House of Secrets (16 page)

“He has a point,” Cordelia said. “Like acai berries. But anyway, maybe there’s a connection in these records between Rutherford Walker and Denver Kristoff.”

For the next ten minutes the Walkers searched their great-great-grandfather’s records. None of them liked to think of the man as being a sham, any more than they liked to think of their father and “the incident,” but they found no evidence to the contrary. Other than the vitality tonics, people who visited Rutherford Walker were prescribed “catarrh snuff,” “Oxien,” and “Indian root pills.”

“Look at this. He was officially a snake-oil salesman,” said Cordelia, finding a prescription for Stanley’s Snake Oil Liniment.

“This is depressing,” said Brendan. “I don’t wanna read any more.” He reached his hands into the trunk—by now they were almost at the bottom—and flung the remaining folders aside, ready to storm out—

But he stopped. He was staring at a book. Right there at the bottom of the trunk.
The Book of Doom and Desire
.

“No way,” Brendan said. “It was that easy?”

The book’s cover had the eye that the Wind Witch had shown them. Brendan reached down—but Cordelia was faster, snatching it.

“Stop!” Eleanor called. “That’s not safe!”

“Relax,” Cordelia said. “This isn’t
the
book. It’s just the same symbol. See? It’s black, not burgundy. And the symbol isn’t burned in; it’s drawn with a pen.”

“Looks like a journal,” said Will, peering over Cordelia’s shoulder.

“I don’t think we should open it,” said Eleanor. “Could be a trap.”

“We have to open it,” said Cordelia. With a deep breath she turned to page 1, which was filled with the same script as the patient records. “Rutherford Walker’s handwriting! We found his diary!”

“Journal,” Will corrected. “Men don’t keep diaries.”

“Whatever—start reading!” said Eleanor.

They all sat around Cordelia, as if she were sharing a campfire story, while she began.

“‘April tenth, 1906. Dear Diary.’” Cordelia shot Will a look; he rolled his eyes. “‘Today I awoke with my head still spinning, thanks to the lecture I witnessed last night, delivered by the astounding Dr. Aldrich Hayes.’”

“Dr. Hayes! The Wind Witch mentioned that dude!” said Brendan.

“‘The lecture was entitled “Mythology and Magical Lore of the Californias.” It more than lived up to its name. In previous months I had heard rumors of this secret talk in salons and séances about town. The lecture was to be delivered at the Bohemian Club, where my less-than-spectacular aristocratic standing made it impossible for me to get in. I feared I would never see Dr. Hayes, who is both a lauded Yale professor and the rumored leader of the Lorekeepers.’”

“Lorekeepers? Who are
they
?” Eleanor asked.

“Doesn’t say,” answered Cordelia. “Now where was I . . . ?”

“There,” said Will, pointing to her place on the page. He had been reading along. Cordelia smiled and continued.

“‘When it seemed all hope was lost, I was called upon by my dear friend, a man who was never short of ideas: Denver Kristoff.’”

“Kristoff!” Brendan exclaimed. “You were right, Deal! Our great-great-grandfather did know him!”

“Keep reading!” urged Eleanor.

“‘Kristoff, like myself, was obsessed with matters of the occult. He felt it would be criminal to miss Dr. Hayes’s lecture. So he concocted an equally criminal plan: the two of us would sneak into the Bohemian Club. Surreptitiously, we smashed a basement window at Six twenty-four Taylor Street and wiggled in like worms. We made our way to the lecture hall and heard Dr. Hayes’s amazing speech.

“‘He spoke of many things that more “level-headed” men deny: the untapped powers of the human mind, the existence of spirits, and the haunted places of California. But most shocking was the moment when he spoke of a haunted place in our own backyard: Goat Island.’”

“We have a goat island in our backyard?” asked Eleanor.

“He wasn’t being literal,” said Brendan. “By ‘our own backyard’ he means the city. Fortunately, I know a lot about San Francisco’s history.”

“Ugh, Bren, we know,” said Eleanor as Cordelia rolled her eyes.

“Goat Island is called Yerba Buena Island now. When you go over the Bay Bridge and you see signs for Treasure Island? That’s connected to Yerba Buena.”

Cordelia kept reading. “‘According to Hayes, Goat Island once housed the Tuchayune people, a native tribe, who buried their leaders sitting up.’”

“Creep-ola,” said Eleanor.

“‘The Tuchayunes believed the island was a soft spot in the barrier between the human world and the spirit world, where powerful forces could sneak onto earth and wreak havoc. They buried their leaders sitting up under a carved stone shaped like an eagle to scare off any spirits who did slide through.

“‘Kristoff and I couldn’t resist this. We decided that we would travel to Goat Island, find the Tuchayune graves, and dig until we found the skeletons!’”

Cordelia closed the book. “That’s it?” Eleanor asked.

“That’s the end of this entry,” said Cordelia.

“Cool. Our great-great-grandfather and Denver Kristoff were ghost hunters!” said Eleanor.

“More like grave robbers,” said Will, “without a shred of respect for the dead! Imagine. Digging up some poor man who never did them a bit of harm.”

“You’re not thinking about the environment he was in,” said Brendan. “San Francisco has always been a place for freaks and weirdos. Séances and ghost hunting were huge back when this was written. Mediums were like rock stars.”

“Like what?” asked Will.

“The next entry is dated two weeks later,” said Cordelia, reopening the book.

“‘April twenty-fourth, 1906. Dear Diary: The tragedy that has befallen our city is too large and awful to comprehend, and too fresh to write about . . . so I will return to the story of Goat Island, and perhaps the part I played in the overwhelming calamity of our time!’”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Eleanor.

