“Hey, little dude!” He gives him a fist bump.
Zeb fist-bumps back. “What are you even doing here? I’m so confused!”
“Oh, little dude.” Redondo goes on. “I realized something up there on that ledge. I’m not a bad guy. I’m a good guy who just never got a chance to show it. But you saw that in me. You gave me the opportunity to learn who I am. And for that, I’m giving you this certificate for two large two-topping cheese pizzas.”
He hands Zeb a coupon.
“Okay, I know it’s not much but, well, heck, I don’t have much.”
“No.” Zeb looks down at the coupons. “I love pizza. Are you kidding?”
“Also, I remember that skinny dude, the boss guy, he told us ‘leave no witnesses.’ Like, in a really mean voice, ‘leave no witnesses.’ It was like diabolical.” Redondo guy shakes his head. “I couldn’t let them do that. Not to my little dude!” He scruffs Zeb’s hair. Zeb smiles.
The police cars start making their way up the path, parking in a circle, blocking off the area. Two of the policemen come walking up. The Redondo guard nods to Binky and the Midwestern Mastermind tied to a tree.
“That’s them.” He points to them.
The cops walk over. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used—”
“So, what are you going to do now?” Zeb looks up at Redondo.
“You know, don’t make fun of me, but I think I’m going to become a cop,” Redondo answers.
“Seriously?”
“Sure, dude. If I have to look at one more dirty dish left by my roommate, I’ll lose it. Besides. I kind of like being a good guy.”
He looks around at the blue-and-red circle flashing around all of us.
The cops escort the Midwestern Mastermind and Binky off into their respective cars.
Zeb jumps up, running over to the Midwestern Mastermind, sitting in the squad car.
Zeb leans in and does his impeccable impression of the Midwestern Mastermind: “Hi, ya, so, I just got busted pulling off the dumbest heist in history. I’m basically an idiot!”
The Midwestern Mastermind looks up at him, realizing Zeb was imitating him the whole night, screwing up all his master plans.
“You! It was you! You’re the one giving all those stupid commands to my stupid army of dimwits!”
Zeb nods, relishing it. “See. Just like I said. Failure is a stepping stone to success.”
The Midwestern Mastermind fumes.
The car begins to drive off.
Zeb yells after it: “Stepping stone to success!”
20
THE THREE OF us wait at the top of the driveway for Zeb’s dad and his crew of waylaid heroes to return. The police have informed us that the roads have been closed but that they shouldn’t have taken matters into their own hands in the first place.
“See. That’s what I said!” I exclaim.
“Yes, well.” The policeman states, “This was a police matter. No need for citizens to get involved.”
“Wait. Was there even a violent uprising down the hill?” Henry asks.
“No. There was no violent uprising. Clearly, this was just a ploy to get your father and the rest of the able-bodied folks down the hill. A ploy that worked perfectly.” The officer’s voice is official.
“So, everybody was just totally fooled?” Zeb asks.
“Precisely,” the cop replies.
“Well, what about the treasure? Is it all gone?” I wonder.
“Not exactly. They only got as far as Ventura. Where they got stuck in traffic. I guess this villain, despite all his preparations—”
“Her preparations,” I correct.
“—neglected to take into account the soul-crushing traffic jams of the Los Angeles metropolitan area.” The policeman is really seeming to enjoy this. “It was a rookie mistake.”
“But where were they going?” I ponder.
“Probably the Port of Los Angeles. It is the busiest port in America. He could have shoved the treasures into a shipping container, and off they go over the high seas. Sell them to shady investors in a foreign land.” He squints. “But thanks to you kids, nothing went as planned.”
We three look at one another.
“Well, thanks, Officer.” We smile.
“I’m sure there’s some medals in this for you somewhere. You saved the Hearst estate millions of dollars.” He looks out at a line of cars coming up the road. “Well, kiddos, looks like your folks are back.”
We follow his gaze and there before us return all the heroes and heroines fooled into going down the mountain to save the day.
“Dad!” Zeb runs down the hill, embracing his father.
“Zeb! Oh thank God! Thank God you’re okay!” He looks around. “Where’s Binky?”
Henry and I look at each other, each of us making our own respective squiggle mouth.
“Awk-ward,” I whisper.
