“Thank you for your help, Mr. Friggs,” Annaconda declared. “Now Scalene will see to it that you never trouble us again. Finish him off!”
“No!” Warren cried, rushing to his mentor’s side. “He gave you what you wanted! Now leave him alone!”
“Shut up or you’ll join him!” Annaconda barked. “Go on, Scalene. Get it over with.”
Scalene licked her lips and rubbed her hands as she prowled toward Mr. Friggs. Warren could feel the old man tremble.
“I’d get out of the way, boy,” Scalene warned. “After I change into a wolf I’ll be very hungry, and you’ll look like a tasty appetizer.”
Warren refused to budge. “I hope you choke!”
Scalene raised her hands and began her transformation. A burst of purple light filled the room, along with the nauseating stink of sulfur.
What happened next took place so quickly, Warren could hardly believe his eyes: a figure leapt out from behind a bookshelf and uncorked a tiny bottle. It was Paleface! Then there was a loud WHOOSH, and the purple light seemed to be shrinking Scalene!
“Nooooo!” she screamed, her voice becoming tinny and faint. Her body stretched like taffy as the force pulled her inside the bottle. When Scalene was completely contained, Paleface popped in the cork and dropped the bottle in the red satchel, where it tinkled among dozens of similar vessels.
A TRIPLE CROSS
“A perfumier!” Annaconda gasped.
Petula ran to Paleface. “Way to go, Mom!”
“Mom?” Warren said.
Paleface reached and peeled back the bandages. That’s when Warren realized that Paleface wasn’t a he. She was a she! Petula’s mother had the high sculpted cheekbones of a lady, and her face and neck were covered in tiny rose tattoos–the markings of a perfumier! She’d been working undercover all along!
Annaconda pointed at Petula accusingly. “So that’s why you wanted me to use my magic! So your perfumier mother could capture me! Traitor!”
“I was never on your side to begin with!” Petula spat. She turned to Warren. “I wasn’t double-crossing you! I was triple-crossing her!”
Warren was so confused, he didn’t know what to say. He just hoped there was no such thing as a quadruple-cross. He wasn’t sure he could trust anyone anymore!
A PERFUMIER IN DISGUISE
Mr. Friggs turned to Warren and apologized, too. “I’m sorry I had to mislead you, my lad. But when you told me that a mysterious bandaged stranger had arrived, I knew immediately that it could mean only one thing: a perfumier in disguise. I searched the hotel until I found her sniffing around the hallway, and then I offered Beatrice my help.”
“Beatrice?” Warren asked.
“That’s my mother’s real name,” Petula explained. “My first night here, when I followed you into the hedge maze, she came with me. She was the one who took the journal, and then she gave it to Mr. Friggs so we could set a trap. We needed you to figure it out on your own, so you could lead Annaconda into it.”
“How very clever!” Annaconda said with a sneer. “But all you’ve really managed to do is make me angry!” With a violent shove she pushed Isosceles into Beatrice, nearly knocking them both to the floor. Isosceles reached for the satchel as Beatrice struggled to protect it. “Release my sister!” Isosceles screamed. “Scalene, I’m going to free you! Hang on!”
Warren and Petula stepped forward to restrain Isosceles, and even Mr. Friggs tried to help by striking the witch with his cane. Isosceles seemed to realize she was overpowered and outnumbered; she rose to run but immediately tripped over an old dictionary and landed on the floor with a thud. With a blinding burst of purple light, Isosceles transformed into a vulture.
Beatrice reached for one of her bottles but wasn’t fast enough. By the time she uncorked it, Isosceles was rising off the ground and flapping her wings, straining against the bottle’s force. The perfumier’s energy drew her closer and closer, twisting her downward like a vortex.
“You’ve almost got her!” Warren cried.
Isosceles struck Beatrice with a wing, breaking her concentration. Released from the force, she shot up like a rocket, bursting through the library’s skylight with a CRASH! Through a rainstorm of glass, Beatrice bravely thrust out a hand and cast a quick spell. The shards immediately transformed into bits of paper that fluttered harmlessly to the floor. One of the scraps landed on Warren’s shoulder, gentle as a leaf.