“I know,” said Brendan. “It’s the—”

But Cordelia continued.

“‘Kristoff and I made our journey on April seventeenth. We left in the dead of night. Kristoff had to do everything in the most impractical and exciting manner, so we stole down to the Embarcadero and unfastened a rowboat bobbing in the waves. Given my skill at seamanship I was not troubled by the currents. The moonlight shone clear as day. Taking turns rowing, we reached Goat Island without incident.

“‘I opened a map I had purchased from a Chinatown souvenir shop, showing the location of the eagle stone. With shovels on our backs, we hiked for two hours until we found it. The stone was crowned with an intricately eroded tip, and the moonlight that shone through created a most curious shadow on the ground. I feel no need to describe this shadow, Diary, for I have sketched it on your cover, so that some future explorer might be similarly affected by its odd manner.’”

Cordelia flipped the book around so everyone could see: the eye.

“‘We began digging. After an hour we had gotten only four feet down, but then my shovel jabbed through the ground and registered no resistance, as if it were sticking into thin air! Kristoff felt a similar phenomenon, and then the ground gave way beneath us!

“‘Kristoff and I landed on a dirt floor. With only a few minor bruises and scrapes, we lit our lanterns, revealing a chamber around us. It was a rough sphere with a six-foot diameter, hewed out of the earth as if by a giant insect. It was cool and dry . . . and in the center was a seated skeleton!

“‘The man had been a leader, no question. Beside him were a bird-bone whistle and a saw made from a coyote’s hip. But the most fantastic thing about him was what he held in his hands. A book. The skeleton was reading! His elbows rested on his knees. It almost looked as if he were surprised at the book’s contents! Kristoff approached the book. The cover bore the same symbol as the ground above.’”

Cordelia stopped.

“What? What happened next?” Eleanor asked.

“That’s it. The last entry.” Cordelia showed them how the rest of Rutherford Walker’s diary was blank.

“Are you kidding?” Brendan said.

“Infuriating!” Will snorted.

“It was
The Book of Doom and Desire
,” Cordelia said in a small voice. “Rutherford Walker and Denver Kristoff found it, together. A couple of amateur occult nerds digging up a Native American grave.”

“And that’s not all,” said Brendan. “All that stuff happened on the night of April seventeenth, 1906. You know what happened on April eighteenth?”

They all shook their heads.

“The Great San Francisco Earthquake.”

“Of course!” Will slapped his forehead. “Even I’ve heard of that one.”

“Biggest natural disaster in California history. Whole city was flattened. Three thousand people died. I did a report on it.”

“The day after Walker and Kristoff found the book . . . ,” said Cordelia.

“Not just the day after. At five a.m. So if the diary’s right, it might’ve happened
literally
as they were taking the book.”

“Who says they took it?”

“How do you think it ended up with Denver Kristoff? I’ll bet he and Gramps stole the book, which angered the spirits, who got their revenge by causing the quake. That’s what Rutherford felt guilty about.”

“Our great-great-grandfather caused the San Francisco Earthquake?” Eleanor asked.

“I don’t think he purposely meant to—”

Brendan was interrupted when the room suddenly went dark. The Walkers and Will looked at the windows. A huge shape completely blocked their view.

“W
hat is that?” Eleanor shrieked. “A dinosaur?”

“I hope not,” said Brendan. “I always wanted to see a real dinosaur but not so much anymore.” Cordelia rushed to one of the bedroom windows.

“It looks like . . . a
wall
,” she said. They all nodded: it appeared that someone had placed a slightly concave wall that stretched up, blocking the sun, six feet from Kristoff House. The wall looked textured and tan, almost as if it were made of sandpaper. And while it hadn’t been there a minute before, it appeared perfectly still, as if it had been there forever.

“Wait a minute,” Brendan said, “that looks like . . . no way.”

“Like what?” Cordelia asked.

“I was reading
Savage Warriors
, and the warriors run into big problems when—”

“Follow me,” Will interrupted. “Let’s get out of here. You three saved my life. It’s my duty to keep you safe.”

Will led the Walkers out of the master bedroom. As they came to the stairs, they looked out another window: the wall was there too. It was the same size and color—but the texture looked different. The wall was still covered with fine, grooved lines, but the lines here were different from the ones outside the bedroom.

The wall quivered.

“Ah!”
Brendan pointed. “Look!”

As he spoke, the wall disappeared, shooting up from the window.

“Where’d it go?” Eleanor asked. They heard a huge crunch outside. “Is that the Wind Witch again?” They heard more crunching sounds, each fainter than the last, before the birds and bugs started up again.

“What
was
that?” Cordelia asked Brendan.

“I’m scared to say,” he said, “and I could be wrong. I’m going to keep reading
Savage Warriors
to learn more.” He bolted back toward the library. Cordelia had never seen her brother run to read a book.

“I’m going to keep reading
The Heart and the Helm
!” said Eleanor, following.

“What’s that about?” asked Cordelia.

“Pirates.”

Cordelia smiled. “Go for it, Nell.” It seemed pretty clear that they wouldn’t be encountering any pirates in the forest.

Day crept into afternoon. Will took on guard duty at the front door as Cordelia joined her siblings in the library. Brendan read
Savage Warriors
, while Cordelia skimmed as many Kristoff books as she could—
Gemstone Mine
,
The Great Snake
—looking for characters or situations that matched the world they were in.

“You know what?” Brendan said. “During the Wind Witch’s attack, there was this moment when these three books were hovering in front of my face, and then they started to grow bigger and bigger. I bet
those
are the books we got sent to.”