Warren the 13th and the Whispering Woods
Page 13
“Ha-ha!” Chef laughed. “Atta boy!”
“I’m glad I installed that,” Warren admitted. “Pretty handy.”
But his smile faded as the building began to shudder. The windshield wiper could do only so much; the thudding grew louder, and it was coming from all sides, along with the occasional zing-blast of a magic spell.
“It’s fine,” Warren said again. “We’re fine!”
Chips of plaster rained down from the ceiling, and the walls gave another sickening shudder. Everyone in the control room huddled a little closer.
“Hurry, Petula,” Warren said under his breath.
He wasn’t sure how much longer they could last.
SNEAKING ACROSS THE CALDERA
Out in the Black Caldera at last, Petula and her companions slipped from hut to hut. Nearly every witch in the basin had stormed the hotel, just as Warren had predicted, leaving all the huts empty. It had the potential to be the perfect plan…but only if nothing went wrong.
“The hotel won’t last much longer,” Sir Sap said, echoing Petula’s unspoken fears. “We need to find that sap before it’s too late!”
“We’re almost there,” Petula said. When the coast was clear, they sprinted across the alley to take cover behind the next hut. “When Warren and I were flying here on a broomstick, we saw a building with a ward on the roof. I’ll bet you anything that’s the hiding place.”
Sketchy let out a short tweet and poked a tentacle forward. Sure enough, two witches emerged from a nearby hut, practically tripping over their robes as they hurried to join the excitement at the caldera’s entrance.
“Quick!” Petula whispered. Although they barely had time to duck behind a barrel of rocks, the witches didn’t even glance their way. After counting to ten, Petula slid around to the back of the hut. A loud crash reverberated against the crater walls: more witches were hitting the hotel. Fear spiked through Petula’s veins. They didn’t have much time.
“Come on,” she beckoned. “Let’s forget about being stealthy and make a break for it. On the count of three. One, two—”
But before she could finish, Sir Sap charged ahead, with Sketchy following after; it was all Petula could do to keep up. Out in the open, it took her a moment to get oriented, but off to the right she saw what she was looking for: The building was large, made from stone blocks fitted tightly together and covered with mud and leafy twigs. Whether these were decorations or disguises, Petula couldn’t be sure.
“This way!” Petula yelled, and the three of them sprinted off. Sir Sap ran ahead and circled the building.
“There’s no door!” he cried.
“We’ll need to break in,” Petula said. “Grab some rocks!”
First they tried hurling stones at the hut. Then Sir Sap tried using his claws to pry the stones apart, but neither he nor Sketchy was powerful enough to break open the structure. Petula glanced around anxiously. Eventually someone would realize what they were doing. She looked back at the hotel. Its entire surface was crawling with witches. It seemed as though none had yet broken through, but all it would take was one small crack and the whole army would start pouring in. Fortunately, the hotel was strong. Very strong. So strong, in fact—
“That’s it!” Petula cried. “We’ll get Warren to use the hotel to smash the hut to pieces!”
“I’ll portal to him and tell him what to do. You two stand back—and get ready for the sap to flow!”
CALVINA’S DARKEST SECRET
UEEN CALVINA was reclining on her palanquin, a ghastly-looking bed made from the bones of her less fortunate rivals. Beneath her lumbered four sap-squatches, ready to carry the queen to her new abode.
The hotel was much taller than Calvina had expected; its roof nearly reached the top of the caldera. Soon it would make the most wondrous palace! Now, however, witches were still swarming every square inch of it. Some circled on brooms and batted at windows; others climbed the mighty mechanical legs; still more stomped on the rooftop, searching for a way inside. Hmm, Calvina thought, why had no one been able to find one?
She decided it didn’t matter. She would succeed where the others had failed. She adjusted her fearsome manticore skull mask and smiled. She knew hundreds, thousands, of catastrophically powerful spells. Which combination would be best? Nothing too destructive, of course. After all, the hotel was to be her new palace, so there was no point in wrecking the place. Perhaps something just harmful enough to scorch the outside, maybe shatter a window or two…
With a clang the hotel lurched forward, interrupting Calvina’s thoughts. Witches were flung every which way, shaken from the surface like drops of water. The queen sat up in alarm. Her coven sisters were racing past her palanquin. “Where is it going?” she demanded, but no one stopped to answer.
