“Kragga! Pink!” cried the coven sisters, ecstatic with joy.
The latter, with her brittle pink hair, spun around and snarled at Beatrice. “YOU! You’ll pay for this! Do you have any idea what it’s like being trapped in one of those cursed bottles?!”
Beatrice said nothing.
The Queen removed her mask and approached Beatrice.
“We’ll have our revenge soon enough,” the queen said. “First, we need to gather a bit of information.” She turned to Beatrice, placing a hand beneath the perfumier’s chin. “Be a dear and tell us where the rest of your bottles are. If you cooperate, we won’t have to hurt you. Not as badly, anyway.”
Beatrice said nothing.
The queen grew angry. “Why don’t you speak? Say something!”
Still Beatrice didn’t speak—she couldn’t, of course. She simply stared back at the queen through hard mahogany eyes.
“The hotel!” Calvina exclaimed, whirling to face her coven. “The bottles must be in the hotel! What have you done with it?”
The witches exchanged uneasy glances. “We thought the perfumier would be enough to make you happy,” Kragga said.
“My notice was crystal clear!” the queen cried. “I wanted Beatrice the Bold and the hotel!”
“So we don’t get our heart’s desire?” Kragga asked bitterly.
“No, you do not!”
Pink assured her. “The hotel is on its way here as we speak. Some mimic pretending to be an ugly toad-boy has taken control of it. No one seemed to realize he was a shape-shifter, but I saw right through his disguise!”
For the first time, Beatrice’s eyes betrayed a flicker of worry—which did not escape Calvina’s notice. “Does that concern you? Good. Because when the hotel arrives, I’ll allow you to watch as I destroy everyone inside. That is, unless you tell me where your bottles are hidden!”
Beatrice cast her eyes downward and said nothing.
“Well, then, let’s go, girls,” Queen Calvina ordered, leading her coven out of the cell. “Our prisoner will talk sooner or later if she knows what’s good for her. Otherwise, she’ll see what happens to those who refuse to cooperate. Now, where is my hand mirror?”
A DASTARDLY THREAT
s a very young boy, Warren used to accompany his father onto the roof of the hotel to repair broken tiles, unclog the chimney, or sometimes simply share a picnic lunch and enjoy the view. Warren loved feeling taller than everything around him. He loved pretending he was a pirate in the crow’s nest of a ship. Most of all, he loved feeling as if he could see the whole world all at once.
Warren’s hiding place in the oak tree wasn’t nearly as high as the roof of the Warren Hotel, but it still offered a good view of the surrounding Malwoods. He stood on one of the uppermost branches, squinting into the gloomy sun. The tips of the many pine trees created a spiny blanket over the earth. To the distant east, Warren saw a silvery band, which he recognized as the ocean. He searched the horizon for the hotel, finally spotting it many miles to the north, so far away that it was barely visible. He consulted his map and confirmed that the hotel was marching steadily toward the Black Caldera. His heart fell. How would he ever catch it at this rate?
Far below, the sap-squatch had moved on to other trees, shaking them vigorously in search of precious sap. Birds tossed from their roosts scattered into the sky, squawking angrily at the disturbance. Warren waited until the sap-squatch was a safe distance away before climbing down the tree. But before reaching the ground, he heard another set of footsteps approaching. He glanced down and saw two witches trampling through the forest, carrying baskets full of berries.
One was so frail and thin, she looked like a walking twig wearing rags. Her stringy brown hair hung to her ankles, which were wrapped with colorful beads and seashells. Her teeth were filed into sharp points, and her eyes were solid black, giving her the menacing look of a shark. Her companion was short and stout, with green eyes and an elaborate hairdo that made her appear twice as tall. Bones and sticks adorned her voluminous coiffure, along with a mouse or two. Warren could overhear their conversation as they passed.
WITCHY GOSSIP
“Have you heard about Beatrice the Perfumier?” asked the twiggy witch.
Warren’s ears perked up.
“What’s that?” asked the hairdo witch.
“Queen Calvina’s coven has captured her! She’s being held at the royal palace!”
