by Maya Grace
No one answered.
Then Ella’s gaze shifted to the shelves in the corner, where Jack liked to proudly display his potions.
The shelf was nearly empty. The potions were gone.
And now Ella knew for certain.
Jack was gone too.
CHAPTER 3
Ella paused to catch her breath at the top of the basement stairs. She glanced wildly from side to side, wondering which way to turn. Left, to go to Gran’s room? Or right, to race up another three sets of stairs to Rowan’s bedroom in the high turret?
She turned right.
But as she wound her way up the stairs, her legs felt so heavy, as if she were trying to run in a dream—or nightmare. As if she had run through a patch of soul sand in the Nether, or been hit by one of Jack’s splash potions of slowness.
Finally, she reached the top. “Rowan!” she called, before she’d even reached the bedroom door.
Taiga squeezed through the door to get ahead of her, as usual. When the wolf-dog jumped onto Rowan’s bed, Rowan groaned.
“Taiga, no,” she whined, pulling her pillow over her face.
Ella pulled it right back off. “Rowan, wake up. Wake up!”
“What?” She pushed a mass of red hair off her face and squinted into the moonlight.
“Jack’s gone.”
That did it. Rowan snapped to attention. “What do you mean gone?”
“He didn’t go to bed last night. He’s not in the basement. And all of his potions are gone off the shelf.”
Rowan jumped up and ran to the window, as if she might find him sitting beside the pond, calmly fishing.
“Where would he go?” she asked.
Ella shrugged. The only time Jack had left the mansion was when she and Rowan had set off for the Taiga to find her wolf. He had followed them, using his potion of invisibility.
But where would he go on his own—in the middle of the night? And why?
“Should we wake Gran?” she asked, biting her lip.
Rowan hesitated. She glanced out the window again, and then turned back. “Yes,” she said. “We should definitely wake Gran. She’ll know what to do.”
* * *
Gran made them search the entire house for Jack. But it wasn’t until they met back in the kitchen, where the jukebox played an eerie tune, that they found the note.
Ella saw it first: a rolled-up piece of paper stuck inside an empty potion bottle.
As she slid it out, she immediately recognized Jack’s messy handwriting—and felt a pang in her heart. She read the note out loud, trying to hold her voice steady:
Dear Gran,
I’ve gone to the jungle. My mother said I should—she wrote it in her journal. An ocelot might be hurt, and I have to find the temple. My mom said I had to go before it was too late.
Don’t worry about me. I have my potions.
Jack
“Ocelot?” said Rowan.
“Temple?” asked Ella, hearing her voice rise.
Gran’s face drained of color. “I should never have given him the journals!” she cried. “I didn’t know his mother had left him a message inside.”
Ella fought back guilty thoughts of her own. I accused him of fishing too much—of not helping us, she remembered. But all the while, he had been planning his own journey.
How did I not know? she wondered, fighting tears. How did I miss the clues?
Rowan abruptly turned off the jukebox, bringing Ella and Gran to attention. “So let’s go after him,” she said in her take-charge kind of way. “We need to bring him home, right?”
“Yes.” Gran’s eyes flashed, and she sprang into action. “Rowan, gather our weapons. Ella, search for any potions Jack might have left in the basement—we’ll need them. I’ll pack some food.”
They divided, each running in a different direction. Taiga followed Ella back downstairs. But what would be left in Jack’s brewing room? Anything?
She quickly scanned the shelves, searching for a potion of healing, harming, swiftness, slowness—any one of them would do. She and Rowan had learned during their trip to the Taiga that Jack’s potions could really come in handy.
But there was nothing left. Not a single bottle.
Jack’s backpack was gone from its hook, and his fishing rod too. His tackle box was open, with only a few lures left scattered inside. And Ella noticed the dusty outline of a pickaxe on the wall. Jack had brought a weapon—but it was such a tiny one!
She turned back to the brewing stand, where one of Jack’s potion-brewing books lay open. She stepped closer, squinting to make out the text at the top of the page.
