Warren paused his search on the fifth floor, which was home to the Hall of Ancestors. Here hung all the portraits of his forefathers. He realized that he had been so busy all day, he hadn’t had a chance yet to tell his father about his birthday plans.
Warren said cheerfully to the portrait of Warren the 12th. His father was a handsome man, painted in bold strokes that matched his strong chin and square shoulders. His father’s image, as always, seemed to be looking down, a warm smile on his face.
“As you know, it’s my thirteenth birthday today,” Warren said. “I’m planning a grand party.” A twinge of sadness tugged at Warren as he added, “I wish you could be here to help celebrate.”
Warren’s father had died when Warren was only seven years old, and since then things had never been the same. Warren hoped his dad would be proud of how he had managed to bring the hotel back from the brink of ruin.
Warren was distracted by the sound of a door closing, and he spotted Petula at the other end of the hall, carrying a large cardboard box.
“Petula!” he called. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Petula set down the box as he handed her an invitation. “I hope you can make it to my party tonight.”
Petula accepted the invitation but let out a sigh.
“What is it?” Warren asked.
“Nothing,” Petula said. “It’s just…must you plan everything?”
“What do you mean?” Warren asked, perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I plan my birthday party?”
“Well, didn’t you suppose…” Petula trailed off. “Never mind. I’m rather busy at the moment, but I’ll see you later this evening. Why don’t you go take a nap for a few hours?”
Warren was aghast. He had never taken a nap before. Not when there was always so much that needed doing. A nap meant sleeping during the most precious hours of the day—a ridiculous concept!
“But there are decorations I need to hang,” he protested. “And I must polish the tables and move the Victrola into the ballroom. Not to mention all the—”
“Yes, a nap!” Petula cut in firmly. “Or at the very least, relax for a while. It is your birthday, after all! You’re not supposed to do any work today.”
Warren hesitated. She did have a point.
“But what about all the things that need to be done?”
Petula let out a huff and drew a magical portal with one hand. With the other, she grabbed Warren’s arm, yanking him into the swirling mist. His stomach turned and his vision clouded with disorienting streaks of light.
Suddenly, he was ejected out the other side of the portal, landing on the wood of his attic floor. THUMP!
“There!” Petula said. “Now, try to relax and don’t worry about a thing.”
Petula disappeared back into her portal, which closed with a SHWOOP!
Warren walked over to his bed, wobbling slightly. Petula’s portals always made him feel a little queasy. He flopped onto the mattress and exhaled as he tried to relax. But his mind was still whirring with all the preparations for his party. He checked his pocket watch and saw there were still five hours until the event. Surely a little rest couldn’t hurt? In fact, it might be quite rejuvenating.
Warren wasn’t feeling sleepy, however, so he reached under his bed, where he kept his stack of Jacques Rustyboots books. He had read them all from cover to cover many times. So many, in fact, that he could recite them from memory.
He cracked open one of his favorites, Jacques Rustyboots and the Peanut Butter and Jellyfish, and immersed himself in an unusual story in which the pirate stumbled upon a mysterious island made entirely of food. Just as Rustyboots discovered a buried chest filled with candy coins, Warren drifted off to sleep, dreaming of chocolate turtles and butterscotch rivers.
AAAH!” Warren shot up in bed, filled with panic. He fumbled for his pocket watch. He was late! To his own birthday party! He was horrified. “Nothing is done!” he cried as he flew out of the attic and down the stairs. “No decorations! No music! No food!” How could he have overslept? He must have been more tired than he thought, but that was no excuse!
His tiny feet went PIT-PAT PIT-PAT as he raced down the stairs, barreling toward the ballroom.
“I’m sorry!” he yelled as he flung open the doors. “I didn’t mean to—”
His voice trailed off. The ballroom was empty. A lone candle flickered on the banquet table, barely illuminating the cold, cavernous room.
“Hello?” he called out. The only response was the forlorn sound of his own echo bouncing back.
Had everyone left once they realized he was late? Or perhaps no one had remembered to come in the first place. Unlucky! Uncle Rupert’s voice resounded in his mind. Cursed!
Dejected, Warren slowly walked out of the ballroom and back upstairs. He decided to go to the roof, where he could climb into his crow’s nest and feel sorry for himself without anyone around to see him shed a tear. His heart felt heavy as he slowly climbed the ladder leading to the roof hatch and pushed open the door.
Warren was so shocked, he almost fell off the ladder.
All his friends were on the roof, which was decorated gaily with string lights and balloons. Petula and Sketchy held up a large flag with Warren’s profile in silhouette emblazoned upon the fabric. Below it, “XIII” was embroidered in gold thread. The flag snapped smartly in the wind and Sketchy let out a loud whistle as it wiggled its tentacles. The rooftop crows cawed raucously, happy for an excuse to make some noise.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Chef Bunion said, sweeping Warren into a massive bear hug.
“Oof!” Warren gasped as the air was squeezed out of him. “Are those pudding cookies I smell?”
