Will was right behind Eleanor, hugging both sisters at once, whooping with glee. He didn’t care how it happened; he was just happy to have Cordelia back, happier than he could remember being in his entire life. Brendan was there too, squeezed in the middle.
The Wind Witch turned to her father. “What is this?” she asked, betrayed. “Is this one of your tricks?”
“Of course not,” Denver Kristoff said, as Aldrich Hayes craned his neck to look at the incredible sight of Cordelia, palming her clothes to make sure she was still alive, surrounded by her tearful siblings and Will. “I don’t know how that happened.”
“She was dead as a doornail! You brought her back to life!”
“Of course I didn’t, Dahlia! Why would I do that? I hate the Walkers as much as you!”
“Liar!”
The Wind Witch rose above the floor, flapping her wings, hovering over Kristoff and Hayes.
“You two are always up to your little tricks. You think I’m not aware what you’re capable of? You brought her back to life!”
“Dahlia, please,” said Denver Kristoff. “Just come down. We can talk about this—”
“My magic never fails me,” said the Wind Witch. “When I kill someone, they stay dead. Maybe I should test that out . . . on you!”
The Wind Witch swooped toward Kristoff. Brendan grabbed his sisters and Will, animated by opportunity. If Dahlia and Denver were going to have a father-daughter moment, it was time to escape. Brendan inched backward—
“Where do you think you’re going?!” the Wind Witch said, her body spinning toward the Walkers. “Stay put!”
The kids all froze.
“Excuse me,” Cordelia said. She had finally managed to gather her bearings. Now she knew it had been the Wind Witch—the Wind Witch all along, transforming her from the inside out. Cordelia wasn’t even sure which parts of her over the last few weeks had been her.
“I thought you actually liked me,” she told the Wind Witch. “I thought you respected my intelligence, Dahlia. Isn’t that why you helped me on Sangray’s ship? Why would you turn on me now?”
“Yeah, in other words: What’s your problem?” asked Brendan.
“The four of you prevented me from getting the book,” Dahlia Kristoff said. Her one good arm had been lost in the Walkers’ last adventure, and her jeweled prosthetics had apparently not made the journey out of Cordelia’s body, so she had two ragged stumps where her wrists should be. “I’ll deal with you . . . just as soon as I deal with my lying father.”
Two columns of air spiraled out of the Wind Witch’s stumps and knocked Denver Kristoff off his feet. He hit the ground with a thud.
“I won’t fight you!” Kristoff said. He raised his hand, trying to shield himself from the intense wind being blasted at him.
“Kristoff, she means to kill you!” Aldrich Hayes said. He threw down his cane and raised his arms, chanting. Fire appeared between his fingertips—
But he was too slow. The Wind Witch shot a blast of wind at his face and threw him down the stairs.
“C’mon,” Brendan said, pulling the others. There was a large tapestry on the far wall of the balcony. It extended from the second floor to the main room. If they could reach it, they’d be able to climb down.
“What have you done?” Kristoff yelled, rushing to Hayes, who had landed on his back and was rolling over, trying to cast a healing spell on his broken ankle.
The Wind Witch screeched, flying out over the main room, under the busted skylight. She seemed to relish having her body back; she dipped and twirled like a dolphin at play before she took up a position next to Richard Nixon’s portrait. She raised her arms as her wings flapped. Tiny updrafts lifted countless bits of the shattered skylight glass from the floor. The glass began to swirl around the Wind Witch, gaining speed, forming a very sharp and deadly ring.
Hayes was moaning. Kristoff saw that he was trying to heal his ankle, but his wrist was bent back the wrong way, and he couldn’t cast a spell with a broken wrist. He tried to reach for his cane, but his hand could barely function.
“Agh!” Hayes said. “Kristoff! Get . . . a spell scroll. It will destroy her. She’s better off . . . dead.”
“Please don’t say that,” Kristoff said. “She’s my daughter—”
“No,” said Hayes. “She’s something horrible, something evil—”
“I still love her—”
“Love!” the Wind Witch cackled in a mocking tone. “Father . . . do you remember why we fought last time?”
“Because you were mad,” Denver Kristoff said. “Crazy for The Book of Doom and Desire.”
“And you stopped me from getting it. Which makes you just as bad as the Walker brats!”
“No,” Denver Kristoff said. He stepped away from Hayes and spoke calmly, in a way that was somehow more powerful than Dahlia’s screeching. “I’m not like them. I’m your father. Now, please. Come down. We can leave this place. Together. Make a fresh start. Be a normal family.”
“Are you delusional? Look at yourself! You don’t even have a face!”
“I can start writing again,” pleaded Kristoff. “You can meet a nice fellow—”
“A nice fellow?!” said the Wind Witch. “Have you looked at me? The only thing that could make me attractive . . . is power! So tell me where the book is!”
“I have no idea,” said Kristoff.
“And you’re telling the truth?”
“With all my heart.”
“Then you’re no longer of use to me.”
The spinning glass that had been circling Dahlia Kristoff’s body formed a bullet-shaped cloud. It hovered in front of Dahlia for a moment, and then, with the speed of a subway train, shot toward her father.
Kristoff raised his arms. Blue lightning crackled in an arc over him—but the shower of glass slammed into him.
It hit Hayes as well. The shards entered the skin of the two men with such force that they were instantly turned into something resembling Swarovski porcupines. Kristoff tried to blink, but pieces of glass were lodged in the tops and bottoms of his eyelids, forcing them open.