Calvina studied the hotel’s path. It was walking around the edge of the caldera, almost as if—no! The hotel was making a beeline for the hut that housed her darkest secret. A secret so important, so powerful, not even her coven sisters knew about it.
“Stop that hotel!” Calvina cried. “Someone do something! Trip it!”
But the hotel was too big and too strong. Even swarming together in a great cloud, the witches were powerless to stop it.
“Faster!” the queen shrieked. “Get me to that building at once!”
The weary sap-squatches tried to walk faster, but then one stumbled and the queen nearly tumbled from her bed.
“Useless!” Calvina roared. “You lazy, pathetic—”
Her curses were cut short by the crash of a mechanical leg descending on the roof of the warded building. Calvina had designed the building’s ward to withstand the most powerful magic…but she’d never considered that it could be physically broken.
SAP FLOWS AGAIN
Now it was too late. The building lay in ruins, crumbled by the force of the hotel’s foot. Within the rubble was a deep pit where the roots of every tree in the forest converged and tangled together. It allowed Calvina to draw sap as easily as turning on a faucet. It was this secret that kept the sap-squatches in her thrall.
But not anymore.
Amber-colored sap shot from the well like a geyser, spraying higher than the caldera’s tall walls.
“No!” Calvina screeched. “Not my precious sap!”
Helpless, she clung to the edge of her palanquin as more sap oozed and bubbled into the crater, its sugary scent overpowering the putrid, rotten-egg smells of evil spells that usually hung in the air.
“Sap?” murmured the sap-squatches, repeating the word ever louder as they realized what was happening. “Sap? Sap? Sap?”
“No!” Calvina ordered. “Stay where you are!”
The sap-squatches dropped their hammers and chisels and ropes, abandoning their labor as they rushed to the well. They moved in a feverish frenzy, dancing around and gulping all the sap they could swallow.
“Stop!” Calvina cried. “I forbid you to drink! I’ll curse every last one of you! I’ll—oof!”
The sap-squatches holding Calvina’s palanquin couldn’t wait another moment. They dumped her upon the ground and rushed off to join the others.
Calvina staggered to her feet, her mask falling away, and shook her bony fist at the scampering sap-squatches. “Traitors!” she screamed. “Get back here! Don’t touch that!” She whirled around to the cloud of witches swarming the hotel. “Sisters! Come help your queen!”
But it was no use. The sap-squatches ignored her. The witches couldn’t hear her over the din of destruction. Calvina was alone, deserted and dust covered and positively furious.
“Who did this?” she shrieked. “Who has broken my ward?”
e did it, Warren!” Petula cheered. From inside the cockpit, they had a perfect view of the action below, watching in delight as the hotel’s mighty metal feet stomped the sap hut into bits. “The sap-squatches are having a feast! They’ll never go hungry again! Look how happy they are!”
It was true: as soon as they bent their muzzles to drink, t
he sap-squatches seemed to transform. They stood straighter, their eyes shone brighter, their coats glistened in the sun. They flexed their claws and bared their teeth, looking mighty and strong once again.
But Warren was looking elsewhere. Beyond the hut, down on the ground, Queen Calvina was waving madly, a wild expression on her face. Her gown was streaked with dirt. As she screamed into the air, a few witches zoomed down to her side, but it was too late. Stopping the flow of sap was impossible, even with magic. The witches stumbled around, falling face-first into the sticky liquid as they tried to cast their spells. A desperate few tried transforming into their spirit animals, suffusing the air with the scent of sulfur, and soon the Black Caldera was filled with foxes, boars, bears, cats, weasels, and snakes. But their alternate forms were no better off: sap clung to their fur, dripped off their scales, coated their wings. They were totally and utterly stuck.