Potion of water breathing.
Ella’s stomach sunk. Water breathing? But Jack didn’t even know how to swim!
The Jack that Ella knew might run into the water without thinking. He would pretend to be brave, even if he wasn’t. He would use up his potions way too quickly.
Ella slammed the book shut and tore back up the stairs. If Jack was heading toward the jungle, they had to find him—fast. Before he got in over his head …
* * *
Ella stood just outside the front door, waiting.
The last time she had left the house in the middle of the night, it had been to follow the howling of her wolf. She and Rowan had run north: across the plains, through a dense forest, all the way to the extreme hills and to the cold Taiga beyond.
But tonight? They’d be going south. Through the swamp. Toward the jungle. To a part of the Overworld she had never seen before.
And Ella was scared.
If she inched her way left on the front porch, she could catch some of the light from the beacon that lit up the courtyard. That yellow light felt safe and warm. Nothing bad could spawn in the light.
But in her heavy armor, stepping left felt difficult. When her backpack scraped against the stone, the iron golem just outside the front gate spun his head. His eyes were dark and watchful beneath his heavy brow.
“It’s only me, Golem,” said Ella. “It’s okay.”
But nothing was really okay. Because it wasn’t the middle of the night. It was nearly morning, and yet the sun showed no signs of coming up.
Rowan pushed her way out the door behind Ella, loaded down with her own heavy armor and weapons. Taiga followed, as if to say, Don’t leave me behind! He wagged his silver tail and ran to lick Ella’s hand—the only part of her not covered in armor.
When Gran stepped outside, Ella did a double-take. She’d never seen Gran in armor before, and yet her grandmother seemed to move easily in her helmet, chestplate, and leggings.
Gran has fought before, Ella remembered. She knows what she’s doing.
That thought gave Ella some comfort. That, and having Taiga by her side. Because her wolf was a warrior too.
Gran lit her torch. Then she waved the girls toward the front gate.
Time to go, thought Ella. Time to leave the light-filled grounds and safety of the mansion behind. Time to head into the darkness.
She swallowed hard. “C’mon, Taiga. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 4
Taiga didn’t follow. He preferred to lead the way. He’d run ahead a few feet, sniffing Jack’s trail, and then turn around and bark, begging Ella to follow.
“Try to keep him quiet,” said Gran. “We don’t want him calling attention to us. There are mobs all around, even if we can’t see or hear them yet.”
Ella called Taiga to her side and then squinted, trying to see across the dark hillside. As she listened for the hiss of a creeper or the moan of a zombie, fear pricked at the back of her neck.
Lights shone from the village at the base of the hill, beckoning them onward. Ella could almost make out the well, and the gravel roads extending like spokes from a wheel toward the corners of the village.
But Taiga wasn’t leading them toward town.
“Shouldn’t we stop for supplies?” asked Rowan, pointing toward the village.
“No.” Gran’s response was so sharp,
Ella jumped. Beside her, Taiga whined.
“Why not?” asked Rowan. She stopped walking.
When Gran didn’t answer, Rowan spoke louder. “Is it because some of the villagers think you’re a witch?”
Ella froze. It was the kind of clumsy question Jack would have asked, except Jack wasn’t here to ask it. What was Rowan thinking?
“No,” said Gran, her voice strained. “We’re not stopping, because we have everything we need. We have food. We have weapons. We have each other. And we have to hurry if we’re going to catch up with Jack. So keep moving please, Rowan.”
Gran had shut down the conversation, just like that. But Ella knew that what Rowan had said was true—Gran had told the girls herself not long ago. Some of the villagers did think Gran was a witch, because she could talk to animals.
Just like me, Ella realized. I talk to my wolf. If the villagers find out, will they think I’m a witch too?
When Taiga veered right, giving the village a wide berth, Ella followed.
* * *
As the ground softened beneath Ella’s feet, she hurried to catch up with the others. “Is this the swamp?” she whispered to Gran.
