“Well, no more, Randall. From now on I’m doing what I should have done from the beginning. Since I actually care about you, you are grounded. You are banned from entering that forest again until you’re eighteen years old.”
“But I’m only eleven now—” Randy started.
“Exactly,” the old lady said emphatically, before turning to No-Bone. “As for you, I’m sure you don’t have any parents of your own, do you?”
Still dumbfounded, No-Bone shook his head.
“Well, that seems to be typical for Spitbubble,” the old lady said. “But believe me, I have ways to make your life just as sorry as Randall’s is going to be.”
No-Bone didn’t respond, but he certainly looked like he wouldn’t want to experiment with her claim.
“Now you’re going to tell me where the rest of your miserable lot is,” she continued.
No-Bone remained silent.
The old lady positioned the trophy to send it flying at his other arm.
“Okay, okay,” he finally said, looking as sore as his elbow. “They decided to teach that Mold-and-rot a lesson. They’re at her house.”
“Doing what?” the old lady asked.
“Well, apparently Brains knew that Mold-and-rot’s mother—”
“Her name isn’t Mold-and-rot,” the old lady snapped.
No-Bone looked confused, and Goldenrod realized he must have never known her real name. “Oh…,” he said.
“It’s Goldenrod,” Randy squeaked.
“So what did Jonas know about Goldenrod’s mother?” the old lady continued.
“Well, he says that she has a really nice garden that she loves, so he was going to—”
“No!” Goldenrod watched with surprise as her little brother went flying down the ladder.
No-Bone and Toe Jam both looked shocked to see him. “You’re here?” No-Bone asked stupidly.
Goldenrod supposed that Birch had had it. Between getting kidnapped, and being called names, and hiding in strange, musty attics with curiously strong old ladies, it seemed his tolerance for fear had broken through the threshold. Now, he looked simply angry.
“You, you…,” he sputtered as he stamped toward the bigger boys. “You!” he finally screamed as he punched No-Bone in his hurt arm.
“Ow!” No-Bone looked furious. “I’m gonna …”
“You will do nothing,” the old lady boomed, “or I will call the cops.”
By this point, Goldenrod had climbed down the ladder and was standing beside Birch.
“Let’s go stop him, Birch,” she said.
Birch turned to her, and Goldenrod saw a look of determination and confidence she had never, ever seen on his face before. Her heart surged with pride.
“Okay,” he said and immediately started for the door.
“Thanks,” Goldenrod told the old lady before jogging after him. “Wait,” she stopped just as she had gotten to the front door. “What’s your name?” She turned to the old lady.
“Cassandra Rubina Lewis.” The old lady stood up a little straighter as she said it. “Pleased to meet you, and you’d better hurry.”
25
SOMETHING EVIL
Goldenrod and Birch were running faster than they ever had in their lives. Each was conjuring up a different horrific vision of what they might find when they finally got back to their house.
Birch was imagining a front lawn that resembled the color of severely rusted iron. The sun would blaze on the penny-colored grass, sharply outlining the wilted brown petals of all his mother’s flowers. A tumbleweed would roll by as a whistling tune played.
Okay, so that’s probably not exactly how it would go, but Birch was imagining the worst.
As they got nearer and nearer to their house, Birch could feel the pit of his stomach stretch farther and farther down toward his feet. He was almost dreading this moment more than anything else that had happened to him all day.
Finally, they turned the corner onto their street and could see their green roof at the end of the block. Little by little, as they passed each neighboring home, more of their house came into view. First the white sidings. Then the windows. The front door. And, finally, they caught a glimpse of their lawn.
It was green. As green as their roof. As green as it had ever been.
Birch could hardly believe it. Maybe they weren’t too late after all … he could see the purples of some of the dahlias, the tall goldenrods, the chrysanthemums, and all the rest. And there, happily spraying them, was his mother, in her orange gardening gloves and clogs. She was humming to herself.