Petula ran to the window, but it was too late. Isosceles had escaped, soaring ever higher. “We failed,” she said. “She got away.”
Warren looked around and realized that Isosceles wasn’t the only one who got away. Annaconda had vanished–and she’d taken the journal!
He turned to Beatrice. “Is there anything in the diary that I should know? Any hints that would help us find the All-Seeing Eye?”
Beatrice produced another card from her deck–fwip! It was blank. Warren took this to mean: absolutely nothing.
“Mom’s voice was stolen by a dark witch,” Petula explained. “We’ve traveled the world trying to get it back.”
“Are you sure the journal says nothing at all?” Warren asked again.
Petula shook her head. “It was pretty boring. I didn’t see anything interesting.”
“Then you didn’t read it very carefully!” Mr. Friggs exclaimed. “One page in particular was unlike the others. I believe it contained a clue.”
“What did it say?” Warren asked.
Mr. Friggs grinned shrewdly. “I can’t tell you,” he said, “but I can show you.” He hobbled over and reached into an empty fish tank. He plucked out a page of the journal, shaking off the colorful gravel. “Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to keep it!”
Beatrice and Petula peered over Warren’s shoulder. He was studying the page, wondering why it contained engravings of two little creatures: a rabbit and a snail.
ANOTHER RIDDLE
“What’s an activation key?” Warren asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Mr. Friggs. “It appears to be some kind of riddle, but I was unable to unravel its meaning.”
Warren continued examining the page. He loved word games. His father used to do a crossword every morning, and Warren learned a lot by watching him solve puzzles over breakfast. “A rabbit lives in a burrow,” he said. “That’s six letters long. It fits.”
“And the second answer is easy,” Petula chimed in. “A snail’s home is a shell.”
“The Burrow Shell!” Warren announced with satisfaction, though he was dismayed to realize the passcode didn’t make a whole lot of sense. “The Burrow Shell?”
“Perhaps the Eye is hidden inside a burrow,” Mr. Friggs offered.
“Or it’s hidden in a shell inside a burrow,” Petula suggested.
“Neither of those seems right,” Warren said.
Beatrice reached into her cloak and pulled out two more cards–fwip! fwip! The first showed a clock face with bird wings; the second showed a fairy-tale witch wearing a pointy hat.
“Time flies! We need to find Annaconda,” Petula translated. “She still has one more spell and the ability to turn into her spirit animal. We need to find her before it’s too late!”
“Good idea,” Warren said. “But where should we look? She could be anywhere!”
* * *
LANRUOJ TERCES EHT
nnaconda crouched on the floor of her sisters’ room, flipping madly through the journal. Gripping a small mirror, she scanned the reflected pages as rapidly as possible. Her eyes darted left to right as she mumbled through the dated entries. “ ‘Today I had the good fortune of eating a splendid tomato bisque soup, and while I do appreciate a good cracker, I may have added too many on this occasion, for they soaked up the broth like … ’ WHAT IS THIS GARBAGE?!” she howled, her bony fingers shredding the paper.
Every page was filled with the same dull nonsense: endless entries about Warren Jr.’s daily activities. There were transcriptions of conversations and observations alongside anatomic
al diagrams of insects and arachnids in motion: spiders, scorpions, beetles, grasshoppers. Annaconda was tempted to fling the book out the window, but she was certain the words must have some meaning–she had to be missing a vital clue.
Outside her room, the distant chatter of guests returning from breakfast grew louder. Annaconda knew she didn’t have much time. Soon everyone would resume searching for the All-Seeing Eye. And she couldn’t hide much longer, not with Warren and that blasted perfumier on the loose. She had to stay on the move if she hoped to avoid them.
As Annaconda hurried into the hallway, she continued tearing out pages she deemed worthless, the scraps flittering like confetti in her wake. “More sketches of bugs!” she exclaimed. “Why was this idiot obsessed with bugs?”
