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Battle of the Beasts
Ned Vizzini

Chris Columbus


Book two in the bestselling HOUSE OF SECRETS series. Get ready for another action-packed adventure!Just when the Walker kids thought they were safe, the Wind Witch blasts Kristoff House into a crazy world of battles, beasts and cyborgs. From the searing heat and clashing swords of the Colosseum, to the snow-capped Tibetan mountains and some seriously freaky monks – the stakes have never been higher!Can the Walkers save the world? Again? Brendan, Cordelia and Nell better be prepared to fight for their lives…The second book in the major new House of Secrets series. IT’S GOING TO BE EPIC!


















For Eleanor, Brendan,

Violet, and Bella

– C. C.



To my grandmother – N.V.


Table of Contents

Cover (#u71b89b9b-ea09-5eb5-b958-740642101b9b)

Title Page (#u46b514d8-d6d3-5694-a0da-ab4a0b72f179)

Dedication (#u4bfa5172-939b-57b4-b6eb-389aab5626f7)

Chapter 1 (#ua9ff4b35-692b-5031-86b5-1227b6fd340d)

Chapter 2 (#u0d76dc70-9245-5345-886b-2c00fc202fe4)

Chapter 3 (#u444bfb48-d82f-520f-8346-4a16e68bb933)

Chapter 4 (#uc7384e3d-355a-5186-8803-7d4380c78b57)

Chapter 5 (#u296fc7b5-ae7e-5bc6-9d35-703e54194a78)

Chapter 6 (#u5bd4b059-8261-503d-895c-7faca7242d4e)

Chapter 7 (#u5b172313-d579-5c11-87f8-0ef8d52f28fa)

Chapter 8 (#u231bf4c7-b4a7-5248-a925-7122845cce65)

Chapter 9 (#uf4a1e2f1-0a57-5166-ae1c-5926a46db34c)

Chapter 10 (#u53c3aafd-08db-5ac7-98b4-e895856872a7)

Chapter 11 (#u902a62f7-a5bc-5ed3-b628-ee58ebf96794)

Chapter 12 (#ube664d2c-7531-5ff3-bdd6-8bebd8cc33c0)

Chapter 13 (#u451c45e0-8ebb-5b5b-a06c-557b17e35783)

Chapter 14 (#u0cf2fd78-605e-5ddb-a648-85cd3fce56ec)

Chapter 15 (#u3f0a4011-09cf-5543-9de7-7308bc3a712e)

Chapter 16 (#ufc1ce3e3-d832-5cdc-a33b-92d7cd7b763f)

Chapter 17 (#u3a9efeff-8c06-5075-9dc6-1c57bdaad367)

Chapter 18 (#u49938b69-1aa2-5b5d-9ae7-fb1e409c3e1f)

Chapter 19 (#uc6ed6bca-618c-5f1d-af99-534a1918c130)

Chapter 20 (#u7eb56742-9d83-5703-921d-b06a123ad7aa)

Chapter 21 (#u74ea0163-e1ac-577b-9f40-73ccbbcb94bd)

Chapter 22 (#u07329bfb-3b42-52b5-8d39-bd92d2989b47)

Chapter 23 (#uc342fc62-6276-5d0c-96d0-4d2a82b3387c)

Chapter 24 (#uf8a088a4-b097-5bcd-99f5-568c0ae16f5a)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 58 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 60 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 61 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 62 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 62 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 63 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 64 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 65 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 66 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 67 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 68 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 69 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 70 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 71 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 72 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 73 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 74 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)







(#ulink_19095d5e-e12f-568e-8ccc-1b5af6b635e8)


Brendan Walker knew the package would be there by eight a.m. It had to be. He had selected “FedEx First Overnight” on the website; he had confirmed that in his zip code (in Sea Cliff, San Francisco), “First Overnight” meant eight a.m.; he had even woken up continually during the night to hit Refresh on the FedEx tracking page. If the package didn’t arrive at his house by eight, how could he go to school?

“Brendan! Get down here!”

He turned away from his laptop and went to the trapdoor that was the only exit out of his room. Sometimes he thought it was strange that his room was actually the attic of a three-storey, Victorian-style house, but mostly he thought it was cool. Besides, it was one of the least weird things about his life.

He hit the latch. The trapdoor swung away, unfolding into steps that led from the attic to the hallway below. He hopped down and folded the steps back behind him, tucking the rope that hung from the trapdoor inside, so it dangled down several centimetres less than normal. This way, if anybody entered his room while he was at school, he would know.

“Brendan! Your breakfast is getting cold!”

He ran towards his mom’s voice.

In the hallway, Brendan passed three photos of the home’s former owners: the Kristoffs. They had built the place in 1907. Their pictures were faded, overlaid with pastel colours that appeared to have been added years later. Denver Kristoff, the father, had a grim face and a square beard. His wife, Eliza May, was pretty and demure. Their daughter, Dahlia, was a cute, innocent-looking baby in the photos – but Brendan knew her by a different name, with a different set of skills.

She was the Wind Witch. And she had almost killed him half a dozen times.

Fortunately, she hadn’t been a problem for six weeks. She was … How would the cops put it? “Missing and presumed dead”, Brendan thought. Brendan’s little sister, Eleanor, had used a magical book to banish her to “the worst place ever” and they hadn’t heard from her since. Which meant it was probably time to take down her picture. But whenever Brendan’s parents brought up that idea, Brendan protested, along with Eleanor and his older sister, Cordelia.

“Mom, the house is called Kristoff House. You can’t take down the pictures of the Kristoffs,” Eleanor had said the other week, when Mrs Walker showed up in the hallway with pliers and putty. Eleanor was nine; she had strong opinions.

“But we own the house now, Eleanor. Wasn’t it you who suggested that we start calling it Walker House?”

“Yeah, but now I think we should respect the original owners,” replied Eleanor.

“It gives the place historical integrity,” Cordelia agreed. She was three years older than Brendan, about to turn sixteen, although she sounded like she was in her thirties. “It’s like when they change the name of a baseball stadium to Billionaire Corporation Field. It’s fake.”

“Fine,” Mrs Walker sighed. “It’s your house. I just live here.”

Mrs Walker left, allowing the Walker siblings to speak more freely. Just looking at the pictures brought them back to the fantastic adventures they had been on in Kristoff House – the certifiably crazy, never-talk-about-them-because-you’ll-be-put-away adventures. The adventures about which Brendan thought: If any of us ever gets married, and we tell people, “The best day of my life was when I got married,” we’ll be lying. Because the best day of our lives was when we got home safe, six weeks ago.

“It really does make sense to keep the Kristoffs up,” Cordelia said. “They’re the ones responsible for this whole … situation.”

“What situation? The situation where we’re rich?” Eleanor asked.

It felt weird to say. But it was true. At the end of the Walkers’ certifiable adventures, when Eleanor had made the wish in the magical book (or cursed book, really) to banish the Wind Witch, she’d also wished for her family to be rich. The Walker parents had ended up with ten million dollars in their savings account as a “settlement” for Dr Walker. Now the family was living very comfortably because of it.

“There’s that,” Cordelia said, “and there’s the situation where we live in mortal fear because the Wind Witch could come back.” She looked at Denver Kristoff’s picture. “Or the Storm King.”

Brendan shuddered. He didn’t like to think about the Storm King, the persona Denver Kristoff took for himself after he became a wizard warped by TheBook of Doom and Desire. The book – the same book that had given the Walkers their newfound wealth – was blank, but if you wrote a wish on a piece of paper and slipped it inside, the wish came true. As one might imagine, prolonged use of such a magical artifact had terrible effects on the body and mind, and, in Denver Kristoff’s case, had turned him into the monstrous Storm King. All of that was scary enough, but the real problem was that the Storm King was AWOL – the kids had no idea where he was.

He might be living in Berkeley.

“Here’s what I think,” Brendan said. “For the month or however long it’s been since we got home, those pictures have stayed up, and we haven’t had to deal with the Kristoffs in real life. Is that a coincidence? Probably. But in this house, you never know. So it’s safer to keep them up.”

Eleanor grabbed his hand. He grabbed Cordelia’s. For a brief moment, they all made a silent wish that it was really over.

Now Brendan rushed past the pictures down the spiral stairs to the kitchen. The room had been nice when the Walkers bought Kristoff House, but after the ten-million-dollar cash infusion, Mrs Walker had gone a little nuts, picking up a fancy French stove that cost more than a Lexus.

“Here,” Mrs Walker said as Brendan took a seat between his sisters at the marble countertop. His mother handed him a plate of warmish blueberry pancakes. He looked left and right: Cordelia was reading; Eleanor was playing a game on her mom’s iPhone.

“Look who decided to wake up,” Cordelia said.

“Yeah, what were you doing up there?” Eleanor asked.

Brendan tucked into his pancakes. They were good. But they had been just as good back in their old apartment.

“Wuhting fuh uh uhmportunt puhckuge,” Brendan said with his mouth full.

“Ew! Could you chew and talk separately?” Eleanor said.

“Why? Who’s watching me?” Brendan washed down the pancakes with almond milk. “We’re not in the dining hall, are we? Is one of your new friends who owns every single American Girl doll going to see me?”

“It’s not like that,” Eleanor said. “You’re just supposed to have manners and you don’t.”

“You never cared before,” Brendan said.

“Families that are rich are supposed to be nice!”

“Okay, hold on,” Mrs Walker said. She looked at all three of her children. In many ways they appeared the same as they had before the family moved into Kristoff House: spiky-haired Brendan; Cordelia with her fringe over her eyes like a shield; Eleanor with her nose scrunched, ready to take on a challenge … but they all felt different.

“I don’t want to hear you use the r word, Eleanor. I know things have changed since your father’s settlement—”

“Where is Dad, anyway?” Cordelia asked.

“He’s out for a run,” Mrs Walker said, “and—”

“All morning? Is he training for the marathon?”

“Don’t change the subject! Now, even though we are financially in a better place, we are still the family we always were.”

The Walkers looked at one another, then at their mom. It was tough to believe her when she was standing in front of so much high-end kitchen equipment.

“That means that we respect each other, so we don’t do things like chew and talk at the same time. But it also means we’re kind to each other. If we’re offended by something, we nicely ask the other person to change what they’re doing. Is that clear?”

Cordelia and Eleanor nodded, although Cordelia was already back in her music – she had found a band from Iceland that she liked; they sounded … “Cold” is the best way to put it, Cordelia thought. They make the coldest music I’ve ever heard.

And Cordelia liked feeling cold these days. Numb. It was one of the only ways she had to deal with the craziness that had happened to her. She could never tell anyone what she’d been through – never write about it or speak about it. It would be better to forget it ever happened. But that wasn’t easy, so she tried to distract herself; for instance, she’d had a TV installed in her bedroom. At first it was to keep up with Brendan, who’d had both a TV and a beef jerky-dispensing machine installed in his attic (or as Cordelia liked to call it, his “not-quite-a-man cave”). But it had grown to be a source of comfort for her, along with music, because it allowed her to numb the swirling emotions she had about where she’d been and what she’d done. Reading used to provide that escape for Cordelia, but books were harder for her to enjoy now – books, after all, were what had gotten her into trouble in the first place! I’m changing, she thought. And I’m not so sure it’s a good thing. But she couldn’t dwell on this now, because Brendan had spotted the FedEx truck outside.

“Brendan! Where are you going?”

He was tearing out of the kitchen, rushing past the suit of armour in the hallway, under the chandelier, out of the big front doors, into the chilly San Francisco air, down the path that slalomed the gigantic oak trees on the pristine lawn, past the new driveway with his dad’s new Ferrari parked in it … all the way to Sea Cliff Avenue, where the truck was parked by a man in a blue-and-orange uniform.

“Brendan Walker?”

“That’s me!” Brendan said, signing for the package and opening it on the pavement. He pulled out what was inside … and gasped.







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Cordelia and Eleanor were down the path and practically on top of their brother before he could appreciate his delivery. He held up—

“A backpack?” Cordelia asked.

“Not just a backpack,” Brendan said. “A Mastermind backpack, from Japan. You see this skull logo on the back? Real diamonds.”

“Like the crystal skull from Indiana Jones?” Eleanor asked.

“No! Cooler than that! This is one of the most exclusive backpacks in the world! There were only fifty of them ever made!”

“Where did you get it?” Cordelia asked.

“From a website,” Brendan said.

His mother was coming down the path. He gulped. He’d been rehearsing for this moment.

“Brendan! What is that?”