Brendan was horrified. He knew the Wind Witch was capable of great evil, but he never knew she could be so cruel to her own father. Brendan would never forget the look of shock on Kristoff’s face, a look that said it wasn’t just his eyes, but his heart that had been broken. Brendan grabbed a section of the tapestry with Cordelia, Eleanor, and Will. “Hurry up,” he said, starting to climb down. The others followed. The Wind Witch turned.
“Trying to escape?!” she asked, lifting more glass from the floor and shooting it at the tapestry. The glass tore through the fabric like a million tiny razor blades. The tapestry ripped in half and fluttered to the ground with the kids still holding on to it. Fortunately the ancient decoration was thick; they landed on it safely, tangled in fabric.
The Wind Witch turned to Kristoff and Hayes, who were screaming in terrible pain. She raised one of her stumps and blew open the Bohemian Club’s double doors.
Brendan saw the streets of San Francisco outside. It was late at night, but the world was out there: a real world with red lights and supermarkets and cell phones, nothing like this insane nightmare he had been plunged into.
The Wind Witch pointed her stumps at the open doors and flung Kristoff and Hayes out of the building.
The wind carried the men out of the doors and into the street—where they were hit by a passing Muni bus. They sailed off the front of the bus and through the window of a closed Chinese restaurant, smashing into tables and chairs before going still on the floor.
The Wind Witch inhaled deeply. The doors to the Bohemian Club slammed shut. She turned to the pile of kids in the fallen tapestry. “Now I can deal with you.”
The Wind Witch eased down slowly. When she landed, she beckoned with her stump, and the half of the tapestry that she had cut loose slid away from the Walkers and Will. Like a devoted pet, it crawled across the floor to her. She turned her stumps in
small spirals, and the fabric wound around her until she was wearing it as a sleeveless dress.
“How do I look?”
“Like an old bag wearing an old bag,” said Brendan.
Cordelia knew that Dahlia Kristoff was vain; a little compliment might go a long way. She said, “Brendan’s a boy. He doesn’t know anything. You look great.”
The Wind Witch moved toward the kids like an animal approaching dead meat. Her eyes seared into Cordelia’s. “Don’t mock me. You don’t want to end up like my late father.”
“You’re more twisted than we even thought,” Brendan said. “What kind of screwed-up person kills their dad?”
Eleanor glared at her brother: Don’t you know anything? If he kept mouthing off they wouldn’t stand a chance.
The Wind Witch patted Eleanor’s head. “Don’t worry. Follow me.”
Eleanor was shocked, but she had no choice but to follow the Wind Witch as the gaunt figure strode through the great hall, which was now filled with overturned, broken chairs. Eleanor beckoned c’mon! to Brendan, Cordelia, and Will. Outside, they could hear ambulance sirens arriving. Someone must have reported Denver Kristoff and Aldrich Hayes flying through the restaurant window.
“Cordelia,” the Wind Witch said, “you mentioned how I complimented your intelligence once.” She was leading them all up to the balcony. “I do respect you. And I have to admit: All of you Walker children are more resilient than I ever imagined. Cordelia, I am still trying to figure out how you came back to life.”
They stood over the place where Cordelia’s lifeless husk had lain on the floor. The only sign that it had been there were the drops of spittle that had come out of Cordelia’s mouth when she released the Wind Witch.
“Maybe I’m a witch,” Cordelia said. “Like you.”
“Possibly. But it would take a very experienced witch to reanimate themselves, someone much older and wiser than you. I still suspect it was a trick of my father’s. But no matter. Now that he’s gone, we can have a civilized conversation. And I’d like to make it clear to all of you . . . that I never meant to hurt you.”
“No,” said Brendan, “you just used Cordelia’s body like an incubation tank. And then there was that time when you threatened to cut off Eleanor’s fingers, fry them, and eat them.”
“I was only trying to get the book,” said the Wind Witch. “It wasn’t personal. In many ways, you all remind me of myself.”
“Yeah, right! On what planet?” asked Brendan.
“You have a father who says he loves you but truly doesn’t.”
“No,” said Eleanor. “No matter what, our dad still loves us.”
“Really?” asked the Wind Witch. “Is that why he continues to gamble away your fortune?”
“He’s trying to change.”
“He won’t change. Fathers never do. My father was power-mad when I was a little girl, and he stayed that way for the rest of his life.”
“But he was asking you to love him,” Eleanor said. “He just wanted you guys to be a family again.”
“That’s what he wanted you to think,” said the Wind Witch. “That could never be possible as long as he kept The Book of Doom and Desire hidden from me.”
She raised her stumps in front of the children.
“Now, my father said he didn’t know where the book was. And you three were the last ones to possess it. And because of the curse he put on the book, you’re the only ones who can open it. So can you please just tell me where it is? And I won’t have to hurt you.”
“Are you serious?!” shouted Brendan. “You just said you never meant to hurt us! Now, like thirty seconds later, you’re threatening us! Lady, you need to seriously think about getting some therapy!”
The Wind Witch smiled. “Have you finished?”
“No, I haven’t! I—”
“I think you have,” the Wind Witch said. Brendan suddenly shrank back; he had momentarily forgotten who he was screaming at. “I think you’ve run your mouth enough for an entire lifetime.”
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; the metal 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 th
e 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 the hundred-dollar bill Hayes had given to her. She handed it to the cab driver.
“Keep the change,” she gallantly told him as they stepped out of the cab.
Brendan 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.”
“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.
Battle of the Beasts Page 8
