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Informationen zum Autor John Barrowman has appeared onstage, including on London's West End, and on-screen. He is perhaps best known for his portrayal of Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who and Torchwood, as well as appearances on Desperate Housewives, and Scandal. He is currently a series regular on Arrow. Carole E. Barrowman is a journalist and a professor of English in Wisconsin. Klappentext Possessing extraordinary powers, including the ability to bring artwork to life, twelve-year-old twin Matt Calder must find a way to return from the Middle Ages and prevent his father from taking control of the beasts of Hollow Earth.The Book of Beasts ONE SCOTLAND SEPTEMBER 1848 Duncan Fox stood on the craggy hillside of Era Mina, squinting against the late-summer sun that drenched the Isles of Bute and Arran in a golden light. He was waiting for his canvas to dry, but his mind was elsewhere. With his hands deep in the pockets of his tweed field jacket, he was thinking about the visitors he had recently received: Sandie Calder and her children, Emily and Matt. My family, Duncan thought. From a future I can hardly imagine. He wondered if the recent hauntings he had been experiencing were a consequence of their visit. The first time he had seen the strange figure, Duncan thought what he was seeing was a lucid dream: a state where he had a solid awareness of his surroundings while he slept. He had experienced such dreams before, but never so dramatically. One week ago, he had sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, a vague feeling of dread raising the hair on the back of his neck. A gust of wind from Largs Bay swept open the curtains, carrying with it the smell of the seaside—salty kippers, crushed shells, briny sand. Reaching for the pitcher of water next to his bed, Duncan poured himself a glass, then promptly spilled it onto the floor. A shadowy figure had stepped out from the corner next to his wardrobe. He hurriedly lit his oil lamp and held it above his head as the figure morphed from a ghostly presence to a fully fleshed man dressed in a brocade robe with a thick collar plate woven in shimmering golden threads—a druid, magnificent and majestic. The druid’s robes were white with a silver helix embroidered on the breast. The vision wore a crown of twisted antlers, a fur cloak draped from iron clasps at his shoulders. His left hand gripped a scepter cut from a length of knotty white pine with a carved peryton perched on its tip, and there was a sword with a peryton at its hilt in his right hand. Duncan could see him as clearly as he could see the portrait of his own grandfather hanging on the wall behind him. The figure had remained at the foot of the bed until the light of morning banished him, leaving Fox with a vague feeling of unfinished business. This had continued for six nights. Between nights four and five, Fox had called for his carriage and ridden alone on the coast road to Ayr to seek advice from one of the oldest Guardians in Scotland. Frances MacDonald’s fingers were gnarled from arthritis, but her eyes were bright and her intellect keen as Duncan carefully described his vision. She pointed to the first volume of The History of Religion and the Decline of Magic in Scotland. “That was once required reading for our kind,” she said. “You’d do well to read it now if you’re looking for answers. Lift it down for me.” Duncan took the volume from the shelf and set the book on the table. Then he waited as her fingers slowly turned the thick pages, his hands folded behind his back, patient and respectful of her age. “Is this who’s comin’ to ye in the dark?” she asked, stepping away from the table to reveal a full-page facsimile from an illustrated manuscript. Duncan stared at the image. The white robe, the fur c...