Warren stifled a gasp.
“Is that so?” hairdo witch asked. “Well, perhaps all the witches Beatrice has trapped over the years will now be freed!”
“We can only hope,” twiggy witch said with a nod. “She captured one of my second cousins, twice removed, so for me it’s personal!”
Warren’s stomach twisted with anxiety. Beatrice was one of the best witch hunters of all time. If she had been captured, what did that mean for the rest of his friends?
Before the witches could continue their conversation, they were distracted by a chugging automobile engine. It was the customer from the Sundry Shoppe! He was driving along on a nearby road, and the witches walked out of the forest to meet him.
The man stopped and then exited his car, bowing with a dramatic flourish. “Good morning, ladies! How are you this fine day?”
“Who are you?” snapped twiggy witch. “And what are you doing on our territory?”
“I mean no harm!” the man said, smiling sweetly. Warren could see his three gold teeth sparkling in the sunlight. “I was just passing through and thought you might be interested in seeing my wares!”
“Well, you thought wrong,” snapped hairdo witch. “You have three seconds to get out of here or we’ll make sure you never leave.”
“Now, now!” the man said, holding out his hands. “No need for hostility! As a matter of fact, one of my most popular products is a calming oil. One dab and you’ll feel as relaxed as a cat in the sun. It smells lovely, too. Why don’t I just show you—”
“We’re not interested,” snarled twiggy witch. Warren held his breath as the pair advanced menacingly. The man stepped backward. “All right, all right, I get the picture. But just so you know, the witches over in Spider Cranny were much more welcoming!”
“That’s it!” hairdo witch cried, and then she used her fingers to shoot a sharp dagger of light at the man. He dodged sideways and the blast hit his front tire, causing it to explode with a loud pop.
“Look what you did!” he cried as the witches cackled. “I don’t have a spare! Now I’m stranded!”
“You should’ve thought of that before you pestered us!” twiggy witch said. “You’re lucky that tire is the only thing we deflated.”
“Next time we’ll pop your head!” hairdo witch added.
Still chortling, the witches picked up their baskets and strolled off as the man kicked his car in frustration.
Warren hopped out of the tree, landing in front of the man and causing him to yelp with surprise.
“You again?” he asked.
“Maybe I can help,” Warren said. “I packed some heavy-duty tape in my backpack. We could use it to fix your tire.”
The man looked at Warren and furrowed his brow in suspicion. “Who are you, anyway? Where are your parents?”
“I’m Warren the 13th,” Warren said. “And my parents are gone. It’s just me and my traveling hotel.”
“Your traveling hotel?” The man’s eyebrows lifted. They reminded Warren of little worms.
Warren’s chest puffed out with pride. “Yes, indeed! I’m the manager and owner of the Warren Hotel! ‘Where every stay is a go.’ ” He paused. “Well, I’m still working on the catchphrase.”
“My name’s Sylvester,” the man said, “but you can call me Sly.”
“Nice to meet you, Sly,” Warren said, shaking his hand. “Now let’s see if we can fix your tire.”
Warren dug out his roll of tape, and Sly set about sealing up the gash. “Hey,” he said, “this just may work! I have an air pump in my trun
k. Mind grabbing it for me?”
Warren hurried to open the trunk. But instead of an air pump, all he saw were wooden crates. Warren opened the nearest one and let out a yelp. Inside was a pile of snakes writhing on a nest of straw. He slammed the lid shut and moved it aside.
“Anything wrong back there?” Sly asked.
“Nothing,” Warren called back, and he turned his attention to the next crate. Something large hissed from within, and a large eye blinked between the slats. An enormous white python was coiled inside, as thick as a tree trunk. Its forked tongue flitted out, tickling Warren’s face. Warren realized that all the crates were full of slithering, squirming snakes.
What kind of car is this? he wondered. Who drives around with a trunk full of snakes?
Finally, he found the air pump, buried way at the bottom. He brought it around to Sly, who had finished patching the tire. “I couldn’t help but notice your, uh, snakes.”