“Hey, now, what’s this?” said a woman’s voice behind her. Annaconda whirled and saw the married acrobats in their sparkly bodysuits. They held a few of the torn pages and were studying them closely. “These look like clues,” the man said.
The door to Room 804 flung open. “Clues? What clues?” said the gentleman jeweler.
Annaconda stomped over and snatched back the scraps. “Those are mine!”
“Finders keepers!” said the wife.
“It’s a whole trail of clues!” the jeweler exclaimed, snatching ragged pages from the hallway floor.
The commotion was attracting attention. The door to Room 806 opened and then 807, 808, 809 … soon doors were opening all along the hallway. The hunchbacked woman thrust a gnarled finger at Annaconda. “She has a whole book of clues! Give us a look!”
Annaconda clutched the journal to her chest. “Be gone! All of you!”
Instead, even more guests streamed out, vying for a closer look at the journal. Annaconda ran to the main stairwell and stumbled down the steps, hoping to find refuge in the basement. But upon reaching the third floor, she was met by even more guests coming in the other direction. News was spreading like wildfire!
“I don’t have any clues!” she said anxiously. “This journal is worthless!”
“Then let us see it!” the barbarian shouted.
“Yes, give us a look,” said the burly man in the safari outfit, “or my boy will fire his pop gun at you!”
Other angry voices joined the protest and the crowd circled around Annaconda. Matters were becoming desperate. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the tooth. “Don’t make me use this!” she shouted.
The guests drew back in awe–they thought it was another clue–and then swarmed around her, pushing and tugging. One grabbed for the journal while another lunged for the tooth. The boy with the pop gun shoved her from behind. “Final warning!” he threatened.
Annaconda knew she had no choice: she must resort to magic or lose everything forever. She scanned the hallway, making sure the perfumier was nowhere in sight, and then uttered the words to her final spell.
BOM YRGNA NA
ith the help of Beatrice’s extraordinary sense of smell, Warren and his friends tracked Annaconda to the eighth floor. But by the time they reached the room of Isosceles and Scalene, Annaconda was gone. Beatrice prowled every corner, sniffing high and low. Petula followed close behind. Warren stood off to the side and tried to ignore the creepy objects cluttering the shelves and dressers; Annaconda’s sisters had brought all kinds of strange possessions in their luggage. There were eerie jars and vials and stacks of books that appeared to be bound in skin. Suspended from the ceiling was a string of dried bats; below them sat a cauldron from which tendrils of smoke coiled upward. Standing on his toes, Warren peered into the vessel, which looked to be bottomless. Curious, he reached inside.
A DESPERATE SEARCH
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Mr. Friggs said, using his cane to pull Warren back.
Beatrice flashed a series of cards–fwip! fwip! fwip! fwip!–and Petula translated for her: “Annaconda’s scent is still strong. She can’t be far away.”
They left the bedroom, Beatrice sniffing wildly as they followed the trail down the hallway; Warren, Petula, and Mr. Friggs trailed along behind. Beatrice kept nodding and sniffing, past a tarnished statue of a weeping elephant and an antique writing desk stuffed with broken pencils, until they reached the stairwell.
“We’re on the right track,” Petula said.
When they reached the fourth-floor landing, they heard footsteps scampering up the stairs. Warren and the others pressed together in a protective knot as the sound grew louder and was accompanied by frantic panting and wheezing. The source of the noise finally appeared–it was Rupert! His face glowed red and rivulets of sweat coursed over his plump cheeks.
“Warren!” he gasped. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over!”
“Are you okay?” Warren asked.
“What is it?” Warren asked.
“The hot water in my bathtub isn’t working!”
“Your hot water?” Warren said. “That’s your emergency?”
“But it’s not hot at all,” replied Rupert. “That’s what I’m trying to explain. It’s really rather tepid! Lukewarm! How am I supposed to bathe?”
“I have bigger problems right now, Uncle Rupert,” Warren said. “Have you seen Aunt Annaconda?”
Rupert shook his head. “And I certainly do not want to see her, not until I’ve had my bath. I feel absolutely beastly!”