“How riveting! How inspiring!” Mr. Vanderbelly dabbed his eyes as he gazed at the scene, taking in all the details. “I have so many articles to write, I scarcely know where to begin!”
“OUR JOB HERE IS DONE”
Beatrice smiled and shook her head ruefully.
“Ooh, I would love to get my hands on some of that sap,” Chef Bunion said. “Imagine all the dishes I could make! Sappy pancakes! Sap fondue! Sap-glazed ham!”
“There won’t be a shortage ever again,” Warren said. “And there will be plenty of sap to go around for anyone who wants some. Including you, Chef!”
“All this talk of food is making me hungry,” Uncle Rupert moaned.
“Look!” Petula said, pointing. “The sap-squatches are winning!”
“Looks like our job here is done,” Warren said. “I say we get out of here before any of those witches finds a way to get free. I just have to get Sketchy’s attention to let him know we’re leaving…”
Beatrice pulled out a card depicting a whirlpool.
“Mom will fetch him,” Petula said. “He should be able to fit through her portal.”
“Thanks, Beatrice,” Warren said, and Beatrice disappeared into a vortex. Not ten seconds later, she reappeared with a happy Sketchy in tow. It shook itself all over like a dog, spraying globules of sap everywhere.
“Mmm!” Rupert licked a drop off his arm. “Yummy!”
“Is that Sir Sap?” Petula asked, squinting. She pointed to the spot where, in the chaos below, a lone sap-squatch was swimming toward the hotel.
“He must be coming to say goodbye,” Warren said. “Let’s open the hatch!”
Beatrice waved her hand over the hatch set into the floor, dispelling the lock she had placed on it. Petula crouched by the hatch and unfurled the ladder. Down below, the sap-squatch grabbed hold of the ropes and began to climb.
“Wait a second,” Warren said. “That doesn’t look like Sir Sap.”
Indeed, this sap-squatch was smaller than Sir Sap, with delicate features and silkier fur.
“Hello!” Warren said, offering a hand to pull the sap-squatch into the control room. “Welcome to the Warren Hotel!”
“Thank you!” replied the sap-squatch gratefully. “I knew this place was well secured, so I wasn’t sure you would allow me inside.”
“Are you friends with Sir Sap?” Warren asked.
“Oh, no,” the sap-squatch laughed with delight. “I’m his queen!”
“You’re the queen of the sap-squatches?” Warren asked in amazement.
“Milady!” Rupert said with an exaggerated bow.
“Yes!” the sap-squatch said. “And I’ve come to thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” Warren said, beaming with pride. He had never met royalty before. “I’m just happy your people have their sap back.”
“Well, it’s good for one thing,” the sap-squatch queen said. “Getting this hotel stuck where it belongs.”
Stuck? But the hotel wasn’t supposed to stay here!
“I beg your pardon?” Warren said.
“After all, it’s meant to be my palace.” A toothy smile slowly curled over the sap-squatch’s face. “You see, I’m not just queen of the sap-squatches. I’m queen of the entire Malwoods!”
In a burst of purple smoke, Queen Calvina appeared where the sap-squatch had stood. Warren gasped. Uncle Rupert shrieked. Even Mr. Vanderbelly was at a loss for words. His pencil slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
“Mom!” Petula cried. “Do something!”
Beatrice quickly reached for a bottle, but none was to be found. They had all been taken and smashed by her captors.
“But how?” Warren said. He couldn’t believe he’d let Calvina on board. The evil queen merely laughed.
AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
“You poor fools,” she drawled. “So stumped when it comes to real magic.”
“We’re not stumped,” Petula said. “Your spirit animal is a sap-squatch!”
“That’s correct!” Calvina snarled, and her hands glowed with a mysterious purple energy. “Now I’m afraid I’m going to have to eradicate you all. You’ve caused a big mess in my home, and it’s time to return the favor!”
“Mom, go!” Petula yelled. Beatrice leapt forward, but Calvina shot a purple lightning bolt from her hands, narrowly missing the control panel and cutting a large sizzling dent in the wall.