“Well, Mom, it’s a—”

“Diamond skull backpack from Japan that he probably spent a thousand dollars on,” Eleanor interrupted.

“Nell!”

Brendan started putting the backpack on. Maybe if his mother saw how great he looked in it, she’d let him keep it. “Mom, look … Bay Academy is a great place … I mean, it’s the best school in San Francisco. Everybody knows that.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she was listening. Cordelia and Eleanor shared a look of annoyance. Brendan went on.

“It’s also a really competitive place. And I don’t mean like in studying. I mean, we’re going to school with high-powered kids. Kids whose parents are bankers and CEOs and baseball players. And my wardrobe, it just … needs a status piece.”

“A status piece,” his mother repeated.

“Have you ever heard me complain about all the clothes you order from L.L.Bean? No. But they’re just normal clothes that every kid wears. I need something that I can wear when I’m walking down the halls and have people go, ‘Wow, who’s that guy?’ Because otherwise, I’m invisible. Or visible in a bad way. Like a stain.”

“Mom!” Cordelia said. “You’re not buying this, are you? He’s giving you a sob story for a thousand-dollar backpack!”

“Will you stop with the thousand dollars? It didn’t cost that much,” Brendan said.

“Well, how much did it cost?” his mother asked.

“Seven hundred.”

His mother’s forehead turned into upside-down arrows of wrinkles. “You spent seven hundred dollars on a backpack?”

“Including shipping.”

“How did you pay for it?”

“Your credit card.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s all good,” Brendan said. “I wrote you a cheque to pay you back.”

Brendan pulled the cheque out of his pocket. It was one of Mrs Walker’s, made out for the exact cost of the backpack, but Brendan had crossed out Mrs Walker’s name on the upper left-hand corner and replaced it with his.

“You wrote a cheque to me from my account,” said Mrs Walker. Her face was crimson now.

“Yeah. I mean … I figured some of your money is technically my money, too,” said Brendan. “I know you and Dad put away money for us to go to college. So I figured I’d use my college money to buy the backpack.”

“You have no idea how much money we put away for college!” Mrs Walker snapped. “You’re sending that bag back immediately!”

“But it’ll help me become popular, and by becoming popular, I’ll be invited to more extracurriculars, and by doing more extracurriculars, I’ll get into a better college. Think of it as an investment!”

“You know what would help you get into a better college? Getting rid of the S’s from your report card,” Mrs Walker countered. (Bay Academy Prep didn’t do letter grades; it had E for excellent, S for satisfactory, N for needs improvement, and U for unsatisfactory – or as the students called it, uh-oh.)

“I’ll get all E’s this semester,” Brendan said. “I’ll be like Cordelia. I promise.”

“Don’t believe him,” Cordelia said. “The last thing he wants is to be like me.”

Brendan looked at her. That’s not true, he thought. Deal’s still the smartest person I know. She’s just been acting a little weird lately.

“I’m very angry with you, Brendan,” said Mrs Walker.

“How are you gonna punish him?” asked Eleanor.

“Shush, Nell,” said Brendan.

“Make him do chores!” said Cordelia.

“Chores?” said Brendan. “What are our three cleaning ladies gonna do then? Do you really want to put people out of work in this economy? Just to punish me?”

“No,” said Mrs Walker, “what you’re going to do is make this backpack count as your birthday present.”

“That’s not fair,” said Brendan. “My birthday isn’t for six months.”

“Or,” said Mrs Walker, “you can get a job at In-N-Out Burger.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Brendan. “One kid at Bay Academy sees me making animal fries, my entire life is over!”

“Your decision,” said Mrs Walker. “And if you ever use my credit card again, I will take that backpack right down to Glide Memorial and give it to the first homeless person I see. Don’t think I won’t.”

Brendan shrugged and sighed; he knew this fight was over – and he’d got to keep the backpack. It just meant he couldn’t get a moped for his birthday like he was planning. “Yeah, fine, okay, Mom,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting him off so easy,” Cordelia said.

“Look, I took you and Eleanor on a shopping spree when we got the settlement.”

“Yeah, but … but …”

“But you’re girls?” Brendan said. “Sorry, equal rights.”

“Brendan! Stop antagonising your sister and get ready for school!”

A few minutes later the Walkers rushed out to Sea Cliff Avenue with bags full of homework and books to meet the black Lincoln town car waiting for them. The driver, Angel, a portly, cheerful fifty-seven-year-old, was always early. He turned down the music of the great accordion player Flaco Jiménez as the kids came towards the car.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen Walkers!” he said. He always said that. “We ready for school? Mr Brendan! Looking sharp! What is that? A Mastermind diamond backpack? Aren’t there only a hundred of those out there?”

“Fifty.”

“Fifty?!” shouted Angel. “The girls are gonna be swarmin’ all over you, dude!”

Brendan raised an I told you so eyebrow to his sisters as they piled into the car, where magazines were laid out next to that morning’s San Francisco Chronicle and fresh bottles of water. Brendan and Eleanor cracked two bottles; Cordelia ignored them, listening to her music, and turned up the heat in the back seat.

“What are you doing?” Eleanor asked. “It’s gonna be like eighty today!”

Cordelia pulled her earbuds out. “I’m freezing,” she said.

“It’s not cold!”

“Yeah,” Brendan said. “Maybe you need to eat more, Deal.”

“Both of you leave me alone,” Cordelia said.

Brendan and Eleanor gave each other a look, but then Eleanor said, “It’s fine. Put it at whatever temperature you want. I’m going to read my new book.”

Eleanor pulled out an Encyclopedia Brown book her mother had given her. She was very proud of how she could read Encyclopedia Brown now. She could usually solve the cases, too – Probably because of all the mysteries I had to solve on our adventures, she thought. To try and get her in a better mood, she showed the book to Cordelia.

“Look how close I am to being done. Today I’m gonna finish!”

Cordelia stared at the book, shrugged, and looked out the window, ignoring her sister. Eleanor’s face fell.

Brendan noticed. “Hey, Deal, what’s your problem?” he asked. “Angel? Could we please have some privacy?”

Angel raised the dark glass panel between the front and back seats. Now it was like the Walkers were in a private, rolling chamber.

“Deal,” Brendan said. “What’s up with you? You haven’t been acting like yourself. You’re not reading, not even about Will in Kristoff’s books. Is that what this is about? Will? I know you miss him.”

That got Cordelia’s attention. Will Draper was a World War I fighter pilot, a character from Denver Kristoff’s novel The Fighting Ace. He had collided with the Walkers when their house got banished during the first Wind Witch attack … and, to be completely honest, he’d had a bit of a crush on Cordelia. And vice versa.

“Why should I read about Will?” Cordelia said. “He clearly isn’t thinking about us, or he would have been in touch. Maybe we imagined him. Maybe we imagined all of it.”

Brendan sighed. Losing Will was the hardest thing the Walkers had faced after their adventures. When they went back to San Francisco, they brought him with them, and he had promised to meet Cordelia at her school the next day – but he never showed up.

That was six weeks ago.

The Walkers did everything they could to find Will – searched the internet for reports of a confused man who thought he was a British pilot, put up posters depicting a sketch of him – but nothing had come of it. Cordelia had gotten sadder and sadder as days passed and she never heard from him, and then her sadness had turned to anger. She didn’t like the idea that someone had the power to make her feel so bad.

“Maybe he drifted magically back into The Fighting Ace,” Brendan said, “and he’s there now. We know Kristoff’s books are weird, cursed things. Maybe they can absorb a character if he gets out.”

“I just hope he’s okay, wherever he is,” Eleanor said.

“Yeah,” Brendan agreed. “He was kinda like the older brother I’ll never have.”

“I miss his corny jokes,” Eleanor continued.

“And the way he held my hand when we—” started Cordelia, who quickly stopped herself, realising that Brendan and Eleanor were staring at her.

“I thought you said he wasn’t real,” Brendan said.

“I shouldn’t have,” said Cordelia. “I know he’s real.”

They all thought about Will for a moment, about how great it would be if they had one more person they could talk to about the things in their lives that they couldn’t talk about with anyone else, when the car screeeeeeched to a halt.

“Hey!” Angel yelled from the driver’s seat, so loud that they could hear him through the panel. “Are you crazy? Crossing in the middle of the street?”

Brendan powered down the window. Cordelia was the first to speak: “Dad?”







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“Mr Walker?” Angel asked, suddenly worried about his job. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognise you!”

Their father would have been hard for anyone to recognise. He was wearing a ski jacket, torn jeans, loafers without socks, a tattered San Francisco Giants cap, and aviator sunglasses, with a plaid scarf wrapped around his neck. He was crossing the street in a hurry, headed for a deli, while a double-parked cab waited across the way. Mr Walker saw Angel and put on a smile.

“Kids! Hey! Angel, don’t worry about it.” He walked to the rear passenger window. Cars honked at him. He looked like he’d been up all night.

“Mom said you were out for a run,” Brendan said.

“I was working. Your mother tries to shield you from the amount of work I do. But I’m really trying to get my old position back, and that means doing time-consuming research.”

“We understand,” Eleanor said. “We love you, Dad.”

“What kind of research?” Brendan asked, concerned about his dad – and wanting to believe him.

“Medical research. Blood flow and reward centres in the brain. Look, I’m grabbing a sandwich and going home. You kids have a great day at school. I love you.” He kissed his hand, reached through the window, and patted each of their heads.

Then he was off, into the deli. The Walkers looked at one another.

“Maybe he’s going insane. Maybe the book cursed him,” Cordelia said.

“Or maybe he’s just got too much money,” said Brendan.

“Maybe I should have wished for like half as much,” Eleanor said guiltily.

They rode in silence the rest of the way to school.







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Bay Academy Prep was situated on a sprawling campus with a duck pond. You had to drive through a gate and up over a hill past the pond – which was home to a few cute ducks and more than a few big, dirty seagulls – until you arrived at the main building, which resembled a red sandstone cathedral. It was listed as a San Francisco landmark. It had been very impressive to the Walkers at first, but now it was just school.

The Walkers gave one another fist bumps and went their separate ways.

Eleanor headed left, down a path where she was joined by other kids her age. The third graders had two forces acting on their bodies as they walked to class – the weight of their backpacks, which pulled them back, and their desire to play with their phones, which hunched them forward. Eleanor texted her mom on her starter phone as she walked in. There wasn’t much else she could do on the phone, since it couldn’t go on the internet. Eleanor didn’t mind; she was just happy to be able to text her mom when she needed her.

I miss you mom

Her mom messaged her back.

Is everything okay?

Before Eleanor could answer, she realised that two girls were walking beside her, one on either side: Zoe and Ruby. Not the nicest girls. Both taller than Eleanor, and (she had to admit) prettier. But they’ve each got models as moms – what are they supposed to be, short and ugly?

“Hey, Ruby, did you see what I posted last night?” Zoe asked, speaking right across Eleanor as if she weren’t there.

“Oh yeah!” Ruby said. “It’s awesome! And did you see? I just Instagrammed the funniest picture of my French bulldog.”

Ruby held out her phone directly across Eleanor’s face, so Zoe could see the photo. Eleanor realised they were showing off their phones.

“I know what you’re doing,” Eleanor said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to be so obvious. I know my phone’s not as good as yours.”

Ruby looked at Eleanor like she was surprised to see her there. “We’re not doing anything. We were just talking.”

“You think you can make me feel bad, but you can’t. I’ve done a lot of amazing stuff that you would never ever understand. I’ve taken down a real witch.”

“A realwitch?” asked Zoe.

“What are you talking about?” said Ruby. “You got in a fight with Ms Carter?” There was a rumour going around school that Ms Carter, who had dreadlocks and a skull tattoo, was actually a witch.

“No, I—” Eleanor started to explain, but then realised that if she told them any more of the story, she would sound completely bananas. So she just muttered under her breath: “Forget it.”

Ruby put a hand on her shoulder. “You need to calm down. You’re not, like, so important that we just gang up on you to make fun of you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Zoe said. “But you should probably get something better than a grandpa phone.”

Ruby laughed, just a little, and the two girls breezed past Eleanor into school. Eleanor’s head was spinning. She looked back at her phone, at the question “Is everything okay?”

She wanted to get into how Cordelia was mean on the ride over, and how they’d run into Dad and he looked terrible, and how these two girls were making fun of her and she almost spilled the beans about the Wind Witch, and how she just wanted things to go back to normal, the way they were before … but instead she wrote to her mom:

Everything’s fine

She had a feeling that was the way grown-ups handled it.