Goldenrod ran to her. But, as overjoyed as Birch was to see no damage done, he also quickly remembered that he was probably in trouble. He couldn’t see how it would be possible, but he hung back behind Goldenrod, hoping that she might create some distraction that would make their mother forget he was supposed to be sick in bed. At least she was wearing some crazy face paint. That might help.
“Mom!” Goldenrod yelled breathlessly.
Their mother looked up. “Hello, darling,” she said cheerfully. “What’s that on your face?”
“Oh. Right. I was just practicing my camouflage techniques.”
Mrs. Moram looked like she was thinking this through for a moment before shrugging it off with a smile. “Oh.”
It figures that it’d take more than face paint to bother her, Birch thought with a sigh.
“So … is everything all right?” Goldenrod asked.
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Moram squinted as she looked up at her daughter in the late-afternoon sun.
“I mean, has anything been destroyed … or, er, anyone strange visited here?” Goldenrod seemed to be faltering.
Their mother was staring at her and looking slightly confused. “No, of course not, dear. Are you okay?”
Goldenrod nodded.
“Are you sure?” their mother continued. “You look a little flushed. I hope you’re not coming down with whatever it is that Birch has.”
The moment she said his name, she noticed her son standing back at the edge of the lawn. “What are you doing out of bed?” she asked.
Birch gulped, thinking that it was finally time to come clean.
“Are you feeling better, dear?” Mrs. Moram followed brightly. She got up and walked over to him, took one hand out of a bright orange glove, and went to feel Birch’s forehead. “Hmmm … you’re a little warm.”
“I’m better,” Birch said meekly.
“Hmmm … well, yes. You are looking a little less pale.”
“I’ll, um, take him inside, Mom,” Goldenrod said.
“Okay, dear. I’m almost finished out here. I’ll be inside in a minute.”
Goldenrod gently took Birch by the shoulder and led him through the front door.
As soon as they had gotten inside, she started frantically running around the house, looking under the tables, in all the drawers, and in every nook and cranny she came across.
“What are you doing?” Birch asked.
“We were gone so long,” Goldenrod said. “Brains must have already been here. Don’t you think?”
“But what are you looking for?”
“I have no idea. Knowing him, something pretty evil.”
With a sharp nod, Birch also started to search the house, hoping that he’d be able to spot evil items fast enough to prevent them from causing damage.
They had made their way through the front hallway and living room, not leaving a single coaster or souvenir plate unturned. They were about to start on the kitchen when they heard their mother calling Goldenrod’s name.
Goldenrod went to the front door to answer.
“Could you grab me another bottle of insecticide?” their mother’s voice came drifting into the house. “There’s one in the box on the kitchen counter.”
“Sure,” Goldenrod said and walked over to a small cardboard box that was, in fact, on the kitchen counter. She took a small, white spray bottle from it. But instead of walking the bot
tle out to her mother, she seemed to completely freeze.
After she hadn’t moved for a few moments, Birch started toward her. “What’s the matter?” he asked, noting Goldenrod’s wide-eyed look of horror as she stared down into the box.
Slowly, she turned the white spray bottle around. There was a label on it with bright red writing. BRAINS’S ALL-ORGANIC GARDEN INSECTICIDE, it said. THE ENVIRONMENT-FRIENDLY SOLUTION TO ALL YOUR PESKIEST PROBLEMS. In tiny writing in the corner were the words: A TRADEMARK OF SPITBUBBLE, INC. There was a picture of a hand giving the thumbs-up right next to a plump red rose.
They stared at each other in horror for only a moment, before both bolting straight for the front door.
There, they saw their mother liberally spraying her garden with the other white bottle.
“Mom …” Goldenrod ran up to her breathlessly. “Where did you get this?” She showed her mother the bottle that was in her hand.
“Oh, it was a free gift from the Seed of the Month Club. It’s supposed to be amazing. Look at all these testimonials on the back. From Home & Garden and everything.” She went to grab the bottle out of Goldenrod’s hand, but Goldenrod wouldn’t let go.
