House of Secrets (45 page)

And then Eleanor hit the whiteness—
Shooooooooomp!
—and her world went just as blank.

C
ordelia wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Half of it was clear: the blackness of the inside of her eyelids. But then, every few moments, the blackness was replaced by a
face
.

It was a marble face, stern, with a wavy beard.
I’ve seen that before,
Cordelia thought.
Greek . . . Plato? Aristotle?

Suddenly she leaped to her feet. “Arsdottle!”

She kissed the marble bust whose name Dahlia Kristoff could never pronounce. Yes! She was in the great hall of Kristoff House—

And the house wasn’t destroyed!

The track lighting was still in the ceiling. The coatrack was by the door. Nothing was broken, shattered, turned to debris by the Wind Witch . . . Cordelia’s mind spun.
What is happening?

Then she saw Brendan and Eleanor.

They were lying on the floor, blinking, dumbstruck, just as she had been. But not injured! Their wounds were all gone. It was like nothing had happened.

“Bren! Nell!” Cordelia hugged them. Brendan made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cry. Eleanor clung to Cordelia, pressing into her hair.

“You made it!”

“Yeah, but . . . what happened?”

“We’re
alive
—that’s what happened!” Brendan said. He felt something jab his hip. He pulled out his PSP, laughed at it, and dropped it as he wrapped his arms around his sisters. The tear streaks on his cheeks were curved by a huge grin. “We defeated the Wind Witch with that giant portal thing! But . . . how?”

“Well, it began with the book,” Nell started to explain—and then she went silent. Because someone was standing over them.

“Mom!”

If Bellamy Walker had wanted to press assault charges, she could have. Eleanor grabbed her knees. Cordelia burrowed into her shoulder. Brendan hugged her so hard she almost fell over.

“Hold on, what’s happening—what’s gotten into you three?”

“You’re alive!” Cordelia said—and then she looked aside.
“Dad!”

Dr. Jake Walker was coming down the hall, carrying a pizza. “What’s going on—?”

Cordelia, Brendan, and Eleanor gave their father a triple bear hug, making him scramble to keep the pizza box from falling. “Hey! What’s—oh, you guys are sweet—”

“What did you
do
?” Mrs. Walker asked, interrupting.

“What do you mean?” Cordelia said. She noticed the logo on the pizza box: PINO’S.

“Did you mess with the shampoo in my bathroom?” Mrs. Walker said. “Did you crank-call someone? Did you TP a house? This isn’t normal behavior. You did something wrong.”

“Good point,” Dr. Walker said. “And Brendan and Eleanor, how did you disappear from the living room? You were there a minute ago. Is this a
Punk’d
?”

“Uh . . . ,” Brendan said, looking at Cordelia.

“Yeah . . . ,” Cordelia mumbled, trying to think how exactly she could tell her parents that she and her siblings had just returned victorious from a battle for the fate of the world. And brought them back from the dead.

Eleanor spoke up. “We were doing an experiment.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Walker asked. “Like the experiment where Brendan taped silly straws together and flooded the house?”

“No, this was an experiment about loving your parents. We saw it on Anderson Cooper. You’re supposed to go into a room and pretend that your parents are dead, and then when you see them, you hug them like they just came back to life. Like you never want them to go ever again.”

“Uh . . . ,” Mrs. Walker said.

“Anderson Cooper,” Dr. Walker said.

“What’s important is that we love you, and we’re totally ready to eat pizza and watch TV. Whatever show you want. Just as long as we’re together,” said Eleanor.

Dr. Walker squinted. “Are you
sure
you’re okay?”

Eleanor embraced her father. Dr. Walker gave his wife a look. Mrs. Walker shrugged:
I guess we should take what we can get.

Dr. Walker took Eleanor’s hand. Cordelia winked at Eleanor. Brendan patted his little sister’s back. As they all walked toward the living room, the house looked a little bit smaller . . . or maybe the Walkers had grown.

There was only one thing that bothered Brendan as he sat with his siblings while his parents ordered
Duck Soup
on demand. He whispered to Eleanor, “What if Dahlia comes back?”

E
leanor didn’t answer. For once, it felt good to have knowledge that her siblings didn’t. She watched TV with a tight-lipped smile as Brendan and Cordelia got more and more desperate. “What did you
do
?” “Come on, Nell,
tell us
!”

“What are you three talking about?” Mrs. Walker asked.

“Nothing,” Cordelia said quickly. She kept waiting for the doorbell to interrupt like last time . . . but it never came.
Duck Soup
ended without a Dahlia Kristoff guest appearance.

“That was fun,” said Dr. Walker . . . but he noticed his children were already leaving the room. “Where are you three going?”

“Upstairs. To read,” Cordelia said.

“Yeah, me too,” said Brendan.

“Me too,” said Eleanor.

“Okay,” said Dr. Walker. “Cordelia I understand . . . Bren and Nell?”

“Books can be a great adventure,” said Brendan.

“
What?
Who are you and what have you done to my son?” asked Mrs. Walker.

“Mom,” said Brendan, “you’re supposed to encourage reading, not make fun of it. Deal, Nell, and I got caught up in these books, uh, and we wanted to . . . um . . . discuss them.” After he finished, Brendan realized he was telling the truth.

“Are you telling me you formed a book club?”

“That’s right,” said Eleanor.

“That’s so cute!” Mrs. Walker clutched her husband’s arm. “Okay, go upstairs and have your book club. I’ll dig out my laptop and pay a few”—she glanced at Dr. Walker sadly—“bills.”

The Walkers were barely up the stairs when Eleanor said innocently, “So you’re probably wondering how I got us all home.”

