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Isabelle Night and the Demon's Flute by Author Clara Goode, on sale in Spring, 2025!
In the Well of the Netherworld...
Something touched Isabelle’s neck lightly, making her think of scorpions and other horrible bugs living in the desert, but a flick of her hand quickly proved it was only a stray hair moving past in a bit of breeze.
A bit of breeze? Isabelle frowned.
The Well of the Netherworld was more than ten feet deep, and the air had been heavy and stale when they reached the bottom. Yet now an almost cold breeze brushed past her, seemingly from nowhere.
It carried a very bad feel.
“We have to go.” Isabelle turned toward the ladder.
Her mother looked up at Isabelle and blinked against a quick gust of air. In a second she too was at the ladder. “Up!” Isabelle needed no encouragement. She was already nearly halfway up the ladder. Will was a ladder rung behind her.
Uncle Gunther’s eyes were large, staring around him in confusion; his hands were outstretched, searching for the source of the breeze that grew increasingly stronger. And then he turned toward the ladder, following the others.
At the top, Isabelle scrambled over the lip of the Well. Will quickly followed her back to solid ground. Isabelle reached out to help her mother as she reached the top. Uncle Gunther climbed quickly but was several ladder rungs below Isabelle’s mother.
Uncle Gunther climbed steadily. The bottom of the Well could no longer be seen. An unnatural darkness now filled the Well like black water. Black lapped like waves around Uncle Gunther as he climbed.
“Hurry, Gunther!” Isabelle’s mother pleaded. She leaned far out over the fragile ledge. A brick shifted beneath her; rocks and dust disappeared into the black. Isabelle gave a frantic yelp and yanked her mother away from the edge. Uncle Gunther’s hand reached far over the edge of the ladder, sweaty and grasping at the decaying wall around him. Ancient mud brick crumbled under his hand several times before he found a small bedrock outcropping and held on. He was pulling himself up. He was climbing out. Isabelle almost cried with relief. They would escape the Well.
Uncle Gunther’s hand slipped, losing its grip on the rock. He slid back. Isabelle’s mother lurched forward, trying to catch him, and Isabelle looked hurriedly around for something—rope, a piece of lumber left from making the ladder, a student’s jacket left behind—anything that could be used to help pull Uncle Gunther out of the pit. His left hand came quickly up, even as his right hand slipped some more. For a second, they could see his face, pale, eyes wide with fear. The tendons in his wrists jumped like wires under his skin as he pulled himself up. He was almost at the top. He would be safe soon. Isabelle’s mother reached toward him. She almost had his hand. Just an inch more …
He jerked back down as though pulled, his eyes widened in pain. Or maybe in fear. Uncle Gunther cried out. His fingers clawed the earth and rock as Isabelle’s mother scrambled to catch his hand. Isabelle watched his fingernail rip loose. Blood bubbled up and the nail hung to the side by a few last sinews of skin even as Uncle Gunther curled the finger under his hand, grinding it into the dust, searching for a better grip and Isabelle gagged, but she couldn’t look away. He met Isabelle’s eye for a split second. He offered one word—
“Run”
—before he was dragged down into the Well of the Netherworld with a scream.
They ran.
What Kirkus had to say...
"All the elements are here for an unputdownable read—breakneck pacing, nonstop action, and impressive plot twists—but the focus on character development and relationship dynamics is the story’s real strength." - Kirkus Reviews
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