House of Secrets (37 page)

“That’s not true,” said Cordelia. “Even though we fight and disagree about almost everything, my brother and sister love me, care about me.”

“Stop fooling yourself,” the Wind Witch said—and she took Cordelia’s hand.

Cordelia had never felt the woman’s skin before. It was papery and dry, rough and old—but
electric
, charged with a force that surged into her.

Cordelia’s arm hairs stood up like fiber-optic cables. Her fingertips tingled like they were dipped in mint. The Wind Witch’s grip grew tighter. Cordelia stood at attention, trying to hold herself together despite the spider-crawl pinpricks blooming in her spine—and then something snapped, and she stood outside herself, seeing a vision of her own mind.

It was blue and etched with fine lines. Within it she could see her memories. Each one was like an old movie reel, a ribbon of images recording something that had stuck with her, that she cared about. Some of the longest and most important ones had to do with her siblings. There was the time she saved Eleanor from playing in the dryer in their old house; the time she and Brendan got caught making potions in the bathroom. The time they went to Disneyland; the time Brendan caught a foul ball at a Giants game and he talked about it for a month. She saw these memories twist into a small bundle—

And then they disappeared. And with them her love for Brendan and Eleanor. It was replaced by the pure, true knowledge the Wind Witch provided: Her siblings were really just average kids who’d never cared about her, never really loved her. Her parents were failed protectors who were too weak. And Will? He was a pale imitation of a real pilot, a real fighter.

Only one thing in Cordelia’s life mattered now:
The Book of Doom and Desire
.

“Is it all becoming clear?” asked the Wind Witch.

“Very,” said Cordelia, snapping back to reality in a docile state, the Wind Witch’s hand still clutching hers.

“Good. And without those others in your life, you are free to concentrate on your own dreams.”

“The book,” said Cordelia.

“It wants you.
Needs
you. It’s your destiny.”

“Yes,” said Cordelia, as a creepy, otherworldly smile covered her face. Her eyes were dead.

“And I promise: if you take me to the book, we’ll both be free.”

Cordelia stood, suddenly eager. “I can take you. But you have to get me out of here. You’re powerful enough to blast away these bars—”

The Wind Witch shook her head. “We don’t want anyone to hear us.”

“Of course . . . ,” said Cordelia. Every second that the Witch held her, her mind drifted more into a fog.

Her fingers suddenly got very cold. The intense chill moved through her arms, chest, and face. Her legs started to freeze. She noticed that her hands were losing their color and hardening into something transparent and shimmering.

“What are you doing?” she asked the Wind Witch.

“Getting us out of here.” The Wind Witch’s body had also begun to transform. Cordelia couldn’t decide what was more fascinating: watching her skin solidify into something translucent and cold, or seeing the Wind Witch’s do the same. In minutes, although they could still move and speak, they were both completely transfigured from flesh into—

“
Ice!
” said Cordelia. “You turned us into
ice!
Why?”

“Come,” the Wind Witch said, pulling Cordelia toward the bars of the cell. “The pain only lasts a moment.”

“Pain?”

But it was too late. The Wind Witch and an unwilling Cordelia were running together, hand in hand, straight for the metal bars—and when they slammed into them, their icy bodies shattered into a million pieces.

The shards flew past the bars, landing in a pile in the hall. Cordelia, who somehow maintained consciousness, realized,
I’m mixed in with the Wind Witch now. I’m part of her.

The ice pieces sprang to life, skittering toward one another, connecting. Piece by piece the Wind Witch and Cordelia turned back into ice-sculpture versions of themselves. Then the ice warmed and colored to flesh, and they were human again, although Cordelia still felt a bit of coldness inside her, somewhere in her chest, that she couldn’t quite place.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked the Wind Witch.

“Not so bad? It felt like a billion parts of my skin were being stung by jellyfish. Like that time in Florida with Mom and Dad and Brendan and Nell, when—” Cordelia paused as the old memory returned. The Wind Witch quickly noticed and grabbed her hand, transporting her back into a state of mental mishmash that only permitted one feeling: selfish desire.

“Now, my dear. Show me the way.”

Cordelia led the Wind Witch down the hall, knowing just where to go—she could almost taste the book. In a few minutes they reached Sangray’s chambers. But someone was there.

Her sister.

“Deal!” Eleanor said. “I was worried about you; I came—
why are you holding hands with the Wind Witch?”

Cordelia surged forward. It was an instinct deep inside her; her memories of Eleanor weren’t as buried as they’d seemed. She looked at the Wind Witch. “Why are you scaring my sis—”

The Wind Witch clutched her hand so tightly that all the blood drained from it. Cordelia was back under her spell.

“Don’t let her stop you. Open the door!”

Cordelia tried, but it was locked.

“Deal!
Stop!
” Eleanor cried.

The Wind Witch waved her stump—and a sudden gust of wind knocked Eleanor over. She waved it again—and a bolt of lightning blew the lock off the door.

“Cordelia!” Eleanor screamed, lying on the floor. “You have to listen to me. Whatever this old lady is shoving in your head, it’s not true, and you have to
fight
—”

“Shut her up,” said the Wind Witch.

“Yes.” Cordelia put her feet on either side of Eleanor’s small body, raised her free hand, and made a fist.

A
lthough her brain was given over to the Wind Witch, Cordelia still had her intelligence, and her intelligence had a cruel streak. She realized that hitting Eleanor would be far less effective than getting her where it really hurt.

“Did you even skim
The Heart and the Helm
?” she asked. “Or did you just pretend while you got Brendan to read it for you?”