“No joke,” Henry whispers back. “Maybe we should step backward in a casual fashion.”
The two of us tiptoe backward, leaving Zeb to his difficult explanation.
By the time the police get up to the wedding hall to “liberate” the guests, they are on their ninth episode of Law & Order. Even when the head policeman goes to make an announcement, they shush him, not wanting him to interrupt the cliffhanger.
Henry and I look at each other.
“Wow. That must be some show,” I say.
Henry shrugs. “TV, shmeevee.”
“At least it kept them company while they were held captive,” I suggest.
“Did it? Or was it just another example of the infinite distraction Aldous Huxley warned us about? A distraction so great, mind you, that it quelled the uprising of actual hostages? And, one might argue, aren’t all these things, whether a TV show, a film, a video game, an app . . . don’t they all add up to the infinite distraction that is quelling us all, as the one percent, whether they be CEOs, multinational corporations, or Midwestern Masterminds, rob each and every one of us, transferring all the wealth from the distracted masses to their own greedy little coffers?” Henry points out.
“Wow.” I contemplate this. Then I notice the copious amounts of food and beverages still left over from the reception. “We should probably . . . have a party?”
Henry looks at me.
“What?” I defend myself. “We thwarted a heist, Henry. We have a castle, food, drinks, people, a DJ . . . and something to celebrate.”
“What DJ?” he asks.
“That guy!” I point to the spiky-haired DJ guy packing up his records. “Hey, you!”
I run over, begging him to stay. He shrugs. “Sure. Whatever.”
He places his boxes of records back down and puts his headphones on, cueing something up. Then he grabs the microphone, winks at us, and addresses the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I would just like to announce that you are officially liberated from . . . whatever all that was. And you have the right to remain . . . awesome!” He puts the needle on the record.
The cavernous space explodes with the sound of thumping bass. Suddenly, the wedding guests, now joined by the returned thwarted heroes, swarm the dance floor, happy to finally be having some fun after a long night. The dance floor explodes, balloons are dropped, and champagne bottles are popped.
Henry looks at me.
“Eva, there is one last thing we have to do.”
21
THE EGYPTIAN NEW Kingdom statue stands looking out into the night. I guess this one was too heavy for the Mastermind and his tweedle army.
Henry and I approach it and it starts to tremble. Suddenly, the ground around us is covered in smoke, so it’s impossible to see, and we hear the sound of a voice, singular, from within.
“Why you little scamps! You surely fooled ’em!”
Beaumont appears through the smoke.
“Dear children, once again, you have persevered.” Plum waves her fan, fanning the smoke toward Beaumont, who coughs.
“
Goshdarnit, Plum! You’re choking me to death!”
“How can she choke you to death when you’re already dead?” Maxine purrs from next to the onyx statue.
“Well put, well put.” August and Sturdy clink martini glasses.
“Y’all are in cahoots! Everyone’s against me!” Beaumont jokes.
Henry steps forward. “We have to reverse the incantation. The ghosts can’t rest in peace until we do.”
“Well, what the heck did you think we’re here for! Sightseeing?!” Beaumont asks.
“Well, how do we do it?” I ask.
“Oh, fair children, worry not. The key to all of this is simple. The dead shall rest in peace again,” Plum assures us.
“Quite right, quite right,” August and Sturdy agree.
Maxine leans in. “We are only death and shadows.”
“Oh, here we go!” Beaumont interrupts.
“Weeeeee aaaaare oooooonly deeeeeeath and shaaaaadows.” Maxine starts to fade into the smoke.
The other ghosts begin to fade, as well.
“Pulvis et umbra sumus.” Maxine’s voice stays over the smoke. “Puuuuuulvis et uuuuumbra suuuuumus.”
And now both the voice and the spirits are gone, faded into the night.
“That’s it. That’s how we reverse the incantation.” Henry looks at me. “Got it? Pulvis et umbra sumus.”
I nod.
The two of us look at each other, nod, and turn toward Hearst Castle.
We say it together:
“Pulvis et umbra sumus.”
Then the two of us stand there, as if waiting for a sign.
But there is no sign.
Nothing.
Except, all the way up at the top of the outdoor landing, Zeb’s head peeks out. “Guys, you have to see this. There’s this really old grandma and she’s breakdancing and it is so awesome!”