“How much of it did you use?” Goldenrod asked.
“The first sampler bottle. I used it on the entire lawn. It’s supposed to be good for grass too.” Mrs. Moram tugged on the bottle.
Birch looked hopelessly around the lawn. Now that he knew, he could see how all of it seemed to glisten in a rather peculiar way.
“Goldenrod, dear, you have quite the firm grip.” Mrs. Moram kept tugging.
“Um, don’t use the rest, Mom,” Birch said.
“Why not?” Mrs. Moram looked confused.
“Because … because, the directions say not to use more than one bottle per week,” Birch blurted out.
“They do?” Mrs. Moram frowned, holding up her empty bottle to read the label.
“Yup,” Goldenrod said brightly. “Let me throw that out for you.” She grabbed the other bottle out of her mother’s hand and walked back into the house, Birch right behind her. They both looked at each other with eerily identical narrowed eyes.
26
PLOTTING OVER CHOCOLATE MILK
When Goldenrod walked into the living room the next morning, a little earlier even than she usually set out, her dad had just left for work and her mom was tending to the small herb garden they had on their kitchen sill.
“Hi, Mom,” Goldenrod said.
“Morning. Would you like some breakfast?” She went to open the cereal cupboard.
“No, I don’t think so,” Goldenrod said. “I packed something. I just wanted to ask if it would be okay if I took Birch with me today?”
“Oh. Is he feeling well enough, you think?”
“Yeah, I feel fine,” Birch said as he entered the kitchen. “I really would like to go outside with Goldenrod. I feel like I was cooped up all day yesterday …” Which, if Birch had to justify it, was definitely sort of the truth.
“Okay. I suppose some fresh air might be good. But walk him right back home if he starts feeling sick, Goldenrod, okay?”
Goldenrod nodded and she and Birch left the house. They both looked carefully at their front lawn as they walked past it. It still seemed as perfect as ever, though Goldenrod thought she saw a slight wilt to some of the stems and stalks.
The night before, Goldenrod had gone into Birch’s room and they had had a little chat about everything that had happened. And beyond being scared, beyond being upset, they had realized that they were both very angry. It wasn’t fair that these bullies could just get away with everything.
There was one—okay, never mind—there were many problems. But the most glaring one was that they were just two kids against a massively sinister gang. They didn’t want to hurt anyone, and they didn’t really want to get in trouble. But they weren’t very happy sitting back and doing nothing either.
Privately, Goldenrod had another issue eating away at her. She had to figure out a way to get the blue rose back from under Snotshot’s indelicate claws.
After a lot of consideration, Goldenrod had suggested they ask for help from the old lady. It was true that Goldenrod still didn’t quite know what to think of her involvement in everything and whether she could fully be trusted. Undoubtedly, however, Cassandra Lewis was the one adult who would at least understand the significance of the blue rose. Besides which, Goldenrod realized, she had never even had the chance to tell her that she’d actually found it.
So the cottage was where they were heading now, walking quickly because it was the first of many things on their to-do list for the day. When they got there, they decided to knock on the door this time.
The old lady opened it and immediately let them inside.
“Come in, come in. Straight to the back. Randall is here.” She led them through the dusty kitchen and into a back room that had glass walls on three sides of it with massive rosebushes clinging to each one. At the center of the wooden floor was a green metallic table and matching chairs—more lawn furniture, Goldenrod noted. It was almost like being in a greenhouse. Toe Jam sat on one of the chairs. His face had been scrubbed clean, and he had a china cup of chalky chocolate milk in front of him.
Cassandra followed them in with two more flowered china cups. She poured each of them some chocolate milk.
“Randall, did you say hello?” she asked sternly.
“Hi,” Randy sulked.
“Well … what happened?” She turned to Goldenrod and Birch.