“What?” Eleanor asked. “You know I read it! You were in the same room as me!”

“I think you were faking,” said Cordelia. “Because we all know you can hardly read at all. You couldn’t even get the address of Kristoff House right. Sometimes I don’t think you’re dyslexic; I think you’re just
dumb
.”

Eleanor burst into tears. The Wind Witch purred as she clutched Cordelia’s hand. “
Good.
Now, I can’t get close to the book, because of the curse my father put on it. So I need you to take this”—the Wind Witch gave a slip of paper to Cordelia—“and put it inside the book. Can you do that?”

“Yes . . . ,” Cordelia answered. “But why? What’s on the paper?”

“That’s not for you to know. Just do as I say, and you’ll learn the book’s true power.”

The Wind Witch let go of Cordelia’s hand . . . but Cordelia remained under her spell. It was as if the tiny piece of the Wind Witch that was inside her was exercising its power. She entered Sangray’s chamber with her sister wailing in the background. She moved toward the book, a blank look on her face—

But suddenly she heard a thud behind her, and when she turned around, the Wind Witch was sitting dazed against the hallway wall.

In her place stood Will, looking like he’d just shoulder-checked a rugby player. Behind him was Brendan.

“What’s happening?” Cordelia asked, lucid again.

“We heard Eleanor call for help,” said Will, “and I—”

“Maggots!”
the Wind Witch yelled.

She got to her feet and shot out her bad arm. A cone of air howled from her stump, spiraling across the chamber. Will hit the deck, avoiding the powerful blast, but Brendan was right in its path. He was lifted off his feet like a doll and blown across the room toward the opposite wall.

CRACK!
Brendan’s head hit the ceiling. His neck bent forward at an odd angle, and he dropped to the floor in a heap.

“No!” Cordelia said, charging for him. Will grabbed her ankles: “Be still!”

“Children have such short memories,” the Wind Witch said, panting as the veins in her head pulsed.

“Keep her talking,” whispered Will to Cordelia; he started crawling backward across the floor as Eleanor stood frozen.

“A few moments ago you agreed that your family was useless. Now you defend them?” the Wind Witch continued.

“You better believe it,” said Cordelia.

“Don’t you still want the book?”

“Not in a million years. That wasn’t me. That was you, messing with my head . . . you tricked me. Changed all the good memories I had about the people in my life into dark feelings.”

“Those dark feelings were your own,” said the Wind Witch. “No one can be tricked into hatred. Some part of you might even be happy to see your brother lying on the floor right now, possibly with a broken neck . . . possibly never to walk again.”

The Wind Witch beamed with horrible pride—but like most proud, narcissistic people, she had a tendency to overlook details. In this case, the detail of Will opening Sangray’s trunk to get the spell scrolls. By the time she noticed, he had unrolled his favorite ones—

“Inter cinis crescere fortissimi flammis!”

The ball of fire whooshed toward the Wind Witch like a comet; Cordelia dove. The Wind Witch shrieked, waving her disfigured arm at the flaming orb—

And a rainstorm suddenly slashed through the room, dissipating the fireball and pushing everyone toward the broken stained-glass windows.

“Who do you think you are now? A wizard?” the Wind Witch yelled.

“He’s a better wizard than your father! At least he’s not crazy!” said Cordelia.

“Don’t speak of my father!”
The Wind Witch sliced her arms through the air in strange motions. The rain pounded harder. The wind blew faster. Eleanor clutched Brendan’s limp body as she and Cordelia leaned into the indoor storm, as if they were trying to walk in a hurricane, but the Wind Witch’s anger caused it to reach an intensely violent level. They were ripped into the air with Will and blown toward the sea—

“‘Terra ipsa fenerat viribus!’”
Will read.

The stone wall materialized behind him.

Will and the Walkers hit it and fell to the floor.

The Wind Witch was not pleased. She didn’t have words for this indignity, just a high-pitched keening that she let ring through the chamber. She stepped forward, put her good hand on the stone table, and raised her disfigured one. Lightning started crackling out of the gnarled skin at the end. Cordelia knew a bolt was coming.

She spotted the metal chain that was draped on the floor. She snatched one end and tossed it in the air as the lightning darted toward her. It forked down and hit the chain.
CRACCKKKK!
The bolt traveled back along the length of the metal and down to the iron ring . . . which was resting beside the Wind Witch’s good hand.

The Wind Witch didn’t have time to scream. The bolt zapped her with a fierce white crackle that made everyone shield their faces—

And when they had the courage to peek again, the Wind Witch was
gone
.

Only a puff of smoke remained.

For a moment no one spoke.

“Did we . . . kill her?” Eleanor finally asked.

“Doubtful,” said Will, standing and patting the stone wall. “She’s too clever. I think she took evasive action because Cordelia outsmarted her.”

“Who cares?” Cordelia said, rushing over to her brother. “None of it matters if Brendan’s hurt!” She knelt down and cradled him. He had a pulse; he was breathing. But he was out cold.

Cordelia hung her head. Something about this fight was worse than the ones before. She felt hollow inside: no excitement, no joy at staying alive. She heard sniffling and turned around to see Eleanor crying. Will had a hand on her shoulder.

“Help Bren,” Cordelia said to Will as she knelt in front of Eleanor. A tear hit her arm. It was hot. Cordelia said, “I’m sorry I was so mean . . . about you not being able to read. . . . I was wrong. What I know is, you are a good reader, who will someday be a great reader.”