Brendan gulped, dove forward, and opened the book.
One of the lions swung a paw at his shoulder. Brendan felt hot pain explode down his arm. Four curved claws in his flesh! The lions bore down on him with their jaws wide as he slipped the paper in the book and closed it—
And suddenly . . . the lions made gulping, curious noises, as if something were happening to them that they couldn’t believe. It sounded like “Mrrrrp?”
The Walkers and Will stared in disbelief.
The lions were getting fat.
It started in their midsections. The sharp ribs that Brendan had seen when they entered the house were suddenly hidden by expanding fur. The creatures’ legs, which had been thin enough for the sinuous tendons to be visible, ballooned up in seconds to the size of elephant feet. And the lions’ faces comically doubled in width, pushing their manes out and making them look like cartoons.
“Raarrr!” one of them said to the other, in clear shock.
“What’s going on?” Will asked.
“I wrote, ‘The lions get really fat!’” Brendan explained. “I figured that’d slow ’em down and we could escape—plus the poor guys looked like they were starving.”
With howls of confusion, the lions turned and ran toward the attic exit—but they couldn’t run very well. They bounced into each other and had to squeeze down the steps, their bodies still expanding.
Cordelia ran to the window and looked outside. The lions shoved their way out the front door, moving slowly, wobbling, and breathing heavily. Roman guards smiled—the crowd cheered.
“They think we’ve been eaten!” Cordelia said. Then she started yelling and waving: “Hey! Look! We’re still here! Alive! Hello!”
When the thousands in the Colosseum saw her, they went quiet—and then started speaking excitedly among themselves, trying to figure out what was going on. If those lions didn’t have a bellyful of humans, why were they so fat?
Just then the amplified voice of Occipus’s manservant rang out across the arena.
“Emperor Occipus speaks: ‘Two African lions, turned into overweight mice by means of powerful sorcery! What sort of child witch lives inside the Hades house?’”
“Oh great,” Cordelia said. “Now I’m a witch. And a child.”
“Why are they speaking English?” Eleanor asked.
“It must be because they’re all characters in a Kristoff book, and Kristoff spoke English,” said Cordelia.
“Uh-oh,” said Eleanor. “Look!”
A dozen armed Roman guards were marching toward Kristoff House, past the lions, who had finally stopped growing and were sitting and panting, looking like giant beanbag Buddhas. Eleanor’s eyes went wide as she saw their pointy spears and armor. She was terribly scared.
Brendan sat up in pain, clutching his clawed shoulder, and saw what was happening. He tried to reassure his sister. “Don’t worry, Nell. Those guards aren’t going to hurt us. Emperor Occipus isn’t totally mean; he’s quite a character.”
“How do you know?” asked Eleanor.
“I’ve read about him,” Brendan said. “In Kristoff’s book Gladius Rex. I read the beginning of it on our last adventure. It must be one of the books we’re trapped in. And it’s not so bad. There are a lot of cool feasts in that book, and battles, and chariots. . . . I’d almost like to meet the emperor. He seems really cool for a short, hairless guy.”
“Bren, we need to get you home,” said Cordelia. “You’re hurt. You might be getting delirious. You’re not in a position to meet a fictional Roman emperor or anyone else.”
“But Deal . . . don’t you think it’s weird that here inside Kristoff’s books we do such amazing things? We’re so strong, we’re like superheroes. But then back in the real world, where everything counts, we can’t even stand up to the normal stuff that happens to everybody all the time. Why?”
“I don’t know, Bren. Maybe for the same reason that Denver Kristoff wrote these books to begin with.”
“Why’s that?” Will asked, bringing one of Brendan’s T-shirts to him to try to help his wound.
“Because the real world isn’t always all that great,” Cordelia said. “It’s boring and tedious, especially if you don’t have any power. So you escape to a place where you do have power.”
Brendan said, “I want to keep escaping.”
“You can’t. We don’t belong here.”
“Why not? At least here we don’t have to go to school.”
“You do have to go to school. Only the school here is worse.”