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Brendan, meanwhile, was in the building that had classes for sixth, seventh and eighth graders, and he was rocking his backpack. It wasn’t just an accessory; it was like a force field that let him walk in a different way, with his chest jutting out, looking at everybody. Because what if they look back? What’ll they see? One of the best backpacks in the world, that’s what.

The bell rang; Brendan was late for class. But so what? I can’t walk fast wearing this. This is a backpack for strutting in. He went to his locker and fiddled with the combination without even noticing the guys behind him: Scott Calurio and his posse.

“What do you think you’re wearing?” Scott said.

Scott was Brendan’s own personal bully, a junior-varsity wrestler, beady-eyed and muscular, with meaty hands and a neck wider than his head. He had curly blond hair, which Brendan thought was a big reason he got away with so much. Nobody suspected a bully with cute, poofy hair. Scott targeted people he felt were different, stupid, and poor, and he had a bunch of wrestler friends who helped him in this mission.

“It’s a skull backpack from Japan. With real diamonds on it.”

“Where’d you get it? Off eBay?”

“None of your business … why are you even bothering me? What did I do to you?”

“You’re walking around like you just scored a winning touchdown, which we all know could never happen in this universe,” Scott said, sharing a laugh with his group. “And hey … I’ve been wondering … what happened to your ear?”

“I got shot,” Brendan said, touching his left earlobe. Scott and his cronies laughed, but it was true. Brendan’s missing earlobe was a small souvenir from his adventures in Kristoff’s books – the pirate Gilliam had blasted it off. Brendan didn’t miss it too much, but it was pretty sad that for the past six weeks, his parents hadn’t even noticed it, because they were caught up in their own problems, and now here was Scott Calurio pointing it out.

“Yeah, right,” Scott scoffed. “Your cat probably licked it off!” His goons all laughed – and then they grabbed Brendan and pushed him to the ground. He fought, kicking and clawing, but he couldn’t get any leverage – there were too many of them.

“Hey! Stop! Help—”

“Shh,” Scott said. “We’re not gonna hurt you. We’re just gonna take a closer look at this.”

Scott pulled off Brendan’s backpack and squinted at it. The diamonds gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Brendan struggled but it was no use; he tried to scream but a hand covered his mouth. I could bite, he thought, but then I’d get made fun of as the kid who bites people.

Scott palmed the inside lining of the backpack until he found a tag. He tore it out and held it up for Brendan.

“What’s that say, huh? I’ll read it for you, in case you’re dyslexic like your little sister. ‘Old Navy.’ Old. Navy. Now why would a backpack from Japan have an Old Navy tag on it? I’ll bet these aren’t diamonds either. I bet they’re made of glass!”

And with that, Scott ripped six or seven “diamonds” off the backpack, put them in his mouth, and … chewed them up! When they were ground to a fine powder, Scott spit them in Brendan’s face.

“Told you!” growled Scott. “You can’t chew real diamonds. This backpack’s fake. Like you. Like your stupid family that came out of nowhere.”

Scott threw the backpack down on to Brendan. People were passing him in the halls while all this was happening, pointing and taking pictures on their phones. The teachers were no use; they were in their rooms drinking coffee, which was probably better because if a teacher saved you from a kid like Scott, that was even more mortifying than being targeted in the first place. But the worst part? Scott’s right, Brendan thought. I am fake.

“Hope you didn’t spend more than ten bucks on that,” Scott said, before walking away down the hall with his minions. The ambient noise of the building took over. Brendan got up and stuck his head far inside the shadows of his open locker. He didn’t want anyone to see him crying.







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Cordelia was feeling a lot better than Brendan. In fact, since she’d started going to Bay Academy Prep, she found that she was happier at school than she was at home, which was a little sad but she didn’t mind. She looked at the place as an opportunity to reinvent herself; at her old school, everyone knew her as the girl who was reading all the time or the quiet girl or “Brendan’s older sister”, because Brendan had such a personality – but not here. Here Cordelia was the person who had started the Student Tutoring Program.

It hadn’t been so hard, and it had come together quickly. In her first two weeks at Bay Academy, Cordelia noticed that a lot of freshmen and sophomores were getting tutors outside the school, which seemed silly, because there were very smart juniors and seniors who could tutor them just fine. And those juniors and seniors wanted extracurricular activities for their college applications, so Cordelia thought: Why not start a programme that turns older students into tutors for younger students?

She went to the Student Union Office to talk about the idea. There she met Priya, student body treasurer, who liked it and liked her. That was how Cordelia found herself participating in student government – or “school politics”, as people called it, but for her it really wasn’t about politics; it was about helping. She set up the Student Tutoring Programme in two weeks and it was a big success, with twenty pairs of tutors and students already signed up.

Maybe helping people is what I’m supposed to do, she thought now as she passed the Student Tutoring sign-up board in Douglas-Kroft, the building that held high-school classes. Help people. It feels good, and it makes me stop thinking about myself, or Will, or what I’ve been through. Priya, the treasurer, had suggested to Cordelia that maybe she should run for class president next year. It was an idea that scared Cordelia and excited her – or maybe it excited her because it scared her.

Cordelia went into her first class, history, with Mrs Mortimer, and sat in the middle of the room. She tuned out her thoughts and got into the work of school, which was something she always had the ability to do … until she felt someone looking at her.

It was a nasty, prickly feeling. Cordelia had felt it a few times in the last few weeks, at school and at home, and she always stopped what she was doing to try and catch the watcher. This time was no different. She sat stock-still and moved only her eyes. Was one of her classmates looking at her? She dropped her pen to give herself an excuse to look behind her. No, it wasn’t any of the students – but it was someone!

Suddenly she saw somebody – out the window, moving away. She couldn’t see the person’s face, just a long black body that quickly disappeared.

She stood up, aghast, but stopped and sat back down.

Something was happening to her hands.

It started with the veins. Below her skin, which was fair, her veins were not things she paid much attention to. But she knew she didn’t have veins on her fingers. Who had veins on their fingers? Old people.

And yet: She had them now. They were dark, and thick, and rising to the surface of her skin.

It was like she was seeing it from outside her body; the veins were stretching, fattening, and the skin around them was shrinking, becoming paler and paler, drying up as if it were going to flake off, like she had a disease, or …

Like I’m getting old, Cordelia thought.

This is a nightmare. It has to be. I’m not really even at school. My mind is sabotaging me. I’m not here at all. She flipped her hands around – her palms had deep lines. Her nails were growing, turning orange, becoming dirty underneath. As she looked at them, a piercing cold hit her side, like a frozen bullet biting into her. Cordelia wrenched over in pain, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

Her hands were curling now, becoming like tangled, dead-grey roots. She remembered something she had learned about foot binding in social studies, how when Chinese people used to foot bind women, the goal was to make their toes turn inwards, to make a “golden lotus,” the most beautiful kind of foot there was, a foot you couldn’t even walk on, and that’s what her hands were turning into – a dead lotus, cold inside—

She screamed.

Everyone in class turned to her. Cordelia quickly hid her hands beneath her desk.

“Cordelia? Are you all right?” Mrs Mortimer asked.

“May I please be excused,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She shoved her old-woman hands inside her bag, got up, and rushed from the room, using her elbow to open the door. Mrs Mortimer protested as kids behind her gave one another looks and started laughing.

But Cordelia felt a different look. She felt the look of the person who had been watching her – back again, seeing what she was going through, and feeling pleased about it. She whirled around at the window, but no one was there. I’m losing it!

She could only think of one place to go.







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Cordelia dashed down the hallway with her hands in her bag. Why had she not worn something with pockets today? Because, she thought, I wanted to wear leggings with this vintage sweater.

Tim Bradley, from her chemistry class, suddenly appeared at the end of the hall. He was tall, on the basketball team, with shaggy red hair, blue eyes and a sweet smile. He sneaked glances at Cordelia in chemistry when he thought she wasn’t looking – but Cordelia always knew when someone was staring at her. Especially a cute guy.

Still, Tim never talked to her. Maybe he didn’t have the courage. Except now he was waving at her, holding a hall pass.

“Hi, Cordelia … are you okay?”

“Can’t talk!” Cordelia said, moving past him. She couldn’t believe it. Boys never knew how to time anything.

“But … wait! You’re going into the—”

I know, thought Cordelia as she dipped inside the women’s faculty restroom.

She closed the door. The faculty restrooms were like hidden temples at her school; no one had ever been inside them and they could contain anything. Luckily this one was empty. Cordelia pulled out her hands to examine them.

They were worse. Like gnarled old sticks with grey hide pulled over them. Like fossilised snake skins. With great difficulty, she managed to lock the door, noticing as she did that her hands were still getting older, shrivelling and cracking in real time, like they were going to fall off and leave her with stumps—

Like the Wind Witch, she realised. Who had a hand like this? Dahlia Kristoff, that’s who.

Cordelia’s hands were cold. Ice-cold. Suddenly she had an idea. She used her elbows to turn on the sink’s hot water.

When we were on the pirate ship, what did the Wind Witch do to me? She turned me to ice. And what’s the opposite of ice?

Cordelia shoved her hands into the sink. The water burned; she jerked back but held firm. Steam rose into her face. Tears came out of her eyes.

This is good; this will help. Beat the ice. Beat it with heat.

She wiped her eyes on her shoulder. When she looked down, her hands were back to normal. They were swollen, crimson and throbbing, but they no longer resembled Dahlia Kristoff’s hands. Cordelia collapsed on the bathroom floor.

She returned to class. Nobody said a word. She guessed that Mrs Mortimer had warned them to respect other people’s privacy. But now everyone would be talking about her. She needed to find Brendan and Eleanor ASAP, to discuss what the heck was going on. But not until they got home. Talking about the Wind Witch in public was dangerous.

At lunchtime, Cordelia didn’t feel like eating, or talking to anyone. Fortunately Bay Academy had a sushi bar, so she grabbed a tiny prepackaged container of salmon sushi and sat by the window.

“Hi, Cordelia.”

It was Tim, from the hallway. Cordelia had a momentary burst of excitement before she remembered the crazy situation she had been in that morning – then she felt a quiet numbness as she realised she’d need to lie to Tim.

“Yes?”

“I just … seeing you before … are you okay? I mean, you seemed upset—”

“Oh, I’m fine. I thought I was getting the stomach flu, but I’m okay now.” Cordelia forced a smile, took a bite of sushi.

“Look,” said Tim, a bit nervous, “I was wondering …”

“Yes?” asked Cordelia, taking another small bite.

“If you’re not too busy this weekend, would you like to go to a movie with me?”

Cordelia blinked. Somebody put this day in the calendar!The first time a boy has officially asked me out! Hopefully the freaky thing with my hands won’t happen again. Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe everything’s just fine.

But there was one thing that wasn’t fine. The last time Cordelia’s heart had raced like this, it was because of Will, and she still missed him …

But you know what? Will’s gone. He had his chance and he never showed up. And Tim is right here.

Cordelia didn’t want to appear too eager. She took one last bite of sushi, for dramatic effect, ready to answer yes, when she heard a chunk and felt a tugging in her gums. Now what?

She pulled the piece of sushi out of her mouth. The salmon was covered in blood.

Protruding from the top of it, like a gravestone, was one of her teeth.







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Tim Bradley stared at the tooth in horror. He looked at Cordelia, back to the tooth, back to Cordelia …

“Uh,” muttered Tim, “I just remembered. I have to get a haircut this weekend. Maybe some other time.”

Tim backed away, bumped into a table, and made himself scarce. Cordelia cupped the tooth-sushi in her hand and rushed out of the cafeteria. Kids gasped and stared, but there was nothing she could do – she needed help. She barrelled down the hall and pushed open the door to the nurse’s office, screaming: “You need to put it back in! Can you put it back in?”

“Put what back where?” Nurse Pete said.

Bay Academy’s school nurse weighed almost eighty kilograms, with big sweat stains in the underarms of his dress shirt. He was bald, with a small grey goatee, black glasses and fuzzy blue Uggs. The office was covered in posters about depression and lice.

“My tooth fell out!”

Nurse Pete pointed to a bench. Cordelia sat while he took the sushi, then handed her a towel to stop the bleeding. As it subsided, he placed the tooth and sushi in separate Ziploc bags.

“Can you explain what happened?”

“It just came out like a baby tooth.” Cordelia moved her tongue into the spot where her tooth had been. She could feel her exposed, ragged gumline.

“Baby teeth get loose before they come out,” Nurse Pete said. “Was this tooth loose?”

“No—”

“But sushi’s very soft. It’s nearly impossible for food that soft to extract a tooth. This is very disturbing, could be serious.”