“You mean my business associates,” Sly said. “I’m in the snake-oil business. But here we are—look at this tire, good as new!” He handed the roll of tape to Warren. “Thanks, kid. Now we’re even.”
“Even?”
“Well, I unbuckled you from that chair, remember?”
“But I paid you to do that. Now you owe me a favor.”
Sly grinned. “You’re a canny kid, you know that? C’mere, I think I have something you’ll find useful.”
Sly reached into the driver’s-side window and pulled out a blue leather case. He set it on the hood of the car, clicked open the latches, and lifted the lid. Inside were a dozen small bottles, all strapped into a row. Each appeared to contain some kind of amber liquid; some were as dark as molasses, others as light as honey. They reminded Warren of Beatrice’s perfumier bottles.
“See here?” Sly said, pulling out a bottle from the bunch. “This’ll cure a broken heart. Do you have a special someone who’s left you in the dust?”
My hotel, Warren thought sadly. But he knew this was not the sort of answer Mr. Snake-Oil was looking for, so he shook his head.
“All right, all right, I can see you’ve got a resilient heart. But we’re friends, right? Let me be honest with you…”
Sly brandished another golden bottle. “Skin problems! This will clear it right up, make you look fresh as a daisy! Whattaya say?”
“Um,” Warren said, touching his face.
SLY MAKES A PITCH
“Only three hundred florins. A real steal, if you ask me.”
“Well…,” Warren said.
“I can see you’re a tough sell. You’re smart, and I like that. I surely do. But tell me, you ever come across that spot you just can’t clean? That stubborn grease, that dirty scuff?”
“Yes!” Warren exclaimed. If there was any subject he liked, it was cleaning.
“Well, this here oil will mop that right up! Leave a polished shine in place of any grime. And because we’re pals, I’ll cut you a deal. Two hundred fifty florins. And if you buy one, I’ll throw a second one in for half price. You’re not gonna find a deal that good anywhere else.”
“But—”
“Okay, okay. You’re twisting my arm. I’ll toss in a free bottle of magic hair-grow tincture. I see you got some luscious locks there, and now you can have even more! It’ll flow like a golden river, like a unicorn’s mane, I guarantee it!”
As the man continued to haggle, Warren sensed an opportunity. “It’s really tempting,” he said, “but I don’t carry that kind of money around with me. I’d have to borrow it from the hotel.”
“Then get in the car and let’s go!” Sly exclaimed. “How far away is this hotel, anyway?”
“Not very far,” Warren assured him. “If we hurry, I’m sure we can catch up soon.”
“All right, then,” Sly said, his golden teeth gleaming. “Hop in, kid. We’ve got a hotel to cash! I mean, catch!”
The jalopy’s headlights cast twin beams across the road, cutting through the smothering blackness that pressed in around them. They had been driving all day and now the jostling of the car was making Warren sleepy. Sly was humming a tune, an eerie melody that Warren didn’t recognize, and his long fingers tapped on the steering wheel.
Warren glanced around at what little he could see of their surroundings. Trees and shrubs whizzed by on either side, formless shadows punctuated by the glowing eyes of watchful nighttime critters.
“Listen, kid, it’s time to stop and make camp,” Sly said.
“But we’re getting so close!” Warren protested. In reality, he wasn’t sure that was true. He still couldn’t hear the hotel, which meant that it was probably a long way away. He certainly didn’t want to stop now and risk falling farther behind.
“I don’t want to drive all night. I need my beauty rest and my babies would appreciate a little peace and quiet, too.”
“Babies?” Warren asked.
“My business associates,” Sly corrected. “The snakes and I are very close.”
Before Warren could beg again, Sly turned off the road and into a thick cover of trees. The jalopy jounced over the rough terrain of fallen branches and bumpy stones, setting Warren’s teeth to rattling.
Sly soon found a sizable clearing to park in and yanked on the brake. The car shuddered to a stop, and he hopped out to unload the crates.
Warren also stepped out of the car and looked around in awe. Now that the engine was silent, he could hear the whispering chants once again.