Eleanor looked away as Will pulled Brendan’s shirt off and started wrapping the claw wound with the T-shirt he had brought. She couldn’t stand the sight of blood, and she was still worried about those Roman guards with spears outside the house. But they had stopped; they were just standing there, making sure that no one went in or out, as the crowd continued murmuring among themselves. Eleanor thought, nervous: All those people are talking about us, wondering who’s inside this house. What are they going to do when they find out it’s just three kids and a recently homeless British guy? We have to get home. And fast!
And then Eleanor looked at The Book of Doom and Desire. There’s our way home. Right there! All I have to do is write a wish and slip it inside. Then this can all be over. No more hungry lions, no more bleeding Brendan . . .
She grabbed another sheet off Brendan’s desk calendar and a pen. She walked toward the book—and as she got closer to it, it seemed to get bigger, almost as if it were expanding in her mind. Eleanor didn’t want to admit it, but the book had the same effect on her that it did on Cordelia. It called to her, told her that it had power inside, tempted her. Fine, let it try to get me, because I’m going to use it, for good, she thought—but just as she was about to reach it, a strong blast of air knocked her to the ground.
Eleanor tensed up. It wasn’t fear that filled her anymore, but anger. She knew who had done that. She didn’t even have to turn around. But she did.
The Wind Witch was in the attic with a big smile on her face.
“Well done, children,” she said. “You summoned the book. And now, little Eleanor, I have a wish for you to place in it.”
The Wind Witch held up a piece of paper.
It said: Dahlia Kristoff shall rule the world.
“Well, at least you’re consistent,” said Brendan, reading the note. “That’s the same psycho thing you always wish for—”
“Silence!” the Wind Witch said. “I’m speaking to your sister.”
Eleanor was in a panic. Sweat poured out of her forehead. The Wind Witch was even scarier than before, because she had fastened two new chrome hands onto her stubs: One hand was positioned with the finger and thumb pinched together, holding the note; the other was shaped like a fist. Eleanor stayed right where she was, on the floor, staring, and her thoughts started running in a loop: What do I do what do I do how do we get out of this what do I do?
“Do you actually expect us to help you?” Brendan said. He didn’t seem to be scared, but Eleanor knew it was an act. Just as her response to the Wind Witch was to become extremely tense and speechless, Brendan’s was to run off his mouth. “The curse that keeps you from getting close to that book is the best idea your father ever had. Maybe his only good idea. And you want us to put that lame wish, ‘Dahlia Kristoff shall rule the world,’ inside the book for you? Do you think we’re idiots?! If we do that, it’s kind of like we mess up the entire earth. No thanks.”
“Maybe I can change your mind,” said the Wind Witch, staring at Brendan’s bandage. “Pain can be so persuasive.”
The Wind Witch extended a chrome hand. A gust of air swirled out and blew off the T-shirt that was bandaging Brendan’s shoulder. Brendan felt the sharp pain of the skin around his wound separating, letting cold air touch the inside of his flesh. . . . It was like being pierced by hundreds of sharp needles. He couldn’t help but scream. Eleanor wanted to scream too, but she bit her tongue. Her heart was thudding inside her, shaking her wh
ole body . . . but she had to be brave. Maybe she could do something. Maybe she could turn her fear into something useful. She started to think of a plan as her sister yelled, “Stop!”
Cordelia faced the Wind Witch. “Stop, please! Don’t hurt my brother. We’ve been through enough. We’ll do what you want.”
“What?” Brendan said.
“I’m tired of fighting, Bren. I want to go back. I want to see Mom and Dad again. Don’t you?”
“You can’t negotiate with the Wind Witch, Deal! She’s like a terrorist. Only worse.”
“I am negotiating with her,” said Cordelia, turning back. “Dahlia, is it really necessary that you rule the entire world? Couldn’t you just wish for maybe being president of the United States? I mean, I might be running for class president next year—”
“I’m well aware of that,” said an annoyed Wind Witch.