Chef released his grip and gestured to a large banquet table brimming with all of Warren’s favorite foods: mini meat pies with buttery, flaky crusts, cheesy pasta oozing with cream, jellied tarts and fresh fruits in an array of jewel tones, smoked fish dripping with slabs of honeycomb, a steaming cauldron of zesty beef goulash, and, best of all, a cake constructed entirely of Chef’s famous pudding cookies—crispy on the outside, with molten chocolatey goodness in the middle. Uncle Rupert was already helping himself to the feast, smacking his lips loudly as he sampled the various delicacies.
Warren was in awe—but even more so when he spotted Mr. Friggs standing among the others. Mr. Friggs hardly ever left the library! He rushed forward to give his elderly tutor a hug. “Mr. Friggs, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you set foot on the roof before!”
“Anything for my favorite student,” Mr. Friggs said, looking a little pale as he wobbled on his cane. “Though I don’t much like heights.”
Mr. Vanderbelly shoved himself between Warren and Mr. Friggs, his notebook at the ready.
“You should have seen your face!” he said, bellowing with laughter. “Oh, if only I could capture the precise expression in words!” He began scribbling madly in his notebook, no doubt attempting to do just that. “Now, tell me, how does it feel to be the victim of such a shocking surprise?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call myself a victim at all,” Warren said. “It’s actually quite lovely!”
“Lovely! Pah!” Mr. Vanderbelly snorted. “Words like that don’t sell papers, my boy. How about ‘Marvelous!’ or ‘Stupendous!’ ”
“Or ‘Mystifying!’ ” Warren added. “How did this all come together? Especially without me noticing?”
“We’re witches, remember?” Petula said, and Beatrice winked as she began playing a slightly-more-cheerful-than-average ditty on her violin.
Sketchy began to dance, whistling happily, and draped the flag around Warren’s shoulders with a flourish.
“What’s this?” Warren asked, touching the silky fabric.
“Every ship needs a flag!” Petula said. “So we made one for you. Now ships from afar will know the SS Warren when they see your banner fly!”
; “Thanks, everyone!” Warren said, suddenly overcome with emotion. “For a moment I thought you might have forgotten.”
“There’s no way we’d forget such an unlucky and cursed year,” Rupert said around a mouthful of pudding cookies.
Petula frowned. “Don’t listen to him. Thirteen happens to be one of my favorite numb—”
Petula was cut off as the hotel suddenly lurched sharply to the left, a large wave battering the starboard side of the ship. A chilly spray misted the partygoers, who stumbled around trying to regain their balance. The food on the table slid dangerously close to the edge, but then a second wave hit the port side, sending the trays and platters back to their original placement.
Warren said, noticing the black thunderclouds roiling overhead. He had been so distracted by the party, he hadn’t even realized the storm had caught up to them. Fat raindrops began pelting the roof and everyone gasped as lightning flashed. An ear-splitting peal of thunder followed soon after, causing the shingles to tremble beneath their feet.
“We’re sitting ducks out here! We need to get back inside!” Warren cried as Beatrice briskly opened a large portal.
Another massive wave slammed the hotel, tilting it sharply to the right. The wind was picking up, and the waves were growing more turbulent with each passing second.
“Go, go, go!” Petula said, ushering Mr. Vanderbelly, Chef Bunion, and Mr. Friggs through the opening.
“What about the food?” Rupert wailed, clinging to the banquet table’s legs as the entire thing slid across the roof toward the starboard side.
“Uncle Rupert! Let go!” Warren cried, lunging forward.
He grabbed onto the man’s ankles with one hand while clutching his flag with the other. Rupert’s heft was too much for him, and they both began to slide across the slick tiles toward the edge of the roof. At the last second, Sketchy’s tentacles reached out and saved them from certain doom.
The table, however, with all its delicious dishes, did not fare so well. Warren watched in horror as it toppled over into the raging sea below. Tarts and pies and pudding cookies rained down with a SPLISH SPLAT SPLASH and were quickly devoured by frothing seafoam.
Rupert cried, as though his best friend had just been lost overboard instead of a grandiose meal.
“Never mind that!” Warren cried, even though his own heart was breaking at the sight of all that delicious food gone to waste. “Get into the portal!”
With Sketchy’s help, he shoved his plump uncle into the portal, urging Sketchy to quickly follow. Beatrice gestured for Warren to go next, but the boy shook his head. A good manager always put his guests’ safety before his own.
“Petula next!” Warren yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the howling wind.
The rain was falling in icy sheets, and lightning crashed around them. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Warren’s golden curls were flattened against his skull, drenched with a mixture of rain and ocean spray.
Petula’s eyes widened as she pointed to something behind him. Warren spun about and blinked. It appeared to be a strange dent pressed into the ocean, as though by an invisible finger; Warren stared at it, transfixed. The dent deepened and widened and that’s when Warren realized what was happening—an enormous whirlpool was forming!
The churning water flowed clockwise, faster, and faster, and faster. The hotel’s frame shuddered as it was caught in the edges of the vortex, and the building began to spin like a top. If Warren didn’t act quickly, the entire hotel would be swallowed by the whirlpool’s gaping mouth!
