House of Secrets (44 page)

The Storm King threw up his hands. His cloud cloak split in the middle and revealed his torso.

Eleanor would never forget the sight: Kristoff’s chest resembled a purple, extra-moldy slice of Gorgonzola cheese. Huge chunks of flesh were missing. Sores covered the skin that
was
there. Blue sparks, accompanied by warping, whooshing cracks, danced along his damaged body.

“Using that book may grant you all you desire,” said Kristoff, “but there is a dark price to pay. Look at me!”

“But you’re still alive,” the Wind Witch countered, shielding her eyes on the deck of the
Moray
, “and I am dying! I can’t keep myself going with common magic anymore. If the book’s power can keep me alive, isn’t that more desirable than something as shallow as human appearance?”

“It’s not only what it does to your body,” said Kristoff. “The book will chip away at your soul, so all that remains is a hint of goodness, a fragment of humanity, buried beneath pure evil and darkness. That’s why I always vowed to protect you from it! I loved you so much I even killed poor Penelope Hope to save you from the book!”

Dahlia’s voice turned suddenly sweet. “But Daddy, remember when we first used it together? And you would write down whatever I asked for and place it inside the book . . . and I would get all those wonderful presents . . . remember how happy I was? Remember how happy
we
were?”

The Storm King softened a little. Dahlia hadn’t called him Daddy in many, many years.

“That was my mistake,” he said. “I never should have showed you the book’s power—”

“But those are the best memories of my life. Using the book, making my dreams come true. Making all the bad things go away. Why don’t the two of us forget all of this and go back home, to Kristoff House? I’ve gotten rid of the Walker parents; we can do the same with the children. . . . We’ll have the house to ourselves, except now we’ll use the book together . . . and rule forever.” Dahlia paused and added softly—

“I still love you, Daddy.”

The Storm King trembled, as if he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said they loved him. Eleanor thought he might cry—

But Dahlia glanced at the slip of paper that was now stuck in Brendan’s spreading blood on the deck of the
Moray
. Her eyes filled with something needier than love: greed. The Storm King noticed.

“What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

Eleanor looked at
The Book of Doom and Desire
, still sitting in the casket on the deck, and got an idea. But she didn’t have much time. The cloud above the Storm King was starting to pulse.
He’s getting mad.

“Don’t be weak, Daddy. Let us use the book together—”

The Storm King sent a tendril of black cloud across the
Moray
, toward the scrap of paper.

“Daddy, stop. Don’t look at that—”

He brought the paper to his face, blew off the blood with a flick of his wrist, and read it.

“I knew it!” he shouted. “You have no real love for me or anyone else! You only care about the book!” He used the tiny black cloud to tear the paper up, causing the Wind Witch to scream—

“HOW DARE YOU DESTROY MY DREAMS?
”

The Wind Witch’s arms pinwheeled madly, causing a huge wave to crash over the ship.

“YOU’RE WEAK, FATHER!”
she cried, unfolding her wings and flying up to the mainmast.
“TOO WEAK FOR SUCH POWER! AND YOU TAKE IT OUT ON ME!”
River water swept the Storm King against the edge of the deck and held him in place, pounding his face, invading his mouth and lungs. Unconscious Cordelia and bloody Brendan were tossed around like toys. Eleanor was nowhere to be seen.

The Storm King slashed his arm through the rushing water so it exploded away from his face. He torpedoed up at the Wind Witch and opened his oversize mouth. He didn’t need wings to fly.

A kilowatt-level swath of blue lightning tore out of the Storm King’s face and hands, frying the air around him. The Wind Witch blocked his bolt with one of her own. The explosion blasted the Storm King out of the sky, sending him tumbling back to the
Moray
. The Wind Witch flew into the black cloud above.

On deck, the water dissipated. Brendan found himself lying beside Cordelia. He looked at the wood protruding from his side. A few feet away, the Storm King was preparing to attack again.

“Wait!” Brendan yelled.

The Storm King looked at him.

“Look . . . I know you’ve got to deal with your daughter issues. But before you leave . . . please . . . give me my old face back.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because like you said, deep inside,” said Brendan, “you’re still Denver Kristoff. There’s still some good in there.”

