House of Secrets. Ned Vizzini
angel thing rose to the ceiling, the whole house got really tall, and everything went black.”
“That’s what we saw! You did black out!”
“No, I was awake. It was the world that went black. She made it happen. I told you I saw her when we first looked at the house, and you didn’t believe me, remember? And now look what happened!”
“How do you know it was her?” Cordelia asked. “It could’ve—”
But Brendan interrupted his sister: “I saw her too. The Wind Witch.”
“What? When?”
“When I freaked and said it was ’cause I lost my PSP? I saw her. She grabbed my hand and… she asked me my name.”
“Bren!” Cordelia shoved her brother. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“How was I supposed to tell you? Would you have believed me? No, you would’ve told me I was trying to get attention.”
“No, I wouldn’t! I listen to you – when you actually have important things to say. Which is very rarely—”
“You’re the one who got us into this situation, Cordelia. You stole from the library—”
“I borrowed—”
“She specifically said, ‘You stole from my library!’ Do you remember that, or were you already blacked out?”
“Stop fighting!” Eleanor yelled. “Where are Mum and Dad?”
Brendan and Cordelia had to catch their breath. “We don’t know,” Brendan admitted.
Cordelia struggled to keep her face composed so she wouldn’t scare Nell. “They’re gone.”
“Then let’s find them,” said Eleanor.
They started looking by the wall where they had last seen their parents. There was a streak of blood on the paint, but otherwise no sign. Eleanor started to cry when she saw the blood. Cordelia put an arm around her. The siblings made their way into the great hall. It was as unrecognisable as the living room, with the coat-rack sticking out of a wall and the pottery reduced to jagged jigsaw chunks.
“Arsdottle’s fine,” said Brendan, looking at the philosopher bust.
“Because the Wind Witch liked him when she was a girl,” Cordelia said. “She spared him.”
They spent a quiet moment staring at the implacable bust – and then entered the library. Cordelia cringed. It was bare now, with the shelves gone, the ladders smashed and the long table split in two. The books had mostly sailed into the living room, but some were still there, strewn around with their covers open. Cordelia picked one up.
“Guys, it’s The Fighting Ace! This is the book I was reading when the Wind Witch attacked. Isn’t that crazy?”
Brendan wondered briefly if it was one of the three books that had expanded in front of him, but they had bigger problems now. “Who cares?”
“I do,” insisted Cordelia. Brendan snorted and led Eleanor towards the kitchen. Cordelia carefully found her place in the novel and salvaged a sliver of wood for a bookmark. No matter how bad things got at Kristoff House, with The Fighting Ace she could escape.
The kitchen showcased more destruction: the fridge was dented and leaking; a burner grate from the stove had smashed through a cabinet and destroyed the dinnerware; a family-size box of Cheerios had spilled its guts into the sink. The kids ran upstairs, frantically calling for their parents, but there was no sign.
The second floor was also in ruins, with two exceptions. The pictures in the hallway were in perfect condition. That made sense, because they were of Dahlia’s family; she wouldn’t hurt them. But Cordelia discovered something in the master bedroom too: the white-and-bronze RW trunk.
“Bren? Nell? Look. Everything is demolished, but this trunk is fine.”
“Maybe the Wind Witch protected it,” said Brendan. “Maybe there’s something inside she wanted to keep.”
“Or,” said Cordelia, “it’s magical. Guarded by a ward.”
“A what?”
“You know, like a magic symbol that protects something.”
Cordelia paused. “What about ‘RW’? Who do you think he is?”
“Maybe it’s a she,” Eleanor said.
“Rutherford Walker,” said Brendan, recalling the name. “Dr Rutherford Walker, to be exact.”
“Who?”
“Our great-great-grandfather. Dad told me his name once.”
Cordelia was impressed. “You remembered from hearing that once? How come you don’t have better grades?”
“Because at school there’s nothing worth remembering.”
“Well, this trunk could be a clue,” said Cordelia. “Remember what the Wind Witch said: ‘For the evil done him by the Walkers—’”
“‘For all the evil done upon him by the Walkers—’”
“Bren, she was talking about revenge. And him was her father, Denver Kristoff. It must be revenge for something that happened decades ago. Maybe Kristoff started a blood feud against us.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know; why does anybody start blood feuds?”
“Maybe that old bag was crazy. She said a lot of stuff back there. ‘The craven consultation with Dr Hayes’? Who’s he? What’s that even mean?”
“I don’t know… but our family used to live in San Francisco.”
“And you think some relative of ours just happened to know the guy who built this house?”
“Not just some relative. Dr Rutherford Walker, our great-great-grandfather, who owned this trunk. What did Dad tell you about him?”
Brendan sighed. “He was the one who settled here. He jumped off a boat when it anchored in the bay, because San Francisco was so beautiful. And he stayed.”
“Maybe Dahlia Kristoff fell in love with him.”
“Like he’d date a bald chick.”
“She wasn’t bald then, obviously—”
“Guys!” Eleanor yelled. “We’re supposed to be looking for Mum and Dad!”
“We are, Nell— just help me get this trunk open—”
“No! We have to find them now!” Eleanor’s mouth trembled. “Aren’t you worried that they’re dead? Didn’t you see that table hit Mum and that chair hit Dad? And there’s blood on the wall downstairs? I don’t want to be an orphan! I want Mum! I want Mum!” Her face collapsed into angry angles. She doubled over, crying, pressing her fists into her eyes.
“Nell, it’s all right,” Brendan said, wrapping her up. “Close your eyes, OK?”
“They’re already closed!”
“OK, so keep them closed. And… ah… think about a happy time.”
“Like before our parents were gone?”
“Ah, yes… Deal, a little help?”
“Think about the future,” Cordelia said, gently pulling Eleanor’s fists away from her face. “When we find Mum and Dad.”
Eleanor held back her next set of tears. “Are your guys’ eyes closed too?”
Cordelia looked to Brendan. He shut his eyes. She shut hers. They all pictured the same thing: their smiling parents, alive and well, occasionally bickering, often annoying, but full of love.