Henry and I look at each other and shrug.
Upstairs, the beat changes. There’s the screech of synthesizers.
“Infinite distraction, here we come.”
22
HONESTLY, I WOULD have liked to keep the ghosts around just a bit longer. To say thank you. To find Winston. And Humphrey. And Groucho. And Greta. To thank them. Also, honestly, to ask them a thousand questions about what it used to be like, how it used to be in this place.
And to see, maybe, if it could even be possible, to somehow see our parents again. Although I know that’s a long shot.
Zeb is now up in the DJ booth, spinning records with the DJ, wearing a roman gladiator helmet.
“Do you think he stole that?” Henry ponders.
“Well, I think he’ll put it back.” I shrug. “It’s probably the most fun that helmet has had in a long time.”
Henry contemplates the dancing crowd.
“They really seem to be having the time of their lives.”
“Henry, I’m sad we reversed the spell when we did,” I admit.
“We had to. Don’t you remember how sad Greta Garbo looked? ‘I vant to be alone.’”
“I know but what if we could’ve—”
I cut myself off.
Henry looks at me.
“Our parents?”
I nod.
“Eva, remember what our mom said. ‘We are with you always.’” He looks into my eyes. “And that love is the only thing . . . that is infinite.”
I look back at him. We share a moment of acknowledgment. Yes, we are in this together.
“Eva, we are in this together.”
It’s like he read my mind. How did he do that? I look at him, feeling so stupid for being jealous. Territorial. Petty.
“Always and forever.”
“I’m sorry I sort of freaked out. I don’t understand feelings.”
“Me neither.” Henry smiles.
He hugs me and I hug him back, thankful that the world invented brothers.
This fine moment is interrupted by . . . an acrobatic stunt. From across the dance floor we see it: Zeb zip-lining from the giant wrought-iron chandelier directly into the wedding cake.
“The journey is the destinatiooooooooon!”
Splurtch.
Zeb rolls around, disoriented, in the demolished wedding cake. His gold Roman gladiator helmet sits slanted sideways on his head.
Henry and I look at each other.
“Wedding cake. Eight hundred dollars. Seeing Zeb covered in frosting. Priceless,” I add.
Zeb waves up to the two of us, his eyes peering out through the white frosting like a sugar ghost. He licks the frosting off his own cheek.
“Hmm. Strawberry shortcake. I think those are real strawberries. Guys, the strawberries are real!!”
And I know, in this moment, with Zeb yelling about the real strawberries, with that octogenarian woman popping and locking in the middle of the dance floor, with Zeb’s dad twirl-dancing the little flower girl, with the policeman trying out his not-so-great country line-dance moves, with Henry dutifully inspecting the strength of the banister, that the world is a good place, full of good people, and that there is more kindness and love in this world than all the gold in Hearst Castle.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my amazing editor, Kristen Pettit, who has elevated my work on so many occasions. Thank you to Rosemary Stimola, my amazing agent, for believing in this series. Of course, my mom, dad, sister, and brother . . . you are my nearest and dearest. And an enormous thank-you to my incredible husband, Sandy Tolan, who has been supportive of me in every way. A final thanks to my little boy, Wyatt, who is the reason I wrote these very books.
About the Author
Photo credit Niels Alpert
ANDREA PORTES is the bestselling novelist of two critically lauded adult novels.
Her first novel for young adult readers, Anatomy of a Misfit, was called “perfection in book form” by Teen Vogue.
School Library Journal calls her first middle grade novel, Henry & Eva and the Castle on the Cliff, “An entertaining mystery for children who like their chills seasoned with laughs.”
Currently, she lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Sandy Tolan, their son, Wyatt, and their dog, Rascal. You can visit her online at www.andreaportes.squarespace.com.
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Books by Andrea Portes
Henry & Eva and the Castle on the Cliff
Copyright
HENRY & EVA AND THE FAMOUS PEOPLE GHOSTS. Copyright © 2019 by Andrea Portes. Interior illustrations by Sonia Kretschmar. Border by Kanunnikov Pavlo / Shutterstock. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2019 by Sonia Kretschmar
Cover design by Michelle Taormina
Digital Edition OCTOBER 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-256007-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-256004-9
1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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Henry & Eva and the Famous People Ghosts Page 16