“Like how serious?”

“Gum disease, mouth ulcer, oral cancer—”

“Cancer?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“You’re the one who said cancer!”

“Here.” Nurse Pete handed Cordelia two Advil and a Solo cup full of water. “Take these. And most importantly … you need to see a dentist. A dental specialist. Have your mother make an appointment.”

Yeah right, Cordelia thought as she took the Advil. Nurse Pete meant well, but of course she couldn’t discuss this with her parents. Her parents would send her to a bunch of specialists, but they wouldn’t find anything, because this was no normal tooth decay. This was a curse. And it had something to do with Kristoff House.

Come to think of it, Cordelia thought, should I even tell Bren and Nell? If she told her siblings that her hands were turning geriatric and her teeth were coming out, what would that accomplish? It would be one thing if she were the little sister, and everyone was expected to take care of her. But she was the oldest – she was supposed to be the strong one. How can I expect to be successful at anything if I can’t even handle my own problems?

Once she was out of the nurse’s office, Cordelia scratched at her arm as she walked down the hall. Nurse Pete had told her to go home but she didn’t want people to start talking about her, so she was just going to sit in class, keep her mouth closed, and eat broth and triple-whipped smoothies to protect her remaining teeth. But now her arm was itching something fierce. What’s going on?

Cordelia began to pull back her sleeve. When she reached the itchy spot, several peach-coloured flakes fell on to the floor. Cordelia picked one up and examined it. Skin! There was a torn patch on her arm, as if the flesh had been peeled away like cheap black ink on a Lotto card. Like she’d been scratching for hours, getting through her skin—

And under it was ice.

No veins. No muscle or blood. Just clear blue ice.

Terrified, Cordelia tapped the ice with her fingernail. It made a small clacking sound. She pulled her sleeve back down. Her flesh was cold beneath it. She wasn’t going to look. She wasn’t going to say anything. She wasn’t sure how, but she was going to deal with this herself.







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On the way home from school, as soon as Angel had rolled up the partition in his town car (he was shouting at sports radio, “No way should that bum get into the Hall of Fame! He ate steroids like M&Ms!”), Brendan asked Cordelia, “A frozen Snickers?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what’s worse: You lying to me, or you expecting me to believe such a ridiculous lie.”

“It’s not a lie.”

“Do you know how many lawsuits Snickers would have if people bit into their candy and lost their teeth?”

“Sorry for not following the Snickers lawsuit blog. But I do know it happened to me. Anyway, what happened to your backpack?”

Cordelia pointed to the plastic bag below Brendan’s seat, where he was carrying his books, having ditched his knockoff Mastermind bag in the locker room trash. Eleanor looked at it too. Brendan had a lot of explaining to do.

“I, mmm …” He fumbled. “I met a collector.”

“A collector?”

“Yeah, a guy whose hobby is collecting Mastermind stuff,” said Brendan.

“This ‘collector’ just happened to be hanging out at school?” asked a skeptical Cordelia.

“Mom said you’re not s’posed to talk to strangers who hang out around school,” said Eleanor.

“It wasn’t a stranger,” said Brendan. “It was someone I know.”

“Who?”

“Norm the janitor.”

“Norm the janitor’s kinda weird,” said Cordelia.

“Yeah,” added Eleanor. “He’s always asking me if I wear Louboutin shoes.”

“Anyway, he offered to pay me one hundred dollars more for the bag than I originally bought it for,” said Brendan.

“The school janitor is going to pay you eight hundred bucks for a backpack?” asked Cordelia.

“Yep,” said Brendan. “Then I’ll be able to pay Mom back and—”

Eleanor interrupted. “That’s even stupider than Cordelia’s story. You both need to stop lying.”

Brendan and Cordelia looked at the floor. It hurt to be caught out.

“All right, it’s my turn to tell you guys what happened today,” said Eleanor. “But I’m telling the truth. These two girls told me I need a new phone.” Eleanor pulled out her starter phone. “Is this really so bad?”

“Yeah, Nell,” said Brendan. “You should ask Mom for a new one.”

“But I like it! It’s good enough for me! I don’t need all this fancy new stuff we have. I don’t even like being driven around in this car! It’s weird.”

“You’re the one who made all this happen,” said Cordelia. “You wished for the money. Think how broke we would be if we didn’t have it!”

“I don’t care,” said Eleanor. “And think if you’re Mom. Would you want to hear me asking for a new phone the same night you hear that you lost your backpack and you lost your tooth?”

Eleanor was getting upset.

Cordelia gave her a hug, and then Brendan did.

“Don’t worry,” said Brendan. “After she finds out how messed up Deal and me are, she’ll be happy all you’re asking for is a new phone. And if those girls at school make fun of you again, just get your big brother on it.”

“Yeah?” asked Eleanor, still held tight by her siblings.

“Sure,” said Brendan. “You shoulda seen what happened when Scott Calurio started hassling me today. Let’s just say he won’t be doing it again.”

“Thanks, Bren,” said Eleanor.

Brendan gave her a big fake smile. Cordelia noticed this and realised her brother was lying. But she didn’t say a word. She just felt cold. We’re all lying about something. Maybe even Eleanor.

The car went over a big bump and their hug separated.

Back at home, Eleanor waited for the right moment to approach her mom. She decided that after dinner, when the dishes were cleared and the dishwasher was on, she’d send a text with a riddle she heard at school: What do you call a snoring bull? But she wouldn’t add the answer: A bulldozer. Then she would make up a story about how her phone was broken and some of her texts didn’t always get sent.

When the time came, though, Eleanor decided, I’m not lying to my mom. We’ve got enough secrets in this house.

“Hey, Mom!”

Mrs Walker was on the couch. Brendan and Cordelia were off upstairs. Dr Walker had never showed up for dinner.

“I think it’s time for an upgrade.” Eleanor presented her phone. “I know you don’t want me on the internet a lot, but you can get me a data thingy with tiny internet, or I could just take Dad’s other phone if he doesn’t want it—”

Mrs Walker sat up straight. “What do you mean, ‘Dad’s other phone’?”

Eleanor backpedalled. “I meant, Dad’s old phone.”

“No,” said Mrs Walker. “You definitely said other.”

“Right, well … you know, being dyslexic, I sometimes screw up words,” Eleanor said.

“You and I both know that isn’t part of being dyslexic,” said Mrs Walker. “Does your father have a secret phone?”

Eleanor gulped. Her mother’s eyes were … Eleanor looked for the word. Not mad … not sad … Anxious. And that’s worse than anything.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Look.” Mrs Walker took Eleanor’s hand. “Your father hasn’t been acting like himself and I really need to find out what’s going on. I can’t promise you that it will be easy, but if he has a secret phone, and you show it to me, it will help us figure out what his problems really are.”

“And then we can solve them?”

Mrs Walker nodded.

“And be a normal family again?”

“Well, I don’t know if any family is normal.”

“We used to be more normal.”

“I will grant you that.”

“Okay,” Eleanor said. “I’ll show you, Mom. But you can’t tell anyone what I’ve been doing.”







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Eleanor brought her mother into the kitchen and said, “First, you need to cook up some pizza rolls.”

“What? Now you’re hungry? I thought you were going to show me the phone—”

“It’s in the attic.”

“Yeah …”

“Brendan’s in the attic,” said Eleanor.

Mrs Walker made a face, knowing this was underhanded. Still, within five minutes, the pizza-roll smell was wafting through the house and Eleanor was pulling her mother out of the kitchen as Brendan ran down towards it.

“I’ve been going to the attic when Bren’s not around,” Eleanor admitted as they went up the back staircase.

“Nell! It’s his room! Why would you do that?”

“To pretend—” started Eleanor, but she was cut off as they heard Brendan chanting: “Pizza rolls! Pizza rolls! Pizza rolls!”

“What do you pretend when you’re up there?” asked Mrs Walker.

“That the house is a big ship,” Eleanor said, “and the attic’s the captain’s quarters, and I’m the captain. Or that it’s the starship Enterprise and I’m Spock. Brendan does this thing where he hangs the rope in a certain way to try and catch if people go in there, but I know how to put it back so I don’t get caught.”

“Nell,” Mrs Walker said admonishingly, “it’s important to use your imagination, but it’s equally important to respect other people’s space.”

Eleanor nodded. She couldn’t admit the real reason she played in the attic: to look out the window and remember how it felt when she first saw the forest outside Kristoff House. Back on their adventure. When everything was so exciting. And when the Walkers were working together, facing challenges, being close – not lying to one another.

They reached the attic steps. Eleanor explained to her mom: “Okay, so sometimes, besides playing in the attic, I play in the dumbwaiter.” She pointed to the square metal door in the wall.

“That’s awful!” said Mrs Walker. “I mean, if the thing broke, you would—”

“Break my neck?”

“What on earth are you going to tell me next? That you’re joining a gang?”

“Relax, Mom. I’m just explaining how I saw Dad go into the attic.”

“Oh.”

“Friday after school, I was playing in the dumbwaiter, and I saw him go in. Like, secretly.”

Eleanor led her mom up the stairs.

There were two big piles of magazines in Brendan’s attic – Sports Illustrated and Game Informer – and one continuous snaking pile of dirty clothes that led to a hamper, which curiously held no clothes. Posters on the wall had started to peel off and been reattached with gum. A plate of blue-tinged grilled-cheese crusts rested on top of a goldfish bowl where Brendan’s goldfish, Turbo, refused to die.

“Dad was only in here for a minute,” Eleanor explained, “but after he left, I came up to see what he was doing. He left that bottom drawer open. Just a crack. When I looked inside … I found the phone. It was tucked under Brendan’s old dinosaur pajamas, which he would never wear.”

Mrs Walker went to Brendan’s bureau and opened the drawer. Nestled under the bright green pajamas was an iPhone.

Mrs Walker picked it up. The phone was locked. She tried to unlock it with Dr Walker’s birthday: 0404. That didn’t work. She tried her own birthday, 1208, and sighed.

“What?” Eleanor asked.

“No matter what I find on here,” said Mrs Walker, “I know he’s still thinking of me.”

Mrs Walker went to Recent Calls, but all the outgoing calls were made to just one number.

“415-555-1438,” Mrs Walker read.

“What’s that, Mom?”

“We’re about to find out.”

“No, wait, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“We should get out of here! What if Brendan comes back? Or Dad?”

“It’s already ringing, Nell.”

“Then at least let me listen!”

Mrs Walker knelt and held the phone so her daughter could hear it. A voice answered, “Doc?”







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It was a man’s voice, thick and gruff, like the voice of someone with two raw slabs of bacon wrapped around his vocal cords.

“Doc? You there? Whadda you got? Niners are three over this week, Warriors are—”

“Who is this, a sports bookie?” Mrs Walker asked.

Click. The call was over.

“Who was that?” Eleanor said.

“Some coward,” her mom said, calling the same number again.

This time, the man answered on the first ring. “Listen up—”

“No, you listen! I’m Jacob Walker’s wife, Bellamy Walker, and I demand to know—”

“I’m guessing you ain’t got picks for the doc?”

“No! And what you’re doing is completely illegal—”

“Hey. Mrs Walker. Don’t judge. I just do business with your husband. You got a problem with that, you take it up with him. And tell the doc if he wants in on this week’s games, he better call back. And one final thing—”

The man spat a very nasty curse word at Mrs Walker.

Click.

Mrs Walker looked stunned. Eleanor looked at the floor. “Are we in trouble?”

“Not at all,” her mom said. “Mommy’s going to handle everything.”

“We should go, I think I hear Bren.”

Mrs Walker stuffed the secret phone back in the bureau, and the two of them climbed out of the attic. Eleanor placed the rope back into the same position that Brendan had left it in. On the back stairs, Eleanor stopped and turned to her mom. “See, I was telling the truth!”

“You were.”

“And this will help our family, right?”

“Yes. Sure. Of course.”

“And do you realise, Mom? We just went on a little adventure?”

“Sure, honey. An adventure. Dad is spending all our money on sports bets. Big adventure.” Suddenly Mrs Walker had tears in her eyes.

“I don’t understand when I lost this family,” she said. “Do you? Did you see when it happened?”

Eleanor shook her head sadly. All she could do was hug her mother.







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The next morning, Dr Walker was sitting at the breakfast table, dressed in jeans, a bright polo shirt, and an argyle golf sweater, as if everything were all right. It made Eleanor want to scream.

“Yes, that’s right,” Dr Walker said, speaking into his legitimate phone. “No, we’re perfectly happy with the service … We’re just on a tighter budget now. He was really very good at his job. I’ll miss him. Thanks.”