“Nell,” Brendan said, “if you don’t tell us everything right now, I’m going to go Wind Witch on you.”

Eleanor began. “First I realized
The Book of Doom and Desire
could help us. . . .”

She led her siblings to the second-floor bedroom that would be hers—that
was
hers, in a way, because Kristoff House no longer felt new. “I was up there,” she continued, pointing to the ceiling, “stuffed inside the chimney with the book in my hands, when I wrote us to safety.”

“How?” asked Brendan.

“Because if the Wind Witch wrote on a piece of paper that she wanted to rule the world and expected it to come true . . . maybe I could write down what I wanted and
it
could come true.”

“What did you write with?” asked Cordelia. “Did you have a pen?”

“I used the soot,” said Eleanor.

“The soot?” asked Brendan.

“The inside of the chimney’s covered with it. It’s just like charcoal. But I had to think about what to write. And I had to make sure I wrote it in the right order or else I could get us in real trouble.”

“Yeah,” said Brendan. “Like if you wanted to write, ‘Brendan stops the Wind Witch,’ but you dyslexed it up so it said, ‘The Wind Witch stops Brendan.’”

“Exactly,” said Eleanor. “It was really hard, but I concentrated more than ever and finally wrote, ‘The Wind Witch was sent to the worst place ever, and the Walkers were sent home. Back to the night it all started. With their parents alive.’”

“That’s a lot!” Brendan said.

“Yeah. I made sure it was in the right order and slipped the paper into the book. And then the cloud started spinning, and that’s how we all ended up back here.”

“You used the power of the book against itself!” Cordelia said. “I’m so proud! I wish I could’ve seen it. Stupid unconsciousness.”

“Don’t worry,” said Brendan, “you’ll be awake next time.”

“There’s not going to
be
a next time! We won. The Wind Witch is gone. Banished to the worst place ever,” Cordelia said.

“Do you think I should’ve been more specific?” asked Eleanor. “I mean, what if she’s somewhere she could get out?”

“That’s right. We don’t know where this ‘worst place’ is,” said Brendan. “For me it would be Hot Topic.”

“For her it’s probably some horrible novel of Kristoff’s she’ll never escape from,” said Cordelia, “and I missed all the action.”

“Hold on, Deal,” said Eleanor. “You were the one who figured out we were
in
Kristoff’s books. You saved our lives more times than we can count. And you got to meet Will. That’s not exactly missing the action.”

“But Will’s still dead,” said Cordelia. In all the excitement of getting home she hadn’t been thinking about him. But she missed his grin—and his F. Scott Fitzgerald hair—and the way he was always so right about things. Except when he became captain—but that probably wouldn’t happen again. “It’d be better if I never met him at all.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” Cordelia asked. “He never really existed anyway. He was just a fictional character. Now the only way I can see him is if I read
The Fighting Ace
.”

“There might be another way to see him,” Eleanor said.

“Don’t mess with me. Will’s—”

A ping on the window silenced Cordelia. Eleanor kept quiet. Another ping. Someone was throwing pebbles against the glass from outside. Brendan moved next to Eleanor. “You didn’t . . . ”

“I wrote a few other things in the book,” Eleanor admitted.

Cordelia went to the window and nearly smacked her head on the window frame. Standing below, in his bomber jacket, was Will Draper.

“Cordelia!” he called. “Look at me! Here in the real world! This isn’t a silly novel, is it?”

“
Will!
What are you—” Cordelia turned to look at Eleanor.

“I wrote, ‘And bring Will Draper back too.’”

Cordelia gave Eleanor a quick squeeze
(“Thank you!”)
before turning back. “Will, are you okay? What do you remember?”

“Slayne stabbing me in the back, the dirty coward. Then me waking up in those bushes and seeing your profile in the window. Hey . . . am I in 2013? In San bloody Francisco?”

“Yes! My sister—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I know a stroke of luck when I see one. May I come in?”

“Yes—” Cordelia started. “Wait,
no
! My parents are here!”

“So? I introduce myself, throw in a bit a’ the old British charm—I’ll fit right in.” Will stepped toward the front door—

“Will! They’re suspicious already! You
can’t
!”

The pilot stopped. “You really don’t want me to?”

“Now’s not the time. Come to school tomorrow. I get out at three thirty. We can talk then.” Cordelia blanked out for a second, imagining what it would be like to sit through school after what she’d endured: to pay attention when her history teacher talked about the Treaty of Utrecht; to have serious conversations with her peers about how unfair it was that you had to be sixteen to audition for
Idol
. How could she be normal and not explode, or laugh, or both? Knowing she would see Will would help her get through it.

“I’ll write down the address,” she told him, grabbing a pen.

“Where do I go in the meantime? Am I to sleep in the streets?”

“Here,” Eleanor said, pushing her sister aside. “You can take this.” Eleanor let an envelope flutter to the lawn.

Will opened it. There was cash inside.

“Nell!” Brendan said. “Isn’t that your birthday money?”

“It is,” Eleanor said, “but I won’t be needing it anymore.”

“Why?” Brendan asked.

Downstairs, Will watched a red Corvette’s headlights slide by on Sea Cliff Avenue. “Look at that! Automobiles have certainly changed!”

“Here’s my school’s address,” Cordelia said, letting a piece of paper flutter down to Will. “Now walk that way to California Street, get the number-one bus to downtown, and ask for a Days Inn. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Will nodded, tipped his hat (although he didn’t have one), and left. Cordelia expected him to look back, but Will had learned long ago from Frank Quigley that when you part ways with a girl, especially a pretty one like Cordelia, you keep your eyes straight ahead.