“I came home to grab dinner. When I saw that there were no lights on the mansion, I knew something must be wrong,” he said.
“Yeah, I saw the same thing,” I said.
“You were outside?” he asked sharply.
“You won’t like it. It’s a long story,” I said.
“I had a feeling you were going to say that. Where’s Cookie?” he asked.
I shook my head slightly.
He grimaced. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Let’s find her. Sooner rather than later,” I said.
He nodded. “When we have a minute, are you going to fill me in on why you were outside, and on where everyone else is?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Definitely not,” he said.
Leading the way through the door I’d been heading for when I saw his shadow, he said, “This way.”
We made our way through a series of rooms, all of them empty. The further we got, the more discouraged I felt.
“Where are we going now?” I asked at last.
“The Laundry Room of Boiled Shirts. It’s the furthest, most out of the way room. I figure Cookie might have gone there to hide if she thought she was in trouble.”
The laundry room was one of the permanent features of the haunted house. Every haunted house I knew about had a laundry room like this. It was a staple, mostly because many humans had laundry rooms and some of them (husbands) found those rooms scary. Ours had twenty old machines, mostly collected from the trash depot. We had also amassed a vast supply of old and discarded clothes, some covered in mud and others ripped to shreds.
Now that Grant had pointed it out, I thought he might be on to something. The laundry room was so out of the way that sometimes people who didn’t know about it missed it entirely.
“Good call. Hopefully she’s there,” I said. “I’ve looked everywhere else I can think of.”
The door to the laundry room, which was usually closed—especially when the haunted house was open—stood ajar.
“Do you think Cookie’s in there?” Grant asked.
“I have no idea,” I said.
I crept in behind him, repeatedly glancing over my shoulder but seeing nothing. The haunted house was eerily quiet. Accustomed to the noises that came from each room on a normal day, I found the silence deafening.
“The alternative is that there’s an assassin in there,” whispered Grant softly enough so that I was sure no one could hear him but me.
That required no reply, so I just kept creeping forward.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
Yeah, that was fine with me.
We were about two feet from the door when Grant whispered an enchantment under his breath, a series of words that didn’t make any sense. It was like nothing I had ever heard before.
What happened next was truly shocking. A white fire sprang up in front of Grant and raced forward, bursting into the laundry room and illuminating the darkness. Instead of dying down when it got there, the fire blazed on. Grant started moving into the room just to the right of it.
“What the wine bottle is this!” yelled a voice from deeper inside the room.
“Come on,” Grant said, rushing forward while I followed as quickly as I could.
I was sure that the voice had been Cookie’s, but when I got inside the room I didn’t see her anywhere, even though this was now the best illuminated room in the haunted house thanks to Grant’s enchantment.
“I can’t see how that fire keeps going when it isn’t burning anything,” I whispered in awe.
“It’s a special spell of mine for occasions like this,” said Grant. “Where do you think your grandmother is?”
Images of Cookie dead on the floor flashed through my mind. I shuddered and I told myself she was fine. We had just heard her voice!
But I offered a sort of prayer anyhow: Please let my grandmother be fine. Please don’t make me too late.
The laundry room was so cavernous that the twenty washing machines almost looked lonely. There were plenty of dark corners where Cookie might be hiding.
“Cookie?” I said.
No reply.
“Mrs. Garbo?” Grant called out.
Same.
We started moving along the line of washers and had gone most of the way down the row with no sign of my grandmother. I had forgotten that the washers were so big that we wouldn’t be able to see behind them.
Just as I turned around to speak to Grant, something popped out at me. I fell backwards with a cry, trying to catch my balance with my left foot, which promptly slipped on a ragged scrap of cloth.
Then I was falling. Flailing my arms was useless, so I tried to grab the nearest washer, but only ended up hitting my wrist. I landed with a loud thump on the floor just as Cookie emerged from behind the last machine, holding her cane and looking curiously at me.
“Sorry. I thought you were an assassin,” she said.
“Why would you think I was an assassin?” I asked her.
“I have no idea, given how much noise you made. An assassin would surely have been quieter,” said Cookie.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called out to you?” Grant asked.
“I thought it was a trick,” Cookie shrugged.
“Who’s behind these assassination attempts?” I asked my grandmother, cutting to the chase.
She glared at me. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Were you expecting the wine to be delivered that day, or were you expecting something else?” Grant asked. “Is that why you wanted me to live here? To act as a silent deterrent to anyone who had it in for you?”
Grant’s suggestion had hit me like a ton of bricks. “What are you talking about?” My head was spinning in stunned confusion.
“She begged me to take the cottage. She said it was for your benefit,” said Grant. “But that isn’t the real reason, is it?” he asked, turning to Cookie and looking sternly at my grandmother.
For once she didn’t look defiant. No, what I actually thought she might look like was afraid.
“She never does anything for anyone else’s benefit,” I said.
“That’s why I thought it was strange,” said Grant.
“I care about my family more than you’ll ever know, thank you very much,” said Cookie.