He hung up. “Who was that?” Eleanor asked.

“Limousine company,” Dr Walker said. “I got rid of Angel.”

“What?” Brendan asked.

“Why?” Cordelia said before sipping some water. She was using it to mush-ify the muffin in her mouth so she could eat without chewing. She had woken up today and run her tongue across her teeth only to realise with horror that they all felt loose. Like piano keys, wiggling back and forth, ready to come out!

“Because with our family’s unforeseen expenses, we need to cut back,” Dr Walker said. “And before you complain: It affects me too. Angel was supposed to drive me to my conference today. So I’ll take a cab.”

“Where’s your conference, dear?” Mrs Walker asked innocently.

“Downtown. I’m planning on asking Henry for my old job back—”

“But it’s Friday.”

“Yes …”

“Isn’t Henry on call Fridays?”

“People’s schedules change,” Dr Walker said. “Why are you always questioning everything I do?”

The room got quiet. Mrs Walker turned away. Dr Walker stood up, put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

Brendan waited until his parents had an awkward hug before he spoke. “How are we getting to school?”

“You can walk. It’s only thirty minutes,” Dr Walker said. “Beautiful San Francisco air, friendly people walking their dogs … Cordelia will go with you to make sure you don’t get lost, and then she’ll go to her dentist appointment.”

“I dunno, Dad,” Brendan said, “I think it’s against the rules for kids to walk to Bay Academy. They like their students to be dropped off by shiny, expensive cars. They might expel us for walking.”

“Our family did just fine before we had Angel,” Dr Walker said, “and we can do fine without him. No new income is coming in, you know. This money won’t last forever.”

Because you’re gambling it all away! Eleanor wanted to scream. She saw that her father was still trying to be nice, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to call him out. She gave a questioning look to her mom, who shook her head: Not yet.

Outside, the Walkers started off on a trek through heavy Golden Gate fog. It was rolling up from the bay on to the street like a clammy quilt. Not only was the air not beautiful, they couldn’t see a thing.

“I hate when this city is actually foggy,” Brendan said. “So cliché.”

“Guys,” Eleanor said in a very serious tone.

“What?” asked Cordelia.

“Dad’s in trouble.”

Brendan and Cordelia both looked at her, but now the fog was so dense that they could only see a small, determined shadow with hands clutching backpack straps. Cordelia asked, “How?”

“He’s gambling.”

“Dad?” asked Brendan. “No way. Dad’s not cool enough to be a gambler.”

“There’s nothing cool about what Dad’s doing,” said Eleanor. “You think it’s cool that he lies to us all the time? You think it’s cool when he says he’s going to ‘conferences’, but he’s really betting all our money?”

“How do you know?” Brendan asked.

“I can’t tell you” – Eleanor didn’t want to reveal she’d been in his room – “but I know, and Mom knows, and we’re going to have to— aargh!”

She tripped, landing hard on her elbows. A man was sitting with his back against a stone wall, his legs stretched across the pavement, almost impossible to see in the fog.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, getting up. “You can’t just sit in the street like that. I almost just busted open my whole face!”

“Nell,” Brendan whispered, “forget it. It’s just some homeless dude. Don’t get him mad.”

“Spare change?” the man asked, and as the fog wisped around him, the Walkers could see his thin beard and cap; his dirty skin; and the old Starbucks cup in his hand, with a smattering of coins inside.

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Cordelia said, digging into her pockets.

The homeless man suddenly tensed, pulling his legs close to his body. He sat up straight, got to his feet, and stared directly at Cordelia. Through the tendrils of moisture that drifted over his head, she could see his bright blue eyes. Cutting eyes.

When the man spoke, she noticed his English accent.

“Cordelia Walker?”

Cordelia couldn’t speak for a moment. Then she said in a small voice: “Will?”







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A bolt of shock silenced the Walker siblings. It was the same dumbfounded disbelief they’d experienced when, after giving up all hope of seeing their parents alive again, they showed up back home and saw Dr and Mrs Walker, unharmed and perfectly healthy.

Wing Commander Will Draper stood in front of them.

“Amazing! Incredible! It’s you!” he said. “What good fortune! I want to hug all of you, but I need a proper shower first!”

“Will, what’s wrong with you?” Cordelia asked. “Why are you in the street? You were supposed to meet me at school six weeks ago!”

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Will. “I never got the chance. Things went a bit off the rails. It’s all rather embarrassing.”

“Have you been here all this time?” asked Eleanor.

“No. I was in jail.”

The Walkers exchanged nervous glances.

“It started with that hotel, the Days Inn,” said Will, turning to Cordelia. “That’s where you advised me to stay the evening we came back from our … adventures.”

“I remember,” Cordelia said. “That’s also when you agreed to meet me at school the next day.”

“Yes, but you can’t imagine how difficult it is, being a visitor to the future. It’s quite disorienting. From the moment I left your house, I started seeing things that boggled me. You know, where I’m from, Saint Paul’s Cathedral is the tallest thing around. I arrive in San Francisco, I’m looking at the Transamerica Pyramid!”

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia said. “I never should have sent you away without preparing you—”

“No need to feel guilty,” said Will. “We had all just been through an exhausting journey. None of us were thinking clearly. I’m just so happy to finally see you!”

“What happened that first night?”

“I arrived at Days Inn,” said Will. “The man at the front desk brought me to my room, where there was a large box that displayed moving pictures. It was loudly playing some panto about a yellow-skinned family that ate pink doughnuts—”

“The Simpsons!” said Brendan. “Classic show.”

“Hideous show!” said Will. “I just wanted to get some sleep. But I couldn’t find the lever to turn off the box. So I went back and asked the man for help, and he muttered, ‘Crazy limey lunatic.’”

“Uh-oh,” Brendan said.

“I didn’t appreciate being insulted by this person who, to be honest, smelled like my nether regions after a long air battle. I told the man, ‘Your Days Inn operation is an embarrassment. Our hotel standards are much higher in London!’ He said, ‘Then go back to your country, Sally.’ Now why would he call me ‘Sally’?”

“No clue,” said Brendan.

“And then,” continued Will, “he said something very nasty about the Royal Family. And that … put me over the edge.”

“So what did you do?” asked Eleanor.

“I punched him.”

“Oh jeez,” said Cordelia.

“He went down like a sack of bricks and gave me my money back.”

“So why didn’t you come to us?” said Cordelia. “We would have helped you.”

“I had this mad notion,” said Will, “that if I could just get into an aeroplane … I could fly back to London.”

“Home,” Cordelia said sadly.

“Exactly. Where it might be easier to acclimatise to this time. And then, after I got my bearings, I would return to San Francisco, reunite with you lot.”

“Don’t tell me you went to the airport,” said a cautious Brendan.

“Yes,” said Will, “and when I arrived, I asked a woman if I could please fly a plane.”

“Are you insane?” asked Eleanor.

“That’s exactly what she said,” said Will. “But I told her, ‘How can you deny a war hero the right to fly?’”

“Aeroplanes are kind of different these days,” said Brendan.

“I realise that,” said Will. “But with my experience, I figured it would take a day, maybe two, to learn.”

The Walkers exchanged a roll-eyed glance. Even though he was living on the streets, Will’s ego was healthier than ever.

“The woman refused my request,” said Will. “So I was left with only one option. Climb over the runway fence—”

“Oh no.”

“Find an unoccupied aeroplane—”

“Bad move.”

“Climb into the cockpit, and learn the controls.”

“So what happened?” asked Eleanor.

“I didn’t even get halfway up the fence before I found myself surrounded by eight bobbies!” said Will. “They took me to the station house, and when I asked the desk sergeant to call the Walker family on Sea Cliff Avenue, I was told there was no one by that name on that street.”

“Wait … I know,” said Cordelia. “We had just moved, so we were probably still listed at our old address.”

“The next morning I met with my court-appointed lawyer, and I told him the truth: how I was originally a character in a novel about World War One, how I met you three …”

“I’ll bet that went down well,” said Brendan.

“The lawyer told me I could be let off on account of being mentally unwell, and after a few weeks in city jail, that’s what happened. I hit the streets, scavenging garbage containers for food, begging for money, and here I am.”

“Why didn’t you contact us?” asked Cordelia. “We would have helped.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” said Will. “Down so low. But this morning I realised, after spending three weeks in the Tenderloin, being screamed at by pedestrians, kicked, punched by drug addicts, spit on by gang members … I knew I had to come back, that I had to find you. I realised that if I didn’t see you all again, I would die a second time.”

Will looked down, then up. There was a sad flatness to his voice. “So what are you going to do with me?”







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The entire time Will spoke, Cordelia had run her tongue along her teeth. It was a nervous response to his tale, which she felt responsible for. She should have known better than to send him downtown. While she had spent the last few weeks worrying about the Student Tutoring Programme, he had been worried about eating.

“I’m taking you home, getting you cleaned up, and giving you some money,” she said, grabbing Will’s hand.

“But Cordelia. You said that your parents—”

“They’re gone. Dad is off at some conference—”

“Gambling, you mean,” Eleanor cut in.

“And Mom is at … what day is it, Friday? She’s at the gym. C’mon, Will. You’ve been through enough.”

“Um … Cordelia, can I talk to you in private?” Brendan asked.

“Why?”

“C’mere.” Brendan pulled Cordelia away from Will. Eleanor joined them, and suddenly Will was left standing by himself.

“I’m not sure we should trust him,” Brendan whispered.

“How can you say that? He’s our friend—”

“Exactly,” said Brendan. “The Will we know would have come back to us the next day. This guy could be evil-clone Will; he could be the Wind Witch pretending to be Will—”

“You’re wrong,” said Cordelia. “I completely trust him. A hundred per cent.”

“But you’ve got a big blind spot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You wanna smooch him.”

“No!” Cordelia said. “I just want to help him. What do you think, Eleanor?”

Eleanor looked back at Will. “He looks kinda gross, but I think you can trust him.”

“So that’s two against one,” Cordelia said to Brendan. “And I took that self-defence class last summer. I think I can handle myself around Will.”

“Suit yourself,” Brendan said, “but I don’t trust him.”

Cordelia hugged her brother and said, “I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do.” Then she turned and went to Will. “Have a good day at school, guys!”

Brendan and Eleanor waved goodbye, and in a few moments they were continuing on while Will and Cordelia walked back towards Kristoff House.

“Aren’t you upset about missing school?” Will asked.

“This is an emergency.” Cordelia squeezed Will’s hand.

A strange thing happened as they walked home: Cordelia’s arm began to feel cold again, like it had before, when she saw the ice under her skin. She tried to ignore it at first, but found it was easier to let the cold feeling travel through her, to feel it in her heart and guts and limbs. That way Will felt warmer. He was holding her hand tight, as if it had been a long time since he felt a person’s touch. Cordelia liked that.

“Your hand is freezing,” Will said.

“I know,” said Cordelia. “Hopefully you’ll warm it up.”

They exchanged a smile.

When they got to the house, the fog was clearing. Cordelia led Will down the pebbled path – then yelped and pulled him behind a tree.

“What?”

“That’s my mom’s car. She must’ve skipped the gym.”

“I can leave,” said Will.

“No, c’mon.” She led him around the side of the house, dashing from tree to tree, and pried open the window that led to the back stairs. Then they tiptoed up to the second floor and entered Cordelia’s bedroom, which had its own bathroom, all while Mrs Walker was downstairs, on the phone talking to Gamblers Anonymous. Cordelia told Will, “Take a shower.”

He didn’t have to hear that twice. In thirty seconds Will was under the hot spray, singing “Keep the Home Fires Burning”, his favourite song from back home. With each verse, he got louder and louder, completely losing himself—

The door to Cordelia’s room opened.

“Cordelia?” Will asked.

No answer.

Oh no, it’s her mum!

Will rushed out of the shower, still dripping. I have to hide! He tried to find a place, but he was totally at a loss, desperate, as Cordelia entered with a black garbage bag.

“Whoa!” She snapped her eyes shut. “What are you doing?”

Will jumped back in the shower. “I thought you were your mother!”

“Nope.” Cordelia took Will’s dirty clothes from the floor and threw them in the garbage bag. “I’ll put these in the compost.”

She left, placing shaving supplies and some of her dad’s clothes on the back of the toilet. Will finished showering and shaved – but when he left the bathroom, he found Cordelia sitting on her bed, her head in her hands.

“What’s wrong? Cordelia?”

“I don’t know.”

She didn’t look up. Will sat next to her.