“Warren!” Sly yelled from the back of the car. “Get a fire started, will ya? Those whispering voices give me the willies! They tend to shut up if there’s bright light nearby.”
Warren hurried to collect kindling and made a neat little pile of twigs and leaves. He was glad for the task—it reminded him of tending the many fireplaces at the hotel. He missed poking the coals and sweeping the soot; he even missed cleaning out the chimney. In fact, he missed all his chores.
MYSTERIOUS WHISPERS
As the flames snapped to life, Warren noticed that the whispers closest to them did indeed fall quiet, although he could still hear distant chants beyond the firelight. He found a broken pine branch, still furred with needles, and used it to sweep the area clean. Sly unrolled his sleeping bag and shot Warren a curious look.
“Just tidying up,” Warren explained cheerfully. “My dad used to say that you shouldn’t go to bed in a messy room or else you’ll have bad dreams.”
“Bad dreams?” Sly said. “If that’s your problem, you just need a few doses of my Sleep Magic Tonic! The good news is, I’m holding a sale on it right now! Twenty percent off per case!”
“Um, I dunno…”
“I’ll just add it to the tab. Whattaya say?”
“Let me think about it,” Warren said.
“You got anything good to eat in that pack of yours?” Sly asked. “I’ve been chewing on dried jerky for weeks and could use a little variety.”
Warren dug through his bag and pulled out a can of beans.
Sly rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “That’ll do,” he said.
As he cooked the beans in a pot over the fire, Warren added a few drops from his sap jar to make them taste even better.
“Where’d you get that bottle?” Sly asked sharply. “Pure sap is hard to come by these days.”
“It was the last one at the Sundry Shoppe.”
“How much you want for it?”
Warren placed a hand protectively over his jacket pocket, where the bottle lay. “Sorry, but it’s not for sale. I’m saving it for a friend.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Sly grunted. “Once I’m rich, I can buy all the sap I want.”
After lumbering off to the car to feed his snakes a meal of dried crickets, Sly returned with several “babies” wrapped around his arms and neck. Warren cringed but said nothing. For dessert, he and Sly split a sappy candy bar and fell into an easy silence as the fire snapped and crackled.
“What do you know about the whispers?” Warren asked.
“Some say it’s the trees.” Sly said, gently petting one of his reptilian companions.
“What are they saying?”
“Who knows, kid. It’s all in some ancient language that no one understands. And frankly, I don’t care to know.”
“But what if it’s important?”
Sly wiggled into his sleeping bag, snakes and all, and yawned loudly. “Look, kid, it’s time to get some shut-eye. G’night.”
Warren lay down and watched the flames leap from the fire pit. Sly might not want to know what the whispering voices were saying, but Warren sure did. The trees were obviously communicating something—but was anybody listening?
IS ANYBODY LISTENING?
hat night, Petula couldn’t sleep. Every time she started to drift off, she’d remember that her mother had been captured and then she’d be wide awake worrying again. Petula told herself that nothing could be done—she’d have to wait until the hotel reached the Black Caldera before taking action—but that didn’t make sleeping any easier.
As soon as the sun rose, Petula went straight to her chores, grateful for the distraction. She arrived in the kitchen and found Chef Bunion cooking an elaborate breakfast of cinnamon-pecan pancakes. He didn’t seem to notice that all of the guests were gone; he simply cooked for the sheer pleasure of cooking.
“I’ll take two plates, please,” Petula said. “I’m bringing one to Sketchy and one to Mr. Friggs.”
“Coming right up!” Chef said, flipping three pancakes out of his frying pan. They landed in a tall stack on a nearby plate.
While waiting, Petula looked out the window. It was late morning and the gloom of the Malwoods was smothering. Spindly pine trees pressed in on both sides of the road, scraping the hotel with a horrible rasping. Every so often, Petula spotted a witch flying past on a broom, but so far none had been bold enough to attack. Yet she knew one would be coming soon, and she had no idea how to prepare. Protecting the hotel had always been her mother’s job.
Warren the 13th and the Whispering Woods Page 6