The Wind Witch stood over Brendan now, sneering, focused. She began to move the stumps of her arms. Behind her, Cordelia edged toward a stuffed armadillo on a pedestal.
“You’re nothing but an ignorant little boy,” said the Wind Witch. “You’ve never used the book. You don’t understand its power. You never will, until you open it yourself. I’ll let you, you know, if you help me. Then you’ll understand what true power is. It’s not the power to be popular or rich . . . it’s the power of a leader. The power to look at the faces of those under you, thousands of them . . . staring up at you, quaking in fear—like you’re doing right now—that’s when you know what it’s like to be a king. Or a queen.”
The Wind Witch shot out her arms at Brendan. Unfortunately for her, she did it at the same time that Cordelia whacked her in the back with the armadillo.
It threw off the Wind Witch’s aim. The torrent of air that spilled from her stumps hit the floor instead of Brendan. Wood flew up in big splinters as if it had been sandblasted, leaving a hole—and then, with a creak and snap, a whole section of the balcony fell away! Brendan dropped with it, but Will grabbed his wrists. Wooden beams crashed below; it looked like Jaws had taken a bite out of the balcony. The Wind Witch rose with her wings flapping.
“Come!” Will said. The Wind Witch swung her arms and another jet of air rushed toward Brendan. He ducked it, picked up Eleanor, and rushed downstairs with Cordelia and Will.
“This way,” Eleanor said, heading for the double doors at the front of the Bohemian Club—
“Stop!” Brendan yelled. “There are gonna be cops and ambulances! This way!”
Brendan doubled back as the Wind Witch blew a sword off the wall. It did a midair flip and flew straight at him. He dove to the ground face-first; Eleanor jumped off him; the sword passed between them. They managed to get up and follow Will, who was going to the basement stairs, before the Wind Witch mounted another attack.
They followed Will into the basement. Their footsteps echoed against the concrete walls. Will flung open the door to the laundry room.
“What are we doing here?” Eleanor asked, breathless.
“Up!” Will said, pointing to the air duct. He interlocked his hands to make a foothold. Cordelia put her foot in there and sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. They all followed suit. Once they were in the duct, they crawled single file; it shuddered and clanged under their weight. In five minutes they were in the alley next to the Bohemian Club, dusting themselves off, and then they headed to the street.
There were seven police cars at the scene of the accident. They had cordoned off the area with yellow tape; surrounding it were news vans and ambulances and gawkers from a local sports bar who had put their bottles on the ground to take pictures. The bus that had hit Denver Kristoff and Aldrich Hayes was stopped in the street; the passengers were on the sidewalk talking to EMTs. Brendan saw one guy rub his neck and say, “Who do I sue? Muni? Or the idiots who jumped the bus?”
“The idiots are dead,” said the EMT. “The only judge they’ll be facing has a long white beard and a courtroom in the clouds.”
Brendan couldn’t believe it, but Denver Kristoff was dead. Hayes too.
He peered at the Chinese restaurant—their bodies were covered in sheets. A hard-looking detective in a trench coat spotted him.
“Hey!” the detective shouted. Brendan turned and the Walkers and Will were off, pounding pavement, hailing a cab.
“What’s wrong, you kids okay?” the cab driver asked as they piled in.
“One twenty-eight Sea Cliff Avenue,” Brendan said. “Our grandfather was in that accident and we have to tell our parents.”
The driver turned onto Mason Street. Brendan swiveled to look: The detective came into view, huffing and puffing, as the cab pulled away.
They rode in silent worry, except for the driver’s Metallica music. Brendan was sure the detective had seen the number on the cab and they were all going to get arrested, but the only drama happened at the end of the ride, when the cab pulled up to their house and the driver asked, “Who’s payin’?”
“Uh . . . ,” Brendan said, digging in his pockets. “I’m sorry. I don’t—Deal?”
She gave him a look: You do realize I was dead less than an hour ago? “I don’t have anything on me, Bren.”
“Nell?”
Nell whipped out a hundred-dollar bill and gave it to the cab driver. Everyone was like, What??
“From Kristoff,” Eleanor said. “Keep the change,” she gallantly told the cab driver as they stepped out.
Brendan stepped out of the cab and hurried up the path to Kristoff House. His family and Will walked more slowly behind him. It felt good to be home. He was trying to convince himself that the worst was over: Everything’s going to be fine. Mom and Dad will be inside and everything will be normal. But when he entered the house and left the door open for the others, the Wind Witch was standing in the hallway.
“Welcome home, darling.”
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Something’s wrong,” Cordelia said, seeing Brendan suddenly disappear from the front door as if he’d been grabbed. She rushed to Kristoff House with the others—
The Wind Witch had Brendan suspended in midair.
She was in the front hall with one arm raised, using tiny gusts of wind to keep him floating near the ceiling. The anger and hatred on her face made her look almost foreshortened, like a snake.
“For the power of the great book!” she yelled.
The Wind Witch raised her other arm, creating a strong blast of wind that gripped Will and the girls in its invisible clutch. They were lifted off their feet and shunted into the living room. Brendan floated with them, and Cordelia saw that he was limp, lolling his head back and forth.