“You saved my life today,” he said. “You should feel wonderful.”

She took a long pause before saying: “There’s something wrong with me, Will. I’m sick. And I don’t have anyone to talk to” – she cracked a hopeful smile, keeping her lips closed – “except you.”

“Cordelia, what’s happening? What’s the matter?”

Cordelia opened her hand. A tooth sat in it.

Will gasped. The tooth was on a tissue with a bit of blood.

“That just fell out,” said Cordelia.

“What?”

“It started yesterday. This is the second one. And all of my other teeth … they’re loose as well. I think it’s linked to my entire body feeling ice-cold sometimes.”

“Are you saying it’s a spell?”

“It’s possible,” said Cordelia. “I feel like I’ve brought back something from the world of Kristoff’s books. Something inside me.”

Will put his arms around Cordelia, trying to comfort her. But instead of warming up, Cordelia found herself getting even colder. She pushed Will away, looked down at her hands, and screamed.

The skin was transparent. And underneath …

Nothing but ice.

“We should get you to the hospital,” said Will.

“No,” said Cordelia. And she looked up at him.

Her eyes were gone, replaced by discs of clear blue ice.

Will was a hardened, fearless war hero – but he still cried out in terror.

“Cordelia, what is happening—”

She jumped to her feet and ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Will started to go after her, but then he heard the front door slam, followed by Mrs Walker yelling, “Cordelia, come back! Where are you going?!”

Will didn’t want to be hanging around Cordelia’s bedroom in case Mrs Walker came upstairs. And he didn’t like the idea of Cordelia being alone in the world, with some kind of spell spreading through her body. He opened a window and climbed out of Kristoff House, determined to find her, but then he realised he had no idea where she’d gone. Except … Perhaps she went to school, to meet with her brother and sister?

But what school? Will waited behind a tree until Mrs Walker pulled away in her car, off to search for Cordelia herself, no doubt, and then sneaked into the kitchen and took Brendan’s report card from the bulletin board. (He saw Brendan’s grades: lots of S’s and one E – in gym.) The report card had the address for Bay Academy Prep, so that’s where Will headed. He walked quickly down the street, appreciating that he looked like a proper young man, in Dr Walker’s clothes, as opposed to a homeless, insane wannabe plane thief. Within twenty minutes he reached the school’s imposing black gates.







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Will reached out to open the gates. Locked. He could climb them, but that would almost certainly lead to arrest on the other side. He wasn’t sure what to do. Until …

A FedEx vehicle crunched the gravel as it drove towards the gates. Will backed off and gave a friendly wave to the driver. The driver identified himself over the intercom. This was followed by a loud buzzing, and the gates opened. Like magic, Will thought. He ducked behind the truck, hopped on to the rear bumper, and rode into Bay Academy Prep.

Looking past the duck pond, Will spotted a big, modern building next to the school’s main building. He leaped off the truck, scampered over, dashed inside a service entrance, and found himself in the enormous kitchen of the dining hall. The place was bustling with workers, all dressed in yellow smocks, preparing the day’s lunch (and vegan option). Will spotted a laundry basket filled with freshly washed smocks, snatched one, and put it on. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Hey, you! What’re you doing standin’ around?!”

The head cook, a burly woman with chin whiskers and a hair net, was a dangerous type. Will tried to explain to her, “I’m new” – but she was already shoving him out of the kitchen and directing him to the hot-food bar.

“In about thirty seconds there’s gonna be a stampede of hungry little silver-spooners! You’re on mashed potatoes and green beans, so shut up and get to it!”

The dining-hall doors burst open and students raced inside. Will made himself busy dishing out portions over and over from the steaming pans as the kids made ungrateful faces. Then he heard, “Will?”

He looked up. A confused Brendan faced him.

“What are you – Why are you—?”

Will raised a finger to his lips: Shhhh. He placed mashed potatoes and green beans on Brendan’s tray, but took extra time, arranging the serving to make a message for Brendan in green-bean letters: Outside.

Will stepped away from his post and rushed towards the rear exit. The head cook stopped him.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“These working conditions are deplorable!” said Will, whisking off his smock and throwing it on the floor. “I quit!”

Will left with the head cook staring at him open-mouthed and the other workers cheering. No one ever talked to her like that!

Outside, Will met Brendan, who kept his distance.

“Okay, so now you’re showing up at my school in my dad’s clothes, working the cafeteria line … Can you give me one good reason I shouldn’t be totally creeped out?”

“Cordelia’s gone,” Will said.

“What?” Brendan stepped towards him. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing. She ran away. Something’s wrong with her, a spell—”

“You mean the tooth thing. She told us it was a frozen Snickers. What’d she tell you?”

“Just that it started happening out of nowhere … and it terrified her—”

“So my sister lied to me and not you?”

“That’s not the point—”

“Yeah it is, Will. My sister’s not supposed to trust you more than me!”

“Bren. She needs help. She’s scared. She’s not herself—”

“And whose fault is that?”

“What? … You think it’s my fault?”

“Duh. She’s in love with you. You kinda broke her heart. She’s been missing you since you disappeared.”

“Well, that’s … that’s …” Will struggled for the right words and found them in his past. “There’s one thing I’ve learned from fighting in a war, and sleeping on the street. That kind of experience teaches you a very valuable lesson. Do you know what that lesson is, Brendan?”

“I don’t really care—”

“It’s that problems like love are what you worry about when you’re safe. And right now, your sister isn’t safe. And we need to help her. If you’re not up for the task, that’s fine. But I’m going to find Cordelia and protect her. I thought you were going to help me. Are you?”

Brendan looked into Will’s eyes. He saw the same deep worry he felt in his own gut.

“Fine. Tell me everything you know.”







(#ulink_943136d2-cda7-5e2c-9dd1-89442e706a02)


Will filled Brendan in as they walked, including the details of Cordelia’s icy skin.

“Sort of sounds like how she’s been acting lately,” mused Brendan.

“What do you mean?”

“Cordelia hasn’t been herself. I mean, she could always be annoying, but now it’s like she doesn’t even care enough to annoy us. All she cares about is this tutoring programme she’s doing at school. Have you tried calling her mobile?”

Will stopped walking. “I’ve been eating out of garbage cans for the last few weeks. How could I possibly afford a mobile phone?”

“I actually see a lot of homeless people with phones,” said Brendan, “but I get your point.” He called Cordelia and waited through four rings. Her voicemail answered. He tried again. Still nothing. But the third time—

“Bren! Bren, I can’t talk right now—”

“Deal, what’s going on?”

“I can’t – I left Will – left the house – not in control—” Her voice was strangely gulped, as if she were speaking while someone tried to drown her.

“Deal, slow down—”

“I can feel it, Bren, it’s inside me—”

“Where are you, Cordelia?!”

“I’m at” – her voice cracked – “where it all happens, Brendan. Where weaving spiders do not come—”

The phone cut off. Brendan tried calling back. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again – same thing. He looked to Will.

“We need to head downtown.”







(#ulink_ceca3b73-d527-5862-8849-f80a16ad940e)


Eleanor would have been furious had she known that Will and Brendan were going off on a mission without her, but she was busy with her after-school riding lesson. Her horse riding, which started after her parents got “the settlement”, had become one of the most important things in her life.

Eleanor felt at peace around horses. They liked her; they respected her; she could get the most troublesome ones to walk, trot, canter, and gallop. That gave her a sense of confidence that was missing everywhere else in her life – and it made her feel more grown-up, because she was actually good at something. Plus there was one horse she truly loved: a powerful, shiny thoroughbred, Crow, who galloped so fast that when Eleanor was on him, the world blurred and she could imagine she was back in Kristoff’s books.

Today they practised turns and jumps; Eleanor and Crow worked seamlessly, as if they had discussed their plans the night before. The two-hour lesson felt like it ended almost as soon as it began, with Mrs Leland, the instructor, telling everyone to return to the stables. Eleanor dismounted, still wearing her helmet, and led Crow inside.

“Good job today,” Mrs Leland told her. “You’re becoming one of my best riders.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, feeling so proud that she wanted to say something more, to make some grand statement. But her mother taught her to simply say thank you when people gave compliments, to keep it simple.

Mrs Leland looked around. All the other students had gone home. “Eleanor, I have exciting news for you. It’s time for you and Crow to enter a competition.”

“Really?” Eleanor was thrilled – and frightened. She had always dreamed of being in a competition with Crow. But it would be hard work. All the other riders would be really good. Wait a minute, though; what about the times you cheated death like five million times with Bren and Deal? A riding competition is nothing!

“That sounds great,” Eleanor said. “I’m ready.”

“Good to hear,” said Mrs Leland. “I expect big things from you. Oh – here’s your father.”

Mrs Leland pointed to the far end of the stables. Eleanor saw Dr Walker lazily walking up to different horses and patting their heads. She beamed. It meant a lot to her that her dad would come and pick her up. Maybe, Eleanor thought, Mom was right! Now that we discovered what was going on, Dad will get better.

Eleanor ran to Dr Walker.

“Hi, baby,” he said. “Did you have a nice lesson?”

“Yeah! Guess what Mrs Leland told me?” Eleanor lowered her voice: “I’m gonna be in a competition.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna work really hard and come back with a blue ribbon. Well, two. One for me and one for Crow.”

“I’m so proud of you.” Eleanor’s father touched her chin. “You’re really growing up.”

She turned away, blushing. “You haven’t said hi to Crow.”

“He’ll be happy to see me. I brought him a special treat.”

Dr Walker pulled out a fresh Gala apple and gave it to the black horse. Eleanor grabbed his arm—

“Dad! That’s not Crow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

“You know that! That’s always been our family joke, remember? His name is Crow, but he’s a palomino!”

“Right … of course I remember.”

Dr Walker turned to the actual Crow, the palomino opposite – but now Eleanor was suspicious. Her father had met Crow before. The joke about him being a palomino was part of their family’s repertoire, like the joke about how when Brendan was a baby he would only eat rice and soy sauce. Now, looking at her dad’s face …

It looked wrong.

The skin was too loose. As if her dad were made of wax and standing too close to a hot stove.

Eleanor started to back away while Crow sniffed the apple – then nosed it aside. It hit the ground and sent up a puff of dust.

“I guess Crow doesn’t like apples—”

“Dad? What’s wrong with you? Why do you look so … so weird—”

“Weird?” Dr Walker turned towards her. “You think I look weird?”

Eleanor glanced behind her. Mrs Leland had left the stables. The door at that end was locked. When Eleanor turned back, her father was locking the door at the other end, trapping them inside. And then he started coming towards her.

“Eleanor, I want you to listen carefully,” Dr Walker said.

Eleanor backed up, terrified. The stables weren’t supposed to be completely closed. Not ever. It was dark inside; the only light shone through cracks in the wood. The horses whinnied and reared up on their hind legs – NEIGHHHHEHEHEHEHEHE!

“Daddy! What’s wrong? Stop—”

“Don’t talk, listen. Or on second thoughts” – he chuckled, a nasty gurgling sound – “watch.”

Dr Walker dug his nails into his chin. Eleanor couldn’t turn away. Even in the weak light she could see how the skin puckered around each of his fingernails, and then there was a tearing sound and Dr Walker pulled his chin off, revealing something darker underneath.

“Dad!”

Dr Walker wasn’t finished. He tore his hand into his cheek, gripping and pulling – and his cheek came off. He tossed it into some hay and grabbed his nose. That came off quickly. Then his other cheek … his ear … his scalp – he wrenched his whole face off as if it were a cheap mask of Silly Putty.

And now … the man’s real face was visible.

The Storm King’s face.

Eleanor screamed. The horses screamed with her.

Denver Kristoff was staring right at her with his orange eyes and his purple, pitted, deformed skin. The flaps that served as his nose wheezed up and down.

Eleanor dropped to her knees. Little pieces of hay poked into her. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Kill you?” Denver Kristoff said. “After all you’ve been through … you still fear death? Trust me. There are worse things.”

He curled his mouth into a smile – or a Denver Kristoff smile, with one end of the mouth turned up, the other down. “I won’t kill you, as long as you answer one very important question.”

“What’s that?”

“Where is your sister?”







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Brendan and Will hustled towards 624 Taylor Street, in downtown San Francisco. The landmark building, known as the Bohemian Club, had a huge guard in front of it, with a shaved head and big rings on each finger.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” said Brendan.

“It is if Cordelia’s inside,” said Will. The building was made of limestone and brick, occupying a whole city block. Carved in the facade above the door were an owl and an inscription: WEAVING SPIDERS COME NOT HERE.