He felt Beatrice’s hand close around his arm as she pushed both him and Petula into her portal. They landed with a thump on the other side, on the control room floor, where the party guests stood in a daze, dripping puddles onto the floor. From deep within the belly of the hotel, Warren could no longer hear the thunder crashing outside, but he could feel the force of the water pressing in from all sides, the wooden walls creaking and groaning in protest.
The portal closed with a loud SHWOOP!
“What about Beatrice?” Warren cried.
“She’s going to use magic to try to stop the hotel from getting pulled in!” Petula cried. “But you need to help!”
Warren dashed to the controls and grabbed the wheel that steered the hotel. It was spinning wildly and it took all of Warren’s strength to grab the prongs and pull it to a stop. “Nnngh!” he groaned as he struggled to turn the wheel in the opposite direction. Chef Bunion ran forward to assist, and with the help of his burly arms, they managed to turn the wheel and halt the hotel’s mad spinning. But it still wasn’t enough to pull them out of the swirling waters.
Warren yanked on the periscope and peered through the viewfinder to see how Beatrice was doing on the roof. She was a powerful witch, but he still worried for her safety.
He could see her uncoiling the rigging on the mast. With a wave of her hands, the rope seemed to come alive. Wiggling and writhing like a snake, it shot out from her hands and out of sight.
“What’s she doing?” Warren cried. He had never seen this type of magic before.
Petula nudged him aside and peered through the periscope.
“She’s doing rope magic!” she said, looking concerned. “Sometimes we use it to lasso evil witches who are trying to escape…but she’s trying to use it on the hotel!”
“That’s how she’ll pull us out of the whirlpool!” Warren said. “Great idea!”
“I just don’t know if it will work on something as big as the hotel,” Petula said. “It’s a tricky sort of magic. Ropes don’t like to behave.”
Warren’s attention was pulled back to the control room as water began to spray through the edges of the glass, and the lights flickered and buzzed. Sketchy used its tentacles to try to plug each hole that formed, but there were just too many sprouting up between the cracks. The view beyond the window was a blur of blue and white streaks as the whirlpool raged around them.
“There’s too much pressure!” Warren cried. “The hotel is going to be crushed!”
The steering wheel began to vibrate and shake as the connecting machinery was battered by the force of the water. There was a loud SNAP! and Warren glimpsed a large wood panel tumbling past the window, where it quickly vanished into froth. “The rudder’s gone!” Warren yelled. “We can’t steer!”
“CURSED! DOOOOOMED!” Rupert’s voice wailed above the sound of splintering wood.
There was a loud CRACK! and the hotel residents screamed as the control room went black.
orning broke, creating slats of sunlight filtering in through the cracks and holes that marred the hotel’s facade. The storm had long since died down, and gentle waves lapped against the sides of the building, which lay lopsided on a sandy beach.
Shipwrecked, Warren thought with a sinking feeling as he stood outside the hotel, surveying the damage. Shipwrecks were an essential part of the Jacques Rustyboots stories, and they were usually followed by thrilling adventures. But this was no story. It was real life, and until the rudder was replaced and the holes patched up, his hotel wasn’t going anywhere. On the plus side, however, they had landed on a mysterious uncharted island, and that was rather exciting, indeed.
It appeared to be a small island, densely covered with tropical trees and foliage in varying shades of green, punctuated by bright pink, purple, and orange bursts from a variety of flowers and fruits. A pleasant scent wafted on the breeze as wild birds and monkeys shrieked loudly inside the jungle.
“In any other circumstances, this would make for a lovely vacation spot,” Petula mused.
“Well, this may end up turning into a long stay,” Warren replied, “unless we can find some supplies to fix the hotel with. How is your mother doing?”
“She’s resting,” Petula said. “I think she’ll need a few days to recover, at least.”
Beatrice’s magic-rope trick had been successful
and Warren was grateful. Unfortunately, her efforts had cost her dearly. Her magic was more suited to catching evil witches than fighting acts of nature, and she was found barely conscious after the whole ordeal.
As for everyone else, thankfully they had emerged from the experience unscathed. Mr. Friggs was back in the comfort of his library, and Mr. Vanderbelly was perched on the hotel’s crooked front steps, scribbling an article in his notebook about the “Disastrous Near Destruction of the Warren Hotel” and muttering to himself in dramatic tones. Chef Bunion was nearby, collecting tropical fruits from a tree, no doubt eager to incorporate them into his recipes, and Sketchy was splashing happily in the waves. As for Uncle Rupert, he was napping on the sand and developing a rather unfortunate sunburn.
“I better go scout the island and see if there’s anyone who might be able to help,” Warren said.
“You’re not going alone,” Petula said firmly. “Besides, you’ll need my portal to return to the hotel in case we run into danger.”
Warren nodded. She made a good point. “Chef!” Warren called. “Petula and I are going to look for help.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n!” Chef said as he shook a tree, knocking more fruit from its branches. “Be careful out there!”
Sketchy whistled sharply and wiggled its way up to Petula and Warren as they began to head toward the jungle. It shook its body like a dog, sending seawater and sand flying in all directions.
“Sketchy, I’m sorry, but you can’t come with us,” Warren said. “You can’t fit through Petula’s portal, and we need an escape route in case anything happens.”
Warren the 13th and the Thirteen-Year Curse Page 2