“Don’t be stupid, perfumier!” cackled Calvina. “You’re no match for me!”
“Run!” Warren yelled. Uncle Rupert and Mr. Vanderbelly scrambled for the exit, with Chef Bunion and Mr. Friggs and Sketchy fast on their heels. Calvina aimed another crackling blast at Beatrice, throwing her across the room like a rag doll.
BOLTS OF LIGHTNING
“See, now?” Calvina roared. “This is only a sampling of my power!” She walked over to the stunned Beatrice, her arms glowing and crackling with energy. “Tell me where I can find your collection of perfumier bottles, and I just might spare your friends.”
Staggering to her feet, Beatrice spun out of Calvina’s way and quickly drew a portal as Petula fired an orange tongue of flames at the queen’s knees.
“Ha!” The queen waved her hands in the air, and the entire room froze, as still as glass. “I bind you from all magic!”
With that, Beatrice’s portal shattered into a million pieces and Petula’s fireball evaporated into smoke and the rose tattoos on Beatrice’s body and Petula’s hand turned gray like stone.
“My magic!” Petula gasped.
“You think you can fight me?” Calvina crowed. “I have ruled these woods for thousands of years. I am the most powerful witch in the world!”
She shot another dagger of lightning from her palm. Beatrice tried to jump out of the way, but the blast hit her foot and she fell to the floor. With a wave of her hands, Calvina caught Beatrice in a cage made of lightning.
“Calvina’s too strong,” whispered Petula. “Without bottles or magic, Mom can’t do anything.”
She was right: even raising a hand to the lightning cage caused a massive shock to zap in Beatrice’s face. She was trapped.
“Well, we can’t give up,” Warren said. “Come on!”
He yanked Petula’s hand and pulled her out of the control room. The queen, still cackling over the caged Beatrice the Bold, didn’t seem to notice the children escaping. Almost.
“Get back here!”
Suddenly a bolt of lightning hissed past Warren’s ear.
“Are there any more empty bottles?” Warren asked, puffing hard as he and Petula raced down the hall toward the stairs.
“Yes, on the eighth floor,” Petula said. “In my mom’s room.”
“Think they’ll work on the queen?”
“They’re better than nothing!”
Warren and Petula took the stairs two at a time and burst into the lobby, where Uncle Rupert, Mr. Friggs, Sketchy, Chef Bunion, and Mr. Vanderbelly were huddled together.
“Go into the ballroom and lock the door!” Warren ordered. “Petula and I will hold her off!”
The others hurried o
ff to do as Warren asked, just as the queen burst into the lobby. “Pesky children!” she said, hurling another bolt of lightning at them. Warren dove for the first cover he could find: a standing mirror. Miraculously, instead of breaking, the shiny surface deflected the blast, and the lightning ricocheted across the room. This time it was Calvina who had to dodge out of the way.
“Ahhh.” Warren heard the queen’s voice. “Ahh!”
With that, she fell silent. Carefully, slowly, Warren peeped around the mirror’s edge. Calvina had lowered her hands and was gazing at her reflection dreamily, almost as if in a trance.
“My, my,” she murmured to herself, patting her hair and batting her lashes. “I am beautiful and powerful indeed.”
Petula tugged on Warren’s jacket and gave him a knowing look. Warren understood. Slowly—and quietly—they crept out from behind the mirror, slinking low along the wall as the queen continued to preen. Once they reached the staircase, they ran as quickly as they could.
“Eighth floor,” Petula whispered.
“Yes,” Warren said, “and I’ve got an idea!”
A few breathless flights of steps later, they were racing down the eighth-floor hallway toward Beatrice’s room.
“Wait!” Petula grabbed Warren’s arm. The door to the room was ajar. “Something’s wrong. This room is always locked.” Warren stopped and then heard something. Clinking, scuffling sounds. An intruder!
“But who would—”
He was cut off by a piercing howl from downstairs. Petula’s eyes opened wide. “The queen has noticed we’re gone,” she said.