In my heart of hearts I knew that was true, but I still doubted that it would translate, all on its own, into allowing Grant the use of one of our cottages.
“So you want Grant on the property to protect you?” I asked, incredulous.
Cookie sighed and looked away. I had never seen her look so pensive. She stared silently at the washers for so long that for a long time I thought she wasn’t going to speak at all.
“I didn’t want him here to protect me so much as I wanted him here to deter attackers,” she said at last, more soberly than I had ever heard her speak. “The evil is getting stronger. They have their sights set on our mansion. They think that with all the supernaturals here, they’d have a lot of magic. They aren’t wrong. At the moment, I’m the one in charge of all that magic. That makes me a target.”
“So, you thought the Root of All Evil would avoid the mansion if Grant were here. You thought his reputation as His Majesty of Magic would act as a deterrent. That’s why you wanted him to live here. I should have known,” I said, shaking my head.
“I don’t think his reputation is worth much. Right after he moves in an assassin comes to kill me. Of course, it was a low-level assassin. I wasn’t afraid for a moment. What kind of assassin doesn’t bother trying to kill its target just because there’s another inexperienced witch there?” she said.
“I have enough experience. I’m an adult witch,” I said, lifting my chin.
“Oh, please. You barely scare the cat,” she said.
“We can’t keep arguing like this. We have to get out of here. Who do you think is after you?” Grant asked.
“It’s Mirrorz. It has always been Mir
rorz. I’m sure of it,” said Cookie.
“That just means there’s no enemy actually on the property at the moment, so there’s nothing to defend against,” said Grant, looking slightly disappointed.
“We still need to find Sharon,” I said.
Cookie’s eyes brightened at that. “I can help with that. Where did you last see her?”
“In the water.”
I told her what had happened.
“I have an idea. Come on,” she said.
She hurried out of the haunted house, Grant and I following right behind her.
“Wind and water, rise up. There’s a vampire in your midst. Stir her free,” Cookie muttered under her breath.
“We can’t even see the water. How do you think that’s going to work?” I said.
Cookie gave me a sidelong look. “I’m the master of this place. It’ll work if I want it to.”
Cookie acted so outlandishly on an ordinary day that it was easy to forget who she was. But from time to time I was forcefully reminded just how much magical ability Cookie must have, and this was one of those times. I’d have had to be standing in the ocean for that command to have any effect at all, and even then there’d just be some sort of plopping and maybe a couple of extra bubbles. Cookie actually thought she could get the ocean to spit Sharon out for her.
And we were still inside the mansion.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Just as we reached the top of the front stairway, I heard the sound of screeching tires.
“We’re late,” Cookie cried. “We’re going to miss her!” She hoisted her skirts up to her knees and broke into a run. For maybe the first time ever, I caught sight of her thin, spindly legs pumping as fast as they could.
Mom would not have been pleased to know that Cookie was running, but Mom was nowhere in sight.
We raced down the stairs. Despite Cookie’s urgency, Grant now insisted on going first. If there were any assassins, he was determined that they’d have to hit him before they hit Cookie.
“What a dreamboat,” Cookie said.
When we reached the foyer I saw lights in the windows next to the front door. A truck had pulled up.
“She’s getting away!” Cookie called out.
Just then Steve appeared. “Sorry I left my post!” He raced forward and flung the door open for us so we didn’t even have to break stride.
Whether he’d been coerced away before or merely irresponsible didn’t matter. He saved us crucial seconds now.
As we emerged from the house, we saw a soaking wet Sharon racing for the truck. The back doors of the vehicle were flung open and she dived inside. The giant spider Horace waved at us and smiled. I shuddered.
I couldn’t see the driver, but the truck was a delivery truck.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Cookie yelled, waving her hand in the air.
At first I didn’t know what she was doing, but it became clear in a hurry. The huge cauldron she kept in the middle of the front lawn floated into the air, looking heavier even as it rose higher and turned toward the driveway. The truck was also making for the driveway, and it was by no means clear which large metal object would get there first.
“She’s going to hit the truck with the cauldron?” Grant asked.
“Definitely not,” Cookie answered for me. “Just watch.”
The cauldron started to tip, pouring a dark and squishy liquid onto the pavement. With no time to stop or swerve out of the way, the truck was soon covered in the stuff. The back doors were still open, and I was pretty sure—okay, I was also hoping—that Horace had gotten a good dose.
The truck skidded wildly. The windshield wipers came on, prompting a chuckle from Cookie.
“Attempt two,” she said. She waved her hand again and the gates slammed shut.
The truck skidded to a halt in front of the wrought iron gateway. An enormous figure jumped out of the truck and pulled at the gates. Cookie hadn’t had time to lock them, and one of the gates opened in response to the determined strength of the huge creature pulling at them.
Cookie waved her hand one more time and the gates latched again with a clang.
Grant started to run across the yard, and I followed him as the two figures in the back of the truck piled out. Horace had started to climb the fence when Sharon’s shrill voice yelled at him.