“Then you know how important that is to me,” said Cordelia. “But being president of the United States . . . that would be a whole lot of power . . . leader of the free world and all . . . and you’d be the first woman president—”
“You’re a bright girl, Cordelia,” said the Wind Witch. “But you think small. I want to rule the entire world!”
“Okay,” said Cordelia. “So let’s say you do get your wish . . . what happens to us?”
“A world ruled by me will have a very special place for you three,” the Wind Witch said. She was smiling wider than Cordelia had ever seen. “I’ll never forget that you did a favor for me. You’ll always be with your parents, always be happy, always be rich. You won’t have a care in the world.”
“And what about Will?” Cordelia continued. “You’d need to give him what he wants.”
Cordelia took Will’s hand, which she thought Will might really like. But Will shook his hand away.
“Don’t touch me. You’re colluding with the enemy. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Cordelia gave Will a quick look that said: Trust me. Eleanor saw it too. And then Cordelia glanced at Eleanor, as if to say, Your move! Eleanor realized then that her big sister didn’t mean to work with the Wind Witch at all. She had only been buying time for Eleanor, who was closest to The Book of Doom and Desire. Which was good, because Eleanor had a plan.
Eleanor had written on the calendar paper she tore off, being as quiet as she could, worrying that the sound of the pen itself would alert the Wind Witch. She couldn’t misspell any words either. She crept toward the book.
Cordelia stepped forward and took the Wind Witch’s note. “It would be my honor to make your wish come true,” she said. Dahlia Kristoff bowed her head to Cordelia, a solemn look on her face. Cordelia returned a grateful smile, even though she had no intention of doing what the Wind Witch desired. She was a better politician than perhaps any of them realized.
Eleanor reached the book, put her note in, and slammed it shut.
“No!” the Wind Witch yelled, frantically trying to open the book with wind.
But it was too late.
The book was held closed by an unseen force.
And then it vanished.
The Book of Doom and Desire was completely gone, as if it had just winked out of existence.
“Eleanor?” Cordelia asked. “What did you just do?”
Before Eleanor could answer, a disturbance appeared around Brendan’s shoulder. A small cyclone hovered in place there, looping inside his claw wound to send soothing coolness into him. This wasn’t the Wind Witch’s doing. She stared at the magic along with everyone else. Within seconds it proved to be a healing spell for Brendan’s wound. The claw marks closed up, the blood faded, and Brendan’s skin became smooth and clear. There was no evidence of the tiniest scratch.
“Wow, thanks!” said Brendan. “Nell, did you do that?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Where did you send the book?” screeched the Wind Witch.
“It’s gone,” said Eleanor. She wasn’t afraid of Dahlia Kristoff anymore. Not after doing what she just did. Something so brave and smart.
“What do you mean, ‘gone’? Why did it disappear?!”
“I asked it to,” said Eleanor.
“You what?”
“I wrote on the paper, ‘Brendan’s shoulder gets healed . . . the book goes away and can never return.’”
The Wind Witch’s face turned bright red. Veins popped out of her temples.
“So,” said Eleanor, narrowing her eyes at the Wind Witch, trying to look tough, “now what are you gonna do?”
“You . . . ,” Dahlia said, and for once she couldn’t find any words. She extended her prosthetic hands and sent a blast of air toward Brendan’s bed, blowing the covers off. Then she went to the bed and started looking for the book, getting on her hands and knees as if it had slipped underneath. “You can’t have gotten rid of the book. You can’t! Why would you do that? The book is power . . . it’s everything. . . .”
“It’s gone,” Eleanor said.
Cordelia hugged Eleanor as the Wind Witch continued to tear the sheets from the bed like a crazy person.
“Let me get this straight,” Cordelia whispered. “You used The Book of Doom and Desire to get rid of itself?”
“Yes.”
“That was very brave, Nell—but how are we supposed to get home?”
“I don’t . . .” Eleanor’s face fell. “I wasn’t thinking about that! I was just thinking: Now she won’t be able to bother us anymore!”