“They destroyed our mom’s garden—or, at least, it will be destroyed once the poisoned insecticide sets in,” Goldenrod said.
The old lady gave a loud sigh. “That Stanley Barbroff is a no-good, dirty—”
“Barbroff?” Goldenrod interjected. “Like, Ms. Barbroff? My fifth-grade teacher?”
“The very one. Stanley is her son,” Cassandra said.
“Um, who’s Stanley?” Birch asked.
“Stanley Barbroff, aka Spitbubble,” Cassandra said.
Goldenrod gave a sharp intake of breath. “Spitbubble is Ms. Barf’s son?”
Cassandra nodded.
“And—and all those times she warned me about—about turning into a hoodlum …” Goldenrod was indignant.
“Yes, well, as so often happens with parents, dear, sometimes they can’t see their own children for the forest.”
“But, she was such a … such a …” Goldenrod was fuming.
The old lady patted her on the hand. “Believe me, I can imagine what she must be like to have parented that conniving criminal.”
Randall sniffed loudly at the comment and looked a little miffed.
“What exactly is he doing in the forest anyway?” Goldenrod asked. “I mean, I know they’re planning on breaking into the museum or something …”
“You’ve hit the nail pretty much on the head. Spitbubble and his Gross-Out Gang, as they like to call themselves. Breaking into places, stealing family heirlooms”—she gave a sharp glance at Randy who stared down at his chocolate milk—“and basically creating petty sorts of havoc. Spitbubble himself doesn’t do much of it, of course. Like any good leader, he delegates. And like any good dictator, he doesn’t exactly have the most savory methods of getting recruits.”
“What do you mean?” Goldenrod asked.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why those kids could spend all their time in that cavern without anyone noticing?”
The truth was, Goldenrod hadn’t. Between not knowing the old lady’s name the day before and this, she was once again feeling a little ashamed at her own lack of curiosity.
“It’s because most of them don’t really have anyone to notice. They’re either orphans or maybe just have parents who should pay more attention …” At this she stared again at Randy, but this time with a soft gleam in her eye. “But that’s what Spitbubble feeds on. He knows these kids have no family, so he gives them one. Of sorts. Only, of course, there’s a due for getting in.”
Goldenrod was stunned. She had never, ever thought she would feel sorry for Brains and Lint and all the rest of them. But suddenly, there was a tiny little tugging near her rib cage. “You knew about this?” she finally breathed to the old lady.
Cassandra sighed. “Not all of it. I knew that there were some kids who hung out in there a lot. And I knew that my grandson had started joining them. But I didn’t know everything until Randall just told me. The truth is, we come from a long line of explorers, of great men and women who discovered and learned because they were allowed to find their own way out of things. But I let it get too far with Randall.”
“So you are related to Meriwether Lewis!” Goldenrod exclaimed.
“Yes,” Cassandra said. “He would have been my great-great-great-great-great-great-uncle. Our family’s crest is—”
“The woodpecker that he discovered and that was named after him,” Goldenrod said breathlessly. “I know.”
Cassandra looked at Goldenrod with a surprised smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Yes, that’s exactly right,” she said.
“You know,” Goldenrod started, “I was wondering, Mrs. Lewis, if maybe you have any more of those muffins?” She gave the old lady what she hoped was a knowing look.
“Oh, yes, certainly. Would you like to help me get them?” Cassandra stood up at once.
Goldenrod nodded and eagerly followed her to her kitchen. Cassandra made sure to close the door behind them.
“Goldenrod,” she said excitedly. “Did you find—”
“The rose?” Goldenrod asked. “I found it … but I don’t have it. Yet.”
Goldenrod explained to her what had happened with Snotshot in the woods. “It was my only bargaining chip,” she pleaded when she was done.
Unlike Meriwether, the old lady seemed to have no problem accepting this. “Of course it was. Very few things in the world could be more important than your brother.”
The Mapmaker and the Ghost Page 11