“You killed him!” she said in shock. “Brendan! What did you do?”
“He’s only unconscious,” said the Wind Witch. “I couldn’t bear to listen to any more of his inane wisecracks.”
Once she had them all floating above the Chester chair and grand piano that made the Walkers’ living room so luxurious, she unfolded her wings and flew up herself.
“What are you doing?” Cordelia said—and then two quick bursts of air shut her mouth so tight, all she could do was scream into her own lips.
The Wind Witch tightened her brow. She was concentrating with inhuman precision. She waved her stumps to keep her victims suspended in place as she began to flap around them.
Whoosh—she passed Cordelia’s terrified face. Whoosh—she flew by again. She was circling faster and faster, but always bending her neck to stare at Cordelia and the others, never losing focus.
“Nnnnn—!” Cordelia screeched through her forcefully closed mouth. It was like being on an amusement park ride gone terribly wrong. The Wind Witch swished by again and again, creating a nauseating strobe effect, blurring—until her parched, patchy face seemed to become the center of a hall of mirrors.
She was surrounding Cordelia from every angle at once. Screaming.
“That you will find what you so carelessly lost! That I shall have what I deserve!”
Cordelia tried to close her eyes, but the rushing air kept them open, making tears fly out and spiral behind her.
Then she began to experience a horrible shrinking.
It happened to all the kids. Their bones tightened. Their skin clenched around them. Their organs pressed painfully against one another. Their eyes grew smaller—and the Wind Witch’s omnipresent face, and the room, grew larger.
Everything was spinning now. The house itself howled as it moved with the Wind Witch: The Chester chair had become a brown blur, the fireplace was disappearing and reappearing like a smear of brick—and the shrinking continued. Cordelia and the others were diminishing in size, becoming the size of Chihuahuas, of mice, of peas.
Cordelia looked below her. Three
books floated there. She couldn’t read the titles because they were distorted, too gigantic, getting bigger every second. They were like ridges on textured terrain, the way book titles might appear to a fly, or an ant, or . . .
How small are we getting? Cordelia asked herself. And why is it different this time? We’re being sucked into those books like a milkshake being sucked through a straw.
It angered Cordelia that she couldn’t read any of the books’ titles as she hit one—and then all was dark and silent.
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Cordelia woke up on the floor in the living room. Next to her were Will, Eleanor, and Brendan, also coming to. She blinked and got up on one elbow as she became conscious of a noise. It sounded like the cheers of a football game.
“Brendan?” she asked. “You okay?”
“The Wind Whacko knocked me out as soon as I walked in the front door,” he said, looking around. “Oh, no, no . . . did she do it again?”
“That’s an affirmative,” said Will.
“She banished us?” asked Eleanor.
Brendan nodded. “Just like last time.”
“But last time the whole house got destroyed,” Eleanor pointed out. “This time she kept the furniture and everything else pretty much in place.”
“I can’t believe she did this on a weekend,” complained Brendan. “I’m not even getting to miss school.”
“I’d like to know what world we’ve been sent to,” said Will.
“Three of Kristoff’s books again,” said Cordelia. “I saw them right before I blacked out.”
“Did you see the titles?”
“Couldn’t make them out.”
“Maybe we got sent to the same place as last time,” Brendan said, “and now we have a serious advantage. We know how to deal with Slayne; we know how to handle the pirates—”
“But if it’s like last time, doesn’t that mean Will is going to fly in on a plane and save us?” Eleanor said. “That would make two Wills!”
“Two of me,” Will said, intrigued by the idea. “Hmmm, that could be fortuitous.”
“How’s that?”
“Two strong, handsome leaders are better than one.”
“One egomaniac is plenty,” said Cordelia. “Besides, I think we’ve been sent somewhere new. Because what’s that noise?”
“Yeah,” Eleanor said. They could still hear a crowd. Outside the house. “Are we in the middle of a football game?”
They all paused for a moment and listened. The sound of the crowd surrounded the entire house. But all the windows and shutters were closed. The Walkers and Will seemed trapped like mice in an experiment.
Cordelia headed for the nearest window. “Do we have a weapon?”
Will looked around, made fists. Eleanor did the same.
“Fists?” said Brendan. “Really? It sounds like there’s a thousand people out there and what are we going to do, punch them?”
“Have you got a better idea?” asked Will.
Brendan paused, looked around, and picked up a small Japanese table lamp, holding it like a mini baseball bat.
“Of course,” said a sarcastic Will. “Lamps happen to be quite effective at stopping angry mobs.”
“Shut up, Will.”
“All right, let’s do this,” Cordelia ordered. She was about to open the window when she noticed Will staring at her. “What?”
“You’re taking charge. It suits you.”
“It’s cute?”
“No. It suits you. But it is cute.”
“Will, listen,” Cordelia said, stepping away from the window. “I know I haven’t been myself so maybe you forgot who you’re dealing with. But I’m not interested in being trapped in mystical worlds for the rest of my life. I need to get back home, to go to school. So we’re going to see what’s out there, secure the house, get The Book of Doom and Desire as soon as possible, and get out. No adventures.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Will said, saluting.
“I’m not an old lady, don’t call me that.”