“I thought you were going to make the Wind Witch disappear, not the book!”
“I tried to make her disappear before and it didn’t work!”
“No!” the Wind Witch suddenly said. She had frantically searched every nook and corner of the room. “You brat! You really did it! It’s completely gone!”
“That’s right,” Eleanor said. “You’d better get used to life without it.”
“Die!” the Wind Witch screamed.
A tremendous blast of wind pinned Eleanor against the opposite wall, knocking Cordelia away.
Brendan and Will rushed the Wind Witch, but she kicked them to the floor. She was hovering, flapping her wings, shooting hurricane-force winds at Eleanor’s face. Cordelia hit her head against the attic wall. Eleanor was facing a blast that seemed to come from the world’s most powerful wind tunnel. How dumb was I to try and take her on? How could I really think I was smarter?
“I’m going to blow the flesh clean off your bones!”
Eleanor couldn’t close her eyes. The wind was keeping them open. It rushed into her ears and nose. It trapped her against the wall, tore her shirt sleeves off, and rippled her whole body. She saw the skin of her arms starting to move toward her shoulders, as if someone were kneading it; she knew that when the wind got stronger she was going to tear and peel open. The Wind Witch screamed—but Eleanor heard something in her scream she didn’t expect.
Frustration.
The Wind Witch’s plan was not working.
Will and Brendan and Cordelia stood back, equally impressed and amazed with what they were seeing.
Eleanor was held in stasis. She looked at her pants, her shoes. Her pants were tearing away in tiny strips. Her shoelaces went straight back, as if they had magnets on the ends.
But her skin was holding together.
“Why can’t you just . . . die! Die! Die!!!” the Wind Witch gasped, gritting her teeth, turning her face into a horrible mask of frustration and anger.
And then she lowered her arms.
She had been defeated.
Eleanor fell forward, no longer pinned to the wall. She was exhausted and terrified, but she had survived. Even when it was impossible to do so.
The Wind Witch dropped to her knees.
“You should be dead!” she snarled at Eleanor, then turned to Brendan, Cordelia, and Will. “My powers have never failed. Not once! But I’ll get to the bottom of this. You’ll see! And then I’ll return to kill all of you!”
She clasped her hands together over her head and s
tarted to spin like a top. A purple glow surrounded the Wind Witch as the air around her swirled faster and faster—and then she was gone.
“What was that?” Brendan called, running to Eleanor, hugging her. He held her tighter than he ever had before, and within seconds Cordelia joined him, and then Will. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” Eleanor said. “But I felt her trying to kill me with everything she had, because I made the book go away.”
“She couldn’t,” Will said. “You were too strong.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t feel strong,” Eleanor said. It was all she could do to catch her breath. She wanted to lie down and rest for about two hundred years. She wanted a bath and to watch some TV. But then she heard the crowd outside. All this craziness and we’re still stuck here! With no Mom or Dad!
“There’s something else going on here,” Cordelia said. “What the Wind Witch just did . . . that was a full-fledged attack. It would have killed any of us. But Eleanor lived.”
“Maybe it has to do with the book being gone,” Brendan said. “Maybe the Wind Witch’s power comes from the book.”
“Whatever happened,” Cordelia said, “without that book, I don’t know how we get home.”
Eleanor nodded. She had temporarily forgotten about her huge mistake. Now, having it pointed out, she felt like the dumbest person in the world.
“I’m sorry . . . I wasn’t thinking about that. . . .”
“It’s okay,” Brendan said. “We’ll figure something out. The most important thing is that you’re okay.”
“Maybe there’s another book,” Eleanor said. “Or another . . . something. Somewhere in this house. We know that Denver Kristoff used to travel into his books. And didn’t he write over a hundred books? So maybe he used one of them to get in and out of the others.”
They all looked at her. At that moment, they didn’t see their little sister. They saw a brave warrior who would one day grow into a confident, powerful person. Brendan thought, Someday I might be asking her for a job.
Battle of the Beasts Page 10
