heart of the smoke. The column hung above the middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever upward against the ceiling like the cloud of an erupting volcano. The sulfur cloud contracted into a thick column of smoke that vomited forth thin tendrils they licked the air like tongues before withdrawing. Footsteps from invisible feet came pattering across the floorboards and invisible mouths whispered wicked things from behind the bed and under the desk. Pressure was suddenly applied to the door that led to the landing. From far away came the sound of many voices screaming. The darkened room filled with a yellow, choking cloud of brimstone, in which indistinct black shadows writhed and roiled. The glowing filaments in each bulb shrank and dimmed, while the candles that sprang from every available surface like a colony of toadstools had their wicks snuffed out. Ice formed on the curtains and crusted thickly around the lights in the ceiling. Jonathan Stroud The Amulet of Samarkand The Bartimaeus Trilogy, book 1 For Gina Part One 2 1 Bartimaeus The temperature of the room dropped fast.
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