“But wait, Deal,” Eleanor said. “If we get the book, won’t we be doing exactly what the Wind Witch wants us to do?”
“If it gets us home, Nell? I don’t care.”
Brendan was tired of everybody talking. He ran off and yanked open the window Cordelia was at, which usually had a gorgeous view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Then he completely stopped, frozen, at the incredible sight he was looking at.
At the same time, someone grabbed Cordelia’s leg.
Eleanor pointed at the entrance to the living room: “L . . . Li . . .”
Brendan stared out the window. “Guys? I think we’re in a . . .”
But he didn’t need to say it. Cordelia suddenly understood what the crowd noise was.
Facing her at the front of the living room, with its shoulders up and knotted, sniffing, was a full-grown lion.
“Oh my—” Cordelia started.
“How did that get in here?!” Will yelled, flabbergasted.
“Hide!” said Eleanor.
Cordelia grabbed her sister and ran for the couch. But Brendan had no idea about the lion; he couldn’t even hear his sisters and Will yelling. He was completely engrossed by the incredible view outside.
He was looking at the Roman Colosseum.
From smack-dab in the center of the arena.
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The Colosseum was gorgeous, splendid, majestic. Giant outcroppings of stone held seats containing tens of thousands of people. It was like the Giants’ baseball stadium in San Francisco, but so much older and more beautiful—in fact, it made that stadium look cheap. And Brendan was right where the pitcher’s mound would be! This was the real deal: No one had gotten a chance to see the Colosseum this way for thousands of years and here Brendan was, right in the middle of it.
He’d always wanted to see the Colosseum. There wasn’t a cooler building in world history. When you were talking about ancient Rome, you were talking about plumbing, voting, and death by countless stab wounds . . . the Romans were the definition of “ahead of their time.” And this building was the one place people always talked about when they talked about Rome. It was like the Super Bowl and the Olympic Village rolled into one!
Brendan saw men in white togas in the stands, with some of the togas so white that they seemed to be bleached and hurt his eyes, and others with red stripes. There were a few purple togas, decorated with gold, but only the men who sat close to the arena wore them. There weren’t any women, except in the nosebleed seats at the very top, where Brendan saw a few dressed in flowing robes that resembled what the Statue of Liberty wore.
Everyone was cheering at the top of their lungs, on their feet, pointing at Kristoff House. And why wouldn’t they? We just showed up in the middle of an event!
Two deer were cornered with spears at one side of the arena, but the warriors holding the spears weren’t paying attention to the deer anymore. The animals leaped away. The warriors stared at Brendan with open mouths. They’re looking at the house! Another group in tunics with bows and arrows were putting their weapons down, calling and pointing. Clearly some kind of mock hunt had been going on—but it was on hold for now.
Brendan’s eye flicked to a man seated in what Brendan would call one of the Colosseum’s end zones, high up in a sealed-off box. That has to be the emperor, Brendan decided.
The man wore a garish purple toga with a dash of white and a golden crown lined with sparkling jewels. He was extremely short, under five feet tall, and nearly that wide. Soft and delicate, with eyes set too far apart and completely without hair, he stood and waved one hand at the crowd as if he were shooing away an insect.
The crowd went silent.
Man, Brendan
thought, that is one powerful dude.
The man began to speak, but of course no one could hear him. He was one small (tiny, really) figure in a huge arena. So a manservant next to him stepped up to a giant bronze cone mounted on a tripod. The cone acted as a primitive megaphone, amplifying the manservant’s voice throughout the Colosseum.
“Speaks Emperor Occipus the First!” the manservant declared. “‘Do not be frightened by this odd structure! It is the work of enemy sorcerers, a hell house conjured from Hades! But I, your emperor, will protect you. If there are monsters in the house, I will exterminate them! Send in another beast!’”
Emperor Occipus, Brendan thought. I’ve heard that name before. . . .
A metal gate below Emperor Occipus’s box winched open. From the dark inside, two guards with helmets and whips emerged, leading out a lion.
“Uh-oh,” Brendan said. “Uh, incoming, twelve o-clock . . .”
That was when he realized: He hadn’t heard from his sisters or Will in a long time.
Brendan whirled around. What had he been doing? He’d just been geeking out about ancient Rome, completely forgetting that he was trapped here, in deep doo-doo—
He saw the lion in the living room. It was as big as the one outside, nosing at the cushions on the couch. Cordelia, Eleanor, and Will were hiding behind that couch, completely still, trying not to breathe. But the lion had caught their scent; it jumped on the couch, sniffing for them.
Bren! Cordelia mouthed. Her face looked utterly terrified. Brendan hated to see her in such a panic. She had already been through so much. Couldn’t somebody give them all a break? It wasn’t fair to send a bunch of kids through these horrible problems. They would turn out disturbed, changed.
Do something! Cordelia mouthed.
Brendan had no idea what to do, but then he noticed two things: First, the lion didn’t look like the healthiest specimen in Rome. It was thin, with ribs visible through its chest, and its mane was mangy and buzzing with flies. It should probably be reported to the ASPCA, Brendan thought.
House of Secrets: Battle of the Beasts Page 9