“How did you know that was there?” asked Will.

“I know a lot about old San Francisco buildings,” Brendan said. “When Cordelia and I were little, we used to walk by this place and try to spot all the owls on the walls. And when we learned on our last adventure that this is where Denver Kristoff was trained by the Lorekeepers … I’ve been keeping a close eye on it ever since. Let’s look for a secret entrance.”

“What makes you think there is one?”

“US presidents were members of this club. They’d never go through the front door.”

“Can I help you?”

The guard approached. Up close, he was as big as two people stapled together.

“I noticed you lookin’ at the building,” he said. “You wanna walk away, or you wanna get free handicapped passes for life?”

“Free handicapped passes for life?!” Brendan shouted. “That means I don’t have to wait in line for roller coasters! That’s awesome … so what do I have to do?”

“Let me put you in a coma,” said the guard.

He grabbed for Brendan – and Brendan and Will took off running around the corner of the Bohemian Club. The guard came after them, gathering momentum with his trunk-like legs. They dashed into an alley at the side of the building and raced under bluish shadows, skirting smelly Dumpsters. Brendan glanced back – there was the guard, huffing his way forward, closing in fast. Brendan knocked over a garbage can – and then saw steam rising ahead. He noticed a nice smell too, very different from the reeking garbage …

“The laundry room!”

“What?”

“Follow me!”

Brendan ran up to a metal grate in the pavement. The steam was rising from it. He dropped to his knees, pulled up the grate, and revealed a ladder leading down.

“This way!”

Brendan started going down. Will followed. The guard came to where Brendan had knocked over the garbage can – and yelped as he slipped on some old kale soaked in vinaigrette and his legs whizzed out from under him. He hit the ground on his back, getting the wind knocked out of him.

“Urf! Huh … Huh!” (That’s about all you can say when the wind is knocked out of you.)

Down below, the ladder ended, and Brendan and Will crawled into an air duct that blew out laundry steam. They moved forward, coughing at the heat – and at the pieces of lint that blew into their faces. Within a few minutes it was getting very hot and stuffy, and Will started kicking frantically at a seam in the duct. Brendan realised that it could be a very slow death for both of them: They would collapse in the air duct and suffocate; their bodies wouldn’t be discovered for months; then, instead of the pleasant odour of laundry, the smell of their rotting corpses would pour out …

Finally Will’s kicks worked and the seam split open. They slid out of the air duct, hitting the concrete floor below.

“We – kaff koff – we did it!” Brendan managed.

They were inside the Bohemian Club. But you wouldn’t know it from the laundry room. It looked like any other laundry room. Only when Brendan led the way out did they find themselves in the place they had expected.

The walls were deep rich mahogany with mother-of-pearl inlays. Bookshelves were placed throughout, holding leather-bound volumes with spines embossed in gold and silver. Between the shelves were items on pedestals: Greek warrior statues, daggers encased in glass, and preserved animals in jars.

Brendan pointed to the ceiling: cameras. He and Will hugged the wall and walked sideways next to each other. They were totally silent, until they passed one of the preserved animals and saw that it was a muskrat with two heads.

Brendan screamed. Will put a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet now, they probably just took two of those creatures and sewed them together.”

“Then why does one of them have a normal head … and the other one is all small and shrivelled up and weird-looking?”

Brendan shook his shoulders to get the chills out. Up next was a staircase, which led to a hallway full of disturbing taxidermy, including an owl with a glass lens in its belly and a mouse skeleton inside it. That hallway led to another staircase. Brendan and Will went up to the second floor, where they heard someone talking.

They were in a corridor that was open on one side, facing a breathtaking main hall with a crystal chandelier. The entire building was arranged around this grand space, which had long hanging tapestries and a table fit for a king’s feast. Surrounding the hall were two rows of giant portraits of former Bohemian Club members, including Teddy Roosevelt and Richard Nixon. The pictures looked down at the table. There, dwarfed by the room, were three figures.

First was Denver Kristoff, wearing a hood thrown back to reveal his hideous face, striding up to speak with the second man.

The second man was Angel – the Walkers’ ex-driver! What is he doing here? Brendan thought, but then he saw the third person.

His little sister, Eleanor.

Kristoff was holding her wrist tight. She was crying.







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Brendan felt rage burning deep in his guts. Of all the nasty, underhanded things for Kristoff to do, he had to go after Eleanor? Why couldn’t he come after Brendan? What a coward!

I’d show him too, Brendan thought. Let Scott Calurio and his friends watch me take on Kristoff. We took care of him once; we’ll do it again. He’s nothing but a punk. Brendan lunged forward, ready to go Three Musketeers with Will, swing down on a tapestry, and take care of Kristoff, but Will stopped him and pointed: Listen. Brendan tuned in to the conversation downstairs.

“So what exactly have I been paying you for?” Denver Kristoff asked the scared Angel. “You’ve been working with the Walkers for a month. You should be familiar with their daily routine by now!”

“Mr Kristoff, I tried to explain—” said Angel.

“Just give me the information,” demanded Kristoff. “Where would Cordelia go?”

“Usually she’d be volunteering after school,” said Angel, “but yesterday she started acting very strange, because of this thing with her teeth—”

“You already told me about that. Good God, man, you’re useless!” said Kristoff.

Brendan seethed as he realised: Angel’s been working for Kristoff! When we put up the partition in the limo for privacy, he probably had a microphone back there to record us!

Kristoff continued. “Angel, all you needed to do today was pick up the Walkers and bring them to me. How could you fail in such a simple task?”

“Because Mr Walker fired me! I couldn’t help it! He said he needed to save money.”

“The weak-minded fool,” said Kristoff. “I never expected it to be so easy. All I had to do was sit down next to him at a bar and convince him to bet on one basketball game – now he’s run through almost his entire fortune.” Kristoff shook his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised. His great-grandfather was the same way: simpering, soft and weak. No core.”

Brendan’s hate grew as he heard Kristoff talk about Rutherford Walker, his great-great-grandfather, who had helped discover The Book of Doom and Desire. It’s not enough for him to ruin my present-day family, he has to talk trash about my ancestors too?

Eleanor, meanwhile, took advantage of Kristoff’s yammering and broke away from him, running for the door.

“Don’t waste your time,” Kristoff called after her. “The doors are all locked. You can’t get out.”

Eleanor beat on one of the big wooden doors that encircled the room, shrieking, “Somebody! Help!! Get me out of here!”

Brendan wanted desperately to help – but inside the Bohemian Club, Denver Kristoff wouldn’t have to worry about people seeing his disfigured face or calling the cops. He could go full Storm King and blast them all to bits.

Will shifted as Kristoff went to Eleanor and picked her up, kicking and screaming. He felt something jab against his thigh, inside Dr Walker’s trouser pocket. He pulled out a tiny green pencil and a score card from the Presidio Golf Club. He wrote something on the card and showed it to Brendan: What do we do?

Brendan took the card and wrote: U were right. We just listen.

Kristoff was trying to talk to Eleanor as he carried her. “I’m going to ask you one more time: Where is your sister? We need to find Cordelia. If we find her, we find my daughter, and then everyone’s happy. And we can all go on with what’s left of our lives.”

“Help me! Someone!!” Eleanor yelled. It was all Brendan could do not to charge down the stairs and pull her away from Kristoff and hug her. Even if he got killed immediately afterwards, it would be worth it to comfort his little sister. Eleanor didn’t deserve this.

But before Brendan could react, Eleanor kicked Kristoff between his legs. “Urp!” he managed, dropping her.

“I hope that’s as broken as your face!” Eleanor yelled, running back to one of the doors. “Help me! Someone!!”

Eleanor’s kick had done some damage. Kristoff was doubled over in pain, making squeaking noises. Brendan smiled. “No core”. Yeah, right. We have a core.

Angel stifled a laugh. Kristoff glared at him, still bent over. “You – find this – humorous?”

“No, sir,” said a terrified Angel. “Not at all—”

Kristoff reached up with a look of rage, chanting, starting to generate a blue lightning bolt over his palm.

“No! Mr Kristoff! Please!” cried Angel, trying to hide under the table.

Kristoff gritted his teeth as the bolt grew larger, eyeing Angel with intent to fry, when one of the doors opened.







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The man who entered the room wore a black velvet robe and a tall, powdered wig, but he was so old and crooked that the wig didn’t stand properly on his head – it pointed forward like the prow of a ship. He hobbled up with a cane, tapping, until he got to Kristoff, who promptly dropped to one knee.

“Aldrich,” Kristoff said, kissing the old man’s hand.

Brendan wrote: Aldrich Hayes!

Will mouthed, Who?

Aldrich Hayes turned his head (and wig) up so that he could look at Kristoff. This movement revealed his face, which, despite the very serious situation, almost made Brendan laugh. The old man looked like a mad clown, with bright white powder caked from his chin to his forehead. His cheeks even had a rosy glow brought out by two bright red spots.

After Brendan stifled his laugh, he thought, If that’s really Aldrich Hayes, leader of the Lorekeepers, he should technically be a corpse! He looks great for his age!

“Denver,” Hayes said. His voice was throaty and strong; it easily filled the room. “How often must I remind you? When you are inside the Bohemian Club, you are required to wear our wigs and make-up.”

“With all due respect,” said Kristoff, gesturing to himself, “I think that would be like putting lipstick on a pig.”

Hayes regarded the putrid flaps and scars of Denver Kristoff’s face. “You do have a point,” he said. “There probably isn’t enough make-up in this entire city to hide your grotesque complexion! Now what sort of trouble have you gotten into? Who is she?”

Eleanor spoke up. “He kidnapped me from my riding lesson—”

“You kidnapped a child?” said Hayes.

“I had no other option—”

“And who is this man hiding under the table?”

“That’s Angel, a driver, he works for me—”

“Denver!” Hayes bellowed. “When you arrived, I never expected you to bring all this trouble. ‘Weaving Spiders Come Not Here,’ am I right?”

Brendan was writing: That’s Aldrich Hayes. Leader of the Lorekeepers. The dude was old in 1906! He must be magically preserved.

“Hey! Ancient guy!” Eleanor said. “If you get me out of here, my dad can recommend a really good surgeon for your hip or whatever—”

“Quiet,” snapped Hayes.

Kristoff said, “I apologise if I’ve caused trouble. I’m forever in your debt. But I will remind you that over a century ago, I made a great sacrifice for this club.”

“And what was that?”

“I discovered the hidden powers of The Book of Doom and Desire,” said Kristoff. “And did I keep them to myself? No. I hid the book away in my own work to keep it from threatening the world.”

“Which is why I welcomed you back,” Hayes said. “But my generosity only goes so far—”

“I need to find Cordelia Walker,” Kristoff said, cutting him off. “I cannot waste time. I’m certain that Cordelia knows where my daughter is.”

“Your daughter is dead,” said Hayes. “The Walkers got rid of her.”

“I thought she was gone too,” said Kristoff, “but not any more.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’ve been keeping tabs on the Walkers.”

“What?”

“Following them to school, getting reports from Angel—”

“You’ve been going out in public? Are you insane?”

“Listen to me,” said Kristoff. “I’ve learned that the Walkers didn’t precisely kill Dahlia. This child banished her.”

“To where, exactly?” asked Hayes, turning to Eleanor.

“I dunno,” said Eleanor. “I just said ‘the worst place ever’. I didn’t exactly have time to think clearly on account of trying not to get killed an’ all!”

“So we really have no idea where your daughter is,” said Hayes.

“No,” said Kristoff. “But I think the answer may start with Cordelia Walker. I couldn’t find her, so I took Eleanor instead. These children are like wild dogs: They operate in packs. It’s only a matter of time before Cordelia shows up. And when she does, I believe she will lead me to Dahlia.”

“That all sounds very logical, except for one thing,” said Hayes.

“What’s that?”

“Why would you even want to find your daughter? The last time she saw you, she tried to kill you!”

“Ah, but you don’t understand daughters,” said Kristoff. “One moment they despise you, the next they love you.”

That’s actually true, Brendan wrote to Will.

“This has gone on long enough,” Hayes said. He stepped closer to Kristoff, slinking under him and looking up like a snake. “Do you understand the enormous historical significance of this organisation? The Bohemian Club has shaped the world! We have chosen presidents! We have influenced world politics! And we thrive on one thing … secrecy. But you have broken the rules by kidnapping a child and bringing her here!!”

Hayes cracked his cane on Kristoff’s foot.

“I’m sorry. I just want to see Dahlia … I just want to get my daughter back,” said Kristoff. His voice hitched.