“It is,” said Gran. “And Taiga is telling us that Jack passed through here.”
Taiga was sniffing the ground furiously, darting left and right along the perimeter of the water. Oh, no, thought Ella as she studied the swamp. Please tell me Jack didn’t try out his potion of water breathing here!
She stepped forward, scanning the murky gray water. Lily pads dotted the surface, and a patch of sugar cane sprouted along one end. But there was no sign of Jack.
As a gentle rain began to fall, Ella’s breathing slowed. She looked skyward. Would the sun come up soon? No. A full moon shone bright from behind the drifting clouds.
“Will the moon keep mobs from spawning?” she asked Gran.
Gran shook her head. “Slimes spawn in moonlight,” she said. “Listen for the sound—you’ll know it when you hear it.”
Ella froze, listening. She tightened her grip on her sword.
Then Rowan stopped walking so quickly, Ella bumped right into her. “What?” she asked, craning her neck to see around her cousin.
Rowan pointed toward the swamp. “Witch hut,” she whispered.
Ella could barely see the outline of the hut. It was built on stilts, like a tree house, and very small—a single room maybe. The window of the hut was dark as night. But Ella couldn’t help wondering … was a witch inside, staring out? Was she waiting for them to get closer so she could attack them with a deadly splash potion?
Two orange eyes peered at Ella from the deck of the hut. They blinked slowly. Ella caught the swish of a cat tail, and then it was gone.
That’s when she heard it. Squish, slop, squish, slop, squish, slop … Where was it coming from?
“Slime!” cried Rowan. “There!” She whirled around and pointed toward the tree line, just as a giant slime burst out, hopping across the swamp.
Squish, slop, squish, slop, squish … smack!
Before Ella could even draw her sword, Gran’s arrow hit the slime dead center.
But instead of falling, the slime broke into pieces. Smaller slimes bounced forward now. Three, maybe four of them.
As Ella raised her sword, preparing for battle, Taiga raced ahead of her, growling. He snapped at a slime, squishing it in his jaws until green goo oozed down his muzzle.
Rowan sprinted forward too. She hit a slime with her trident—twice, before Ella was close enough to make her first strike.
I’m too slow! she realized. But she did carry an enchanted sword. As she swung the sword, the slime burst into flames. Hot, steamy slime ran in rivers across the ground.
As Ella spun in a circle, more mini slimes attacked from all directions. Green globs stuck to her leggings and her boots. She flicked them off with her fingers, while Taiga nipped at them with his teeth.
When the last slime was finally gone, Ella sank to her knees. “Rowan? Gran?” she called into the darkness.
“Here!” Rowan was circling the site of the battle, her bow still drawn. She kicked at a slimeball, dropped by the mob she’d just killed.
Slimeballs littered the ground—two here, three there. “Should we collect them?” asked Ella. “To make magma cream for Jack’s potions?”
Rowan shook her head. “We don’t have a crafting table,” she said. “Or a brewing stand. They’ll just weigh us down.”
Ella sighed. What a waste. Jack would have been thrilled to see so many potion ingredients in one place. She picked up one slimeball—just one—and slid it into her backpack for Jack.
Then she saw Gran squatting at the edge of the water.
“Are you hurt?” Ella cried, racing to her grandmother’s side.
“No, dear,” said Gran. “I’ve just made a discovery.”
There, by the water’s edge, was a pile of broken glass. Ella could see the neck of a bottle, cracked in half, and a cork lying on its side a few feet away.
“I think your cousin had a battle of his own,” Gran said, lifting the cork tenderly from the ground. She spun it in her fingertips to show Ella. The cork was inscribed with the letter “J.”
Oh, no. Jack!
“Did he fight a slime?” asked Ella, her voice tight. But even as she said the words, she knew it hadn’t been a slime. The ground here was clear and dry. There were no slime balls. No green smears of slime. No traces at all.
Gran didn’t answer, but Ella could practically read her mind.
Jack didn’t fight a slime. Jack fought a witch.
