“Who’s the Sleazer?” asked Sherman, interested in spite of himself, after exchanging an amused glance with Leah.
“The editor and publisher of the Lullaby books. She’s a real pervert, let me tell you!” said Imp, folding his arms into the cloak. “Stupid, star-crazy, pigheaded example of an Adept.”
“Drum roll,” said the Geezer, unwrapping the package. The three musketeers’ jaws dropped in perfect unison.
“Blood Red Lullaby!”
“This can’t be real!”
“Can I touch it?”
“Stop drooling!” roared the Geezer, holding it out of reach.
“Yeah, we’re drownin’ down here,” said Imp. “Get the mop, Brownie.”
Rowan clamped his jaw shut.
“But why did she – the Sleazer or whatever her name was– let Imp have it?”
“Easy. Imp explained to her the situation after Frank called, and after much hissyfitness and general you’d-better-bring-it-back-clean-or-you-die-ness, she let us take Blood Red and the sequel, Wither and Clock, in case there’s anything in the books that could help us. You!-“he tossed Blood Red Lullaby to Leah “Read! I want a full report in less than three hours!”
“What the hey? Why does she get to read the books?” demanded Sherman.
“Yeah, I should read them,” complained Rowan. “The bet, I won the bet!” he punched Sherman on the arm. “And more than we both bargained on!”
“What bet?” asked the Geezer, after a melodramatic pause, one bristly eyebrow soaring up his forehead.
“Ohh, boy…” muttered Leah, edging out of the room with the books under her arm.
“Right behind ya, sister,” said Imp, and Fungal trundled after them.
“Wait for me!” called Brownie, skittering behind them. Leah closed the door on Brownie’s left hand.
“Sorry!”
“Never mind that, run for cover, idiot!”
Fungal and Imp dived behind a sagging couch and Leah rushed for the desk, just in time-!
**
“Ouch.” Leah winced, uncurling from the ball she had rolled herself into. Reduce target area. “And I thought Julius was crazy.”
“You haven’t seen anything,” grunted Brownie, gathering up her hand, feet and head from various places around the room. “You haven’t met the Sleazer.”
“Ah, but I do know the Geezer,” said Leah, laughing shakily.
“Touché!”
“Is it safe to go in there?” Leah peered at the door. She could swear she almost saw smoke coming from the crack under the threshold.
“Probably not.” Imp crawled out from under the couch. “Frank hates gambling. I bet they’re still being slow-roasted, glare style. I wanted to visit Malachi, anyway.” He ambled over to the hall door and kicked it open. “Coming with me, Wiggy?” Fungal nodded
“No way I’m sticking around,” added Brownie. “I wouldn’t advise getting near that door, either.”
“Poor Saya,” said Leah, casting a final glance at the kitchen door and following F.B.I. into the Geezer’s front yard.
Seriph and Malachi sat in a tree, tails swaying in unison. The late morning light shone through the trees, speckling their bright scales: Various sharp sounds emerged from their throats, a song without a distinct tune; to Leah, it sounded rather like Rowan’s favorite band.
Catching sight of F.B.I., the purple lizard broke the drone and launched himself from the branch, alighting on Fungal, who did not seem to mind.
Imp sat down several feet from Fungal and proceeded to do nothing, eyes locked with Malachi’s.
“Erm…don’t they talk or anything?” asked Leah, who had sat down under the tree.
“Nixies are telepaths, and they don’t like using magic to change around like the changelings do.” said Brownie, attempting to climb the tree with only one hand.
“You know,” said Leah, running a finger over the spine of the book, “before I read this series, I kinda thought that people went to a school for magic.”
Brownie made a partially disgusted, partially amused sound.
“I can’t even think what it would be like if a bunch of stupid teenagers were learning magic all together, locked up in one place! Ugh! Nobody would get a wink of sleep…especially if the Sleazer and Eddy are anybody to judge by.” Brownie nodded vigorously to herself.
Leah, chastised, flicked open the book and began to read.
Chapter One: To Be So Inclined…
**
“So, now what?” asked Rowan, dipping a french fry into the ketchup. Sherman noisily slurped his Coke and Leah had just rejoined them with more salt packets.
“Well, we’re three thirteen-year-olds who performed a stupid bet, got threatened by mythical beings from Atlantis that we thought didn’t exist, were proclaimed to be the ‘heirs to the title of the Earthkeepers’ by a giant sea-snake, stopped time, met a crazy skeleton that apparently has a crush on me, learned about magic, pissed off the skeleton beyond a doubt, resulting in the partial collapse of another dimension, came back and met F.B.I., three crazy beings that enjoy confusing us and decided, with unusual tameness, to eat lunch at Harley’s Fry Shack.” said Leah, raising her eyebrows and leaning back against the stool.
“When you say it like that,” commented Rowan, “it makes it almost seem sane.” Sherman raised the glass of Coke in silent agreement and Leah sighed, swirling a fry in the pool of ketchup.
“School? Family? Parents? Life? How are we going to manage those around keeping the peace between four races so the world doesn’t blow itself up?”
“Doubles?” suggested Sherman. “Doppelgangers?”
“I wish.”
“Is casting illusions part of our training? We could do something like that,” said Leah. “Enlighten us, o Adept Rowan.”
“When did he stop being a prophet?”
“Today.”
“Illusions are supposed to be really complex,” said Rowan. “You have to draw this sort of diagram thing around the area you want the illusion to hold, a constant power source and a lot of light. I don’t even understand half of it.”
“That’s not surprising, as you don’t understand beginner’s algebra,” observed Sherman, the math geek.
“But it’s so stupid! Why does one need to know how to reverse a number or whatever?” Rowan tapped a fry on his forehead to emphasize the point. “The person who writes those books is a basket case.”
“Back to the point, the illusion idea is no go,” interrupted Leah. “I can’t lie, though… I find this magic system fascinating. Fill me out later.”
“Okay. But there might be another idea. You really create a sort of clone of yourself; it looks like you, at least, but can’t do much.”
“Um, no, something like that wouldn’t work. Not for school.”
“I guess all we can do is hope that nothing all that major happens before Social Studies.”
Rowan stared at her, puzzled.
“Social Studies? Why Social Studies?”
“Because everybody falls asleep during Social Studies. Including the teacher.”
________
:Walks to guillotine: :waits to be beheaded on charges of waiting too long to update:
Errrrrrrrrr....yeah. My mind is permanently set on "sorry" right now.
So sorry!
Anyway, I was re-reading the first section and I realized that Sherman wears glasses!
Haha, I completely and totally forgot about that! 
I'm so smart.
Also, "Wither and Clock" is something I'll definitely write.
I haven't got a real plot yet, but that will probably be something I'll write in the spring. It might even be the sequel to Geezer's! 
So...yeah, I want some French fries. :agrees with Sherman up there:
Sumi
EDIT: Added in the poll. >.<
Something to do with the Geezer's morals?
Coming from anyone else, I might think that comment sincere. 
For reasons that will be revealed by part.....oh, maybe thirty....if this story gets that far. 
It's been 13k words of magical actiondump. XD
As to your poll, NO YOU SHOULD NOT REWRITE IT!
In this colon, you indicate that the light speckling their scales leads to the sharp sounds, which is..... off.
It isn't my fault! My brothers made me do it! They wanted me to hit the level cap so I could do stuff with them!