Horace used one of his long legs to scoop Sharon up and throw her over, just as the large man who had opened the gate was starting to climb. Horace had no trouble disappearing onto the other side and scuttling off the Bluff property.
Grant dashed up to the gate and sprang over. Cookie had stopped running and was stumping along behind me. When I reached the gate I tugged on the metal. Slowly, the gate swung open.
The only supernatural I saw was Sharon, looking like she had sprained her ankle when she landed. She was still trying to run away, but now it was more like hobbling. When she heard the gate open behind her she turned around to give me a nasty look.
“Get away from me,” she grumbled. “Can’t you just let me leave?”
“You’re a murderer,” I replied. “So, no.”
Not wanting to get into an argument with a suspect, I merely ordered an enchantment. “Chains coil around her ankles. Make that thieving thief steal no more.” Not the most poetic enchantment, but that had never been my specialty. Chains appeared and tried to coil around her ankles, but they fell right off again.
She turned around, still glaring. “Nice try. You think I’d fall for that? We Down Below dwellers have some skills too, you know.”
Okay, so she had expected me to try and restrain her. Fine. I’d have to try a different approach. Given that she was gimpy and I was not, I had already caught her one way or another.
“I demand that you stop,” I said, getting in front of her.
“HA,” she said, and hobbled around me.
“For someone who wants to be a private investigator, you’re terrible at this,” said Cookie. She had finally reached the gate and appeared on the other side to watch Sharon’s slow progress. I couldn’t hear what my grandmother was saying under her breath, but a cool mist started to rise up off the grass. It became thicker and thicker until it came between Sharon and me. The gray swirls swelled until I couldn’t even see Sharon’s face.
“Ouch! Oh, no! What is this! Oh, fine! I give up!” Sharon wailed, moving quickly through the stages of grief.
“I can handle this. Why don’t you go help that fine young man of yours with the giant spider?” came Cookie’s voice from somewhere in the mist.
I glanced out into the night and wondered what had become of Grant. Maybe this time it was my turn to save him.
I broke into a run.
Chapter Thirty
It didn’t take me long to find him. All I had to do was follow the sound of grunting.
Grant had been caught in a headlock by Horticulture. Horace wasn’t far away, but all of his spidery legs were in chains, which kept clinking together as Horace kept trying to get away. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Unhand him,” I commanded, putting all the force I could muster into the enchantment.
Horticulture merely snorted. “I do not fear you, little witch!” His muscly arms bulged and his sharp eyes took on a dark glint as he squeezed Grant’s neck ever tighter. As I watched Grant struggle to breathe and frantically tried to think of how to help him, I heard Cookie come up behind me.
She freed Grant with a wave of her wand. He fell to the ground coughing, but she ignored him for the moment while she conjured several large brown ropes out of thin air. They didn’t tie Horticulture up, they merely hit him in the head. For a split second he stayed upright, then he crashed to the ground in a heap.
Cookie brushed off her cape. “All set here,” she said. “Why don’t you go help Grant up? We want to show him you’re marriage material, remember?”
“What does that apply to?” my mom asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” said Cookie.
We were sitting in the Magenta Room, even more of us than usual. Not only were all of the Garbos there, plus Kip, Corey, and Lizzie, but Mr. Nutcracker had joined us as well.
Edmund didn’t leave his property, so he hadn’t come. He was content to have Mr. Nutcracker let him know what happened.
“He was terribly worried about his brother,” Mr. Nutcracker was explaining. “That’s why he sent me. He wasn’t going to come himself, and he thought that the weight of my political station might have an impact.”
Years ago, after Jefferson passed away, Edmund had asked his le-haunt brother to come to Shimmerfield so he’d be close by. Jefferson Judge never missed an opportunity to help out, and after he arrived at Haunted Bluff he immediately moved Down Below to try and restore order.
Little had he known what impact he would have over the years. As he stayed longer and longer, he became more a part of the community. But he still had enemies, especially among those supernaturals who were ambitious to usurp Fudgy’s power. They hated him. After waiting for years, Sharon had finally had enough. She decided to enact her plan whether Jefferson was there or not. As it turned out, that hadn’t worked out so well for her.
“Down Below has its own methods of justice. I advise that we stay out of them, but the liaison between the haunted house and the basement would be the best person to ask about it,” said Mr. Nutcracker.
All eyes turned to me.
“Either we have to deal with Sharon, or they do. Given that they want the job, I’m inclined to let them have it,” I said.
“You realize that their punishment will be harsher than ours,” said Cookie.
“No, I don’t realize that,” I said.
Cookie gave me an approving look before she looked down at the table.
Meg, adorned for the occasion with thick charcoal liner around her eyes and a shimmering black pantsuit, wasn’t satisfied.
“You could have mentioned that they were here looking for Edmund’s brother,” she said, gazing sternly at Mr. Nutcracker. “Edmund himself could have mentioned it. After all, we live in the same town and you do not,” said Meg.
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