She sucked in her breath and glanced back at the witch hut. It was still dark. But something flitted across the window.
Her eyes darted back to the glass on the ground. “Do you think Jack won?” she whispered.
Gran sighed. “I don’t know. Witches are very difficult to beat.”
So is Jack! Ella wanted to say. She’d seen him with his splash potions in the Taiga. She wanted to believe, desperately, that he was okay. So she searched the ground for proof. For Jack’s footsteps, walking away. For a spider eye or sprinkle of gunpowder—something a defeated witch might drop. For anything.
That’s when Ella heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.
CHAPTER 5
The witch stood on the deck of her hut, her arm coiled backward. She was already launching another splash potion from within the folds of her dark robe.
Ella ducked as the bottle smacked against the ground and shattered, potion bubbles rising into the air.
“Take cover!” cried Gran, pulling Ella up by her shirt sleeve. As they raced toward the trees, Ella’s boots sank into the wet earth, threatening to pull her down.
When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Rowan, poised on the beach with her bow drawn. And her first arrow found its mark.
The witch toppled backward. But even as she fell, she was guzzling a potion of healing. And then she was on her feet again—ready to throw another splash potion.
Ella watched in horror as the bottle soared, top over bottom, across the swamp. It struck Rowan’s shoulder and broke, just as she dove for the ground.
“Rowan!”
By the time Ella reached her cousin, Rowan was struggling to sit. “Watch … out,” she said, raising her arm ever so slowly toward the witch hut.
But when Ella turned to look, the witch was already disappearing into the hut. She cackled, her laughter echoing in the night air, and then the door slammed shut.
Rowan tried to stand, but it was as if she were encased in soul sand. “Potion … of … slow … ness,” she said wearily.
Then Gran was beside them. “Help me get her into the woods,” she said. She took Rowan by one arm, and Ella took the other. Together, they staggered toward the trees.
When they were tucked safely behind a tree, its bark dotted with mushrooms, Gran rummaged through her backpack. “I wish we had potions!” she said. “We desperately need Jack’s potion of healing.”
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Rowan tried to shake her head, but she could only turn it side to side. “I’m … oh … kay,” she said.
Only she wasn’t.
Gran made Rowan drink a bottle of milk, slowly so that she wouldn’t choke. And finally, the color began returning to her cheeks.
“We need to go,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “We’re running out of time!”
“Let Taiga pick up Jack’s scent again,” Gran instructed Ella.
So Ella walked with her wolf-dog, backtracking along the water’s edge. All the while, she kept her eyes trained on the witch hut. And Taiga kept his nose to the ground.
When his tail wagged, she could tell that he’d found Jack’s trail. He followed it forward, past a few slimeballs and past broken glass. But then … the trail ran out.
It stopped cold, right by the water’s edge.
“Where did he go, Taiga?” cried Ella. “Show me boy!”
Taiga only whined and sat down on his rump.
As Ella stared into the swamp water, her stomach sank. “He went in,” she told Gran, who had come up beside her. “He went in to try his potion of water breathing!”
Gran’s face looked pinched and drawn in the moonlight. “Dear Golem, I hope not,” she whispered.
Her tone sent a trickle of fear running down Ella’s spine. She whirled to face her grandmother. “Why not?” she said. “What’s in there?”
“The Drowned!” It was Rowan who hollered the words. She was pacing along the shore, searching the dark waters herself.
Ella instantly pictured the Drowned—the zombies who lived at the bottom of the swamp. If Jack had swam anywhere near them, they might have reached up and grabbed him. They might have taken him to the bottom of the swamp too.
Before Ella even knew she had made the decision, she was stepping into the icy water.
“Ella, no!”
Gran grabbed for her hand to stop her, but Ella waved it away.
“My helmet is enchanted,” she said, pulling it tightly over her head. “Enchanted with Respiration. I can breathe underwater, Gran. I can find Jack. I will find him!”
But as she dipped her face into the murky yellow water, she wondered, Will I even be able to see him? Or will I run into a Drowned first?