Brendan felt something unspool in his chest. He couldn’t believe it, but he suddenly understood the man. Kristoff was trying to do the same thing his mom was: keep a family together.

Eleanor had no such sympathies: “Hey, waffle face, if you want a family so much, join a zombie dating service! I want to go home!”

“You will, little girl, soon enough,” Hayes said, turning to Angel. “You!”

Angel looked up from under the table.

“Leave this place and never tell anyone about what you saw.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” complained Angel, climbing out. “I quit my old job to work for Mr Kristoff. How am I supposed to get a new one?”

“Start over,” said Hayes.

“I’m too old to start over,” said Angel.

Hayes answered by unscrewing the top of his cane. Brendan was sure he was going to draw out a sword and skewer Angel with it, but instead he pulled out a tightly rolled piece of paper. A spell scroll, Brendan thought. Hayes declared, “Famulus famuli mei, transfigura!”

An explosion of smoke obscured Angel’s body. For a moment Brendan thought Hayes had made him disappear. But when the smoke cleared, and the driver stepped out …

He was seventeen years old!

Angel looked like a million bucks. He was tall and muscular, without any of the padding he’d picked up driving limos.

“You’re a senior in high school again. You have a second chance to make something of yourself. Study, find a nice girl, and play some baseball,” Hayes said, unlocking one of the doors.

Angel wasted no time hustling out, grinning as he took a selfie with his phone.

“You should have killed him,” said Kristoff.

“That’s where you and I differ,” said Hayes. “You’d resort to violence to keep Angel quiet. I give him hope, a new life, and he’ll still keep quiet.”

“My methods are more secure,” said Kristoff.

“Your methods are more emotional,” Hayes said, “and clearly you won’t listen to reason.” He began to pace in a circle. “So perhaps you’ll listen to proof.”

“Excuse me?”

“What if I could contact your daughter’s spirit?” Hayes looked up. Brendan followed his eyes to the portraits that hung over the room, featuring the old Bohemian Club members. “What if I used the help of our brothers to summon her soul, and communicate with it? Then would you believe she was well and truly gone?”

Kristoff stammered … as Hayes started lighting candles.







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“I don’t want you to do a séance, please,” Eleanor begged. She was getting very frightened as the crouched, make-up-caked Aldrich Hayes placed a wooden board on the long table in the Bohemian Club’s great hall. The table was lit up with candles like a birthday cake. Eleanor was holding still, her shoulder in the grip of Denver Kristoff’s big hand, but now she was getting way too scared to be here. If Hayes were really going to do a séance, that meant ghosts and spirits, and Eleanor wasn’t sticking around for that. Luckily, by not moving for so long, she had made Denver Kristoff relax his grip, and with Hayes tending to the table, she broke free!

Eleanor ran towards the doorway that Angel had just walked out of. Kristoff called angrily after her, but she didn’t turn around – and then she heard Hayes’s voice, calm: “Wait, little one. You’ll be needing some money.”

Eleanor stopped, turned back. Did I hear that right?

Apparently she did. Because Hayes was holding out a hundred-dollar bill.

“I want you to get a taxi, go back to your parents, and never tell anyone about being here. And keep the change. Understand?”

“You’re letting me go?”

“Mr Kristoff was wrong to bring you here.”

Eleanor glanced at Kristoff, who stood behind Hayes. He was clearly angry but also powerless. The old man really was his boss. Eleanor hesitantly took the hundred-dollar bill and strode towards the door. Behind her, she heard Kristoff whisper to Hayes: “You’re making a mistake. We should get rid of her. Permanently. I know a place under the Bay Bridge where we can dispose of the body—”

“Enough. Make yourself useful and bring me more candles—”

“I’m not your servant—”

“You are in my home and you will follow my rules.”

Eleanor paused as she approached the door, catching sight of something above. She turned slowly, so Hayes and Kristoff wouldn’t notice—

And saw Brendan staring down at her.

He was upstairs, on the balcony, next to Will!

Have they been up there the whole time?

Eleanor had to get to them.

Two sets of doors stood in front of her: one that led out of the great hall and one that led to the street. She went through the first set and opened the second, so it would sound like she was leaving … but then she dashed left, climbing the stairs to the balcony. She squeezed her eyes shut as she passed a pedestal holding a glass-encased stuffed falcon with huge, sharp claws. She had to get past all the scary stuff in this place. She had to get to Brendan and Will. And there they were! So close …

Control yourself, stay steady, no sudden movements, she thought, but it was all she could do not to cry out as she fell into them.

Their three-way hug was as strong as it was silent. It had only been a few hours since Eleanor had finished her riding lesson with Crow, but she thought she was never going to see her family again, and knowing that Bren and Will had come reminded her: Sometimes your siblings annoy you, but sometimes they save your life.

Then, all of a sudden, the lights in the Bohemian Club went out.







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Eleanor, Brendan and Will turned to the great room below, where there was a faint glow.

The white candles on the long table were arranged in a figure of eight stretching from one end to the other. Hayes and Kristoff stood at the centre of the table. Beside them was an ancient record player, equipped with a rusted wind-up crank and a large metal horn. Next to it was the wooden board that Hayes had brought to the table before. Brendan and Eleanor didn’t recognise it, but Will knew it was a planchette, a board used for “automatic writing”. A pencil was stuck through its middle, and the idea was that if a spirit contacted you during a séance, you placed your hand on the board and allowed the spirit to guide you, spelling out the words it wanted to say automatically on paper below. Planchettes were forerunners to the Ouija board, which Will knew since the whole idea of speaking with spirits was very popular in his time.

Hayes put a black vinyl record on the record player, dropped the needle and turned the crank. A squeaky, wince-inducing sound filled the room. Brendan, Eleanor and Will held their breath.

The record player let out a loud crack, and then staccato pops, signalling that music could start at any moment.

But the sound that followed wasn’t music.

It was a heartbeat – but very, very slow, as if a human heart had been slowed by a factor of fifty. It sounded like a cross between interstellar static and a giant’s footsteps. Fat Jagger’s footsteps! Eleanor thought, suddenly missing the brave and simple-minded colossus the Walkers had met in their last adventure. If only Fat Jagger were here, he would get us out of this. He was my friend.

As the slowed-down heartbeat played, a mist came out of nowhere – like the water on our car in the morning, thought Eleanor. It filled the room, from the air around Eleanor’s fingers to the space between the portraits of the old Bohemian Club members. And as it drifted around the room, the heartbeat began to get faster, just a tiny bit. Hayes and Kristoff started chanting.

“Diablo tan-tun-ka.” “Diablo tan-tun-ka.”

They reached for each other across the table. Their fingertips were just able to touch. They moved their arms back and forth in a fluid ellipse, almost as if they were dancing.

“Diablo tan-tun-ka.” “Diablo tan-tun-ka.”

The heartbeat got faster, like the heart of someone who had just run a marathon. And it wasn’t stopping. It galloped ahead, quicker and quicker, as the light from the candles began to change.

“Diablo tan-TUN-ka!” “Diablo tan-TUN-ka!”

The candles were blood-red. The mist became red too, looking as if it had soaked up the spray of a battlefield. Eleanor heard a scratching sound and turned – that stuffed falcon she had noticed? It was alive! Scraping its talons against the glass that trapped it, twitching its eyes—

Eleanor screamed, but Brendan covered her mouth. Will elbowed Brendan and Eleanor, pointing to the wall behind them. Two swords mounted there were twisting back and forth, like scissors. Drops of blood beaded up on the metal to plop fatly on the floor.

“Spirits of our brothers!” called Hayes. “We summon you!”

“Diablo tan-TUN-ka!” Kristoff said. “Diablo tan-TUN-ka!”

“We wish to speak to one departed! We seek … Dahlia Kristoff!”

A great groan came from the ceiling, and when Brendan, Eleanor and Will looked up, they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.







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The Bohemian Club portraits were coming alive. Teddy Roosevelt, Richard Nixon and several other stern-looking men were moving, moaning and rolling their jaws, as if to test that their mouths still worked.

“Brothers, help us!” Hayes implored from the table below. The red candles flickered around him. The cloud of mist above obscured the portraits – until Richard Nixon leaned out of his frame, puffed out his cheeks, and blew down a gust of air.

The mist drifted to the sides of the room. Hayes and Kristoff looked up at portraits that now twitched and harrumphed in their frames. Along with Roosevelt and Nixon, with their names engraved in gold in each frame, were nineteenth-century satirist Ambrose Bierce; National Review founder William F. Buckley Jr; President Dwight D. Eisenhower; Joseph Coors of the Coors Brewing Company; Mark Twain; Call of the Wild author Jack London; “most trusted man in America” Walter Cronkite; and President Herbert Hoover.

“How da-aaare you dist-urrrb us?” Richard Nixon asked, his jowls shaking as he drew out the question. He climbed out of his portrait and sat on the edge of the frame, his legs dangling, revealing bright yellow socks. He glared down at Hayes. “We’re all perfectly happy being dead! It’s relaxing! Why would you wake us? It had better be important!”

“I know you seek peace, brothers, and I truly do hate disturbing you,” Hayes said. “But perhaps you can answer a question?”

“What question?”

“Where is Dahlia Kristoff?”

“Who?” President Eisenhower asked. “Who is he talking about?”

“Dahlia Kristoff,” Hayes repeated. “Of San Francisco. Daughter of our esteemed club member Denver Kristoff. It is vital that we find out if her spirit is among the dead.”

“Vital to whom?” Nixon said. “I couldn’t care less about a missing girl. She’s probably gone off to some debauched hippie commune—”

“Shut your mouth!” Denver Kristoff interrupted, leaping on to the table. “Do you know whom you’re talking to? Aldrich Hayes built this place. None of you would have achieved wealth and fame if it weren’t for the Bohemian Club and the Lorekeepers.”

The faces in the portraits glanced at one another.

“That’s right! Nixon, how do you think an unattractive dolt like you with a lousy personality, foul breath and yellow socks could ever be elected president? Because of the Lorekeepers!”

Nixon reached down and pulled at the bottom of his cuffed trousers, trying to hide his yellow socks.

“And Eisenhower?” shouted Kristoff. “Who do you think is really responsible for all of your military victories?”

“The Lorekeepers,” muttered an embarrassed Eisenhower.

“And Teddy Roosevelt?” barked Kristoff. “Do you think it’s just a coincidence that a mean-spirited lush like you won the Nobel Prize? Now, as a fellow Lorekeeper, I implore you … help me find my daughter. Help me find out if she’s alive or dead.”

“Never,” said Herbert Hoover. “Not after the way you spoke to us.”

“Usually, when we’re disturbed,” said Teddy Roosevelt, “it’s an extremely serious situation. An event that threatens the Bohemian Club itself.”

“And I don’t know about you fellas, but I don’t appreciate these insults,” said Nixon. “If I wanted to be treated like this, I’d move back into the White House. I’m going back to being dead.” Nixon began to return to his frame.

“No!” Kristoff grabbed Hayes’s hand and cranked up the record player. He began pulling Hayes in a circle, repeating their earlier movements, chanting “Diablo tan-TUN-ka!”

“Will you stop that?” Teddy Roosevelt said.

Kristoff ignored them all and bellowed, “Spirits of San Francisco! Come do what the Lorekeepers cannot! Show yourselves in our time of need!”

Up on the balcony, a plink hit Eleanor’s back. It was as if a drawing pin had fallen on her. She turned to look up – but Brendan held her still, trying to keep her quiet. She looked to her side and saw a human tooth on the ground! Eleanor couldn’t believe it, but before she could grab it—

Kerrrrrash! – the skylight above the portraits shattered into a million tiny pieces!

Hayes and Kristoff were dusted with falling glass. As they shook themselves off, there was an otherworldly whoosh …

And a horde of ghosts entered the Bohemian Club.







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Eleanor had never seen ghosts before, but she knew what she was looking at. Their bodies were long and made of mist. They had howling faces with mouths that stretched into distorted ovals. They flew around like a tornado, streaking past Kristoff and Hayes and swirling on the balcony. They seemed to fly through Eleanor, Brendan and Will, who clutched one another in terror.

The room was overrun with spirits.

“I’m looking for Dahlia Kristoff!” Denver yelled to the ghosts. “Dahlia, if you are among the spirits … reveal yourself to me!”

Now Eleanor could see the ghosts more closely. Their colourless hair floated behind them as if they were underwater. Some wore bonnets and dresses from the nineteenth century; others had snazzy three-piece suits with wide lapels from the eighties.




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