How could Uncle Rupert be so concerned about his bath at a time like this? In the stunned quiet that followed, Warren heard a commotion coming from the lower floors. The din from a mass of voices was followed by Annaconda’s high-pitched shriek. Suddenly, a flash of purple light appeared, followed by silence.
Beatrice was already racing down the stairs. Warren and Petula darted after her, with slow-moving Mr. Friggs and an exasperated Rupert lagging behind. “Will you need any plumbing tools?” he asked. “I believe there is a wrench under the reception desk–”
Warren hurried along. On the third-floor landing, the air was still thick with the putrid scent of sulfur. “We’re too late!” Petula cried. “She used the tooth!”
Limp bodies were strewn the length of the hallway, and Warren felt a sickening rush of horror. Were they dead? Then he heard the soft sound of restful breathing rippling through the air.
Rupert wandered among the guests. “Whasssgoin’ on?” he said. “Whyss everybody lying down?” Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped to his knees. With a thud, he toppled to the floor, his loud snuffles joining the chorus of snores.
RESTFUL BREATHING
“A sleep spell,” Mr. Friggs said weakly, leaning heavily on his cane. “She’s cursed the entire hotel!”
Warren was feeling quite sleepy, indeed. He blinked heavily and glanced at Petula; she too had a dazed expression. Despite an unsteady wobble, Beatrice was hunting through the folds of her cloak. Warren felt his eyelids starting to droop; his vision blurred. If he could just take a quick little nap …
Warren was vaguely aware of Beatrice waving something in the air. It was a stone from which emanated a dome of blue light, encasing him and his friends within it. Almost instantly, the fog in Warren’s brain lifted and he felt more alert.
“Phew!” Petula said. “That was a close one.”
Beatrice nodded grimly and tucked the stone inside her cloak.
“What happened?” Warren asked.
“Thanks to Mom, we’re protected from the effects of your aunt’s spell,” Petula explained. “We’ll see about reviving the guests later, but first we better find Annaconda!”
“She’s used her last spell,” said Mr. Friggs. “She might be closer to the Eye than we thought! There must be something in the journal that I overlooked.”
“She knows the hotel has a hidden room,” Warren reminded him. “Maybe she’s looking for the Heart of the Warren.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Friggs said, stroking his sideburns. “That would be the next logical step.”
They rushed to the library, but it was too late. Annaconda had been there not moments earlier, s
earching for secret doorways or a hidden passage in the floor. “My precious books!” Mr. Friggs wailed, stooping to gently pick up a ripped volume as if it was baby bird with broken wings. Entire bookshelves had been toppled, their contents tossed recklessly on the floor.
“This isn’t the Heart of the Warren, it’s the Brain of the Warren,” said Petula. “Where would she look next?”
Warren wracked his brain. “The lobby?”
Down they all went to the first floor, though Annaconda wasn’t there either. But she had been. Rupert’s desk was flipped on its side and the curtains ripped clean off their rods.
“We’re always two steps behind her,” Mr. Friggs said. “We’ll only catch her if we anticipate where she’ll look next.”
Everyone turned to Warren. A mixture of pressure and pride swelled inside his chest–he knew the building better than anyone else, had spent his childhood exploring every cranny and corner. Where could the Heart of the Warren be?
he announced. “That must be the Heart of the Warren!”
Mr. Friggs nodded. “Home is where the hearth is!”
“Brilliant!” said Petula. “Let’s go!”
The group hurried down to the basement. As they approached the kitchen, they could hear the clatter of shattering glass and pots and pans being thrown across the room. “Careful, now,” warned Mr. Friggs in hushed tones. They huddled together and pushed open the doors.
A frenzied Annaconda was tearing through the cabinets in a rage. Warren was relieved to find Chef Bunion safely asleep; he was sprawled on a countertop, his head resting on a bread loaf like a pillow. Warren could only imagine how angry he’d be to witness Annaconda’s rampage through his cherished kitchen.
Warren the 13th and The All-Seeing Eye: A Novel Page 9