A flash of understanding appeared in the Storm King’s eyes. He extended his hand. Swirling black clouds came out of each of his fingertips. Brendan felt them gather at his mouth and slide inside his nose. He saw the orange light in the Storm King’s eyes get brighter. When the black fingerlings of cloud slipped away . . . Brendan’s face was back to normal.

He reached up, felt his skin, and smiled at the Storm King.

“Thanks so much. Now when they see me lying in my coffin, everyone at school won’t be grossed out.”

The Storm King slowly nodded—

And then he shot up into the cloud to take care of Dahlia.

“Phew,” Brendan said, rocking his head to the side, looking toward the stone casket. . . .

The Book of Doom and Desire
was gone!

And so was Eleanor.

“Nell?” Brendan called weakly. “Nell—”

Brendan went quiet as the first explosion of lightning erupted above. Inside the cloud, the Wind Witch and the Storm King had begun a titanic battle.

M
eanwhile, a few dozen yards away, inside the tiny bit of the Kristoff House chimney that still stuck up above the water, Eleanor looked at the same sight. The cloud seemed alive, throbbing with blue-and-white light, and a horrible burning smell drifted down. . . .

But Eleanor had a job to do.

In her hands was
The Book of Doom and Desire
. She had carried it over the ropes to Kristoff House and climbed inside the chimney while the Storm King and the Wind Witch fought. Now she was stuffed in this dirty little square space.
Sometimes it pays to be the smallest,
she thought, patting the chimney walls. Soot came off on her fingers. She smiled. That was part of the plan.

Eleanor opened the book without looking at it and ripped a page out as quickly as possible before closing it. By treating the book like a bear trap, she managed not to get enchanted by it. She looked at the page. A simple, blank page.

Now comes the tough part. Time to write.

She flashed back to that horrible thing that had happened to her at school, when she’d messed up reading in front of the whole class. She pushed it aside.
None of that matters now.
She put her soot-covered finger on the paper. Screams sounded from the cloud above. Eleanor closed her eyes. She remembered what Cordelia had told her forever ago, outside Kristoff House, about how maybe she should try reading backward. The key wasn’t to read backward. It was to read
blind
.

She blocked out the world, blocked out the screams, blocked out the confusion and echoes of those kids . . . and wrote.

Then she reopened
The Book of Doom and Desire
.

Just a little. Just enough to get the paper in.

She slipped it inside—

And a huge rush of wind sucked her out of the chimney and up toward the roiling cloud.

E
leanor thought it was the Wind Witch. Or the Storm King. Or both. She was certain they were bringing her up into the cloud to rearrange her body with lightning. It would be a brutal death, but Eleanor felt calm—because she had tried to do something heroic. She got closer to the cloud . . .

And then it started to spin.

Eleanor saw a tiny white dot at the center of it. The cloud was swirling around the dot, changing its shape, starting to resemble an enormous Dunkin’ Donut without the colorful sprinkles. Tremendous creaking winds accompanied this, and Eleanor began spinning, making circles over the
Moray
as she stared up at the shifting cloud. Now its sides were puffed out against the gorge; Eleanor saw the Wind Witch and the Storm King trying to fly away, but they were trapped in the same spiral as her. The cloud was growing, and the dot was growing—it was more of a disc now. Eleanor began to lose track of where she was. She looked down—

Castle Corroway was hundreds of feet below. The Resistance forces from Tinz had clearly won the battle, but were scattering in terror at the sight of the turbulence above. None of the soldiers were getting sucked toward the cloud; whatever force was consuming Eleanor, Denver, and Dahlia, it appeared to be very selective.

The cloud was moving higher, racing upward as if it would eventually soar into space, nearly covering the sky from horizon to horizon.

“Cordelia!” Eleanor called. Her sister suddenly appeared beside her, twisting like a trapeze artist, still unconscious, her hair flying out behind her. In an instant she was gone, far above. Eleanor was still rising—and the cloud was still growing. She looked down and saw the last thing she expected. . . .

Kristoff House! Untied from the
Moray
, flying upward, spinning in midair. The broken windows and seaweed and cracks and dents and holes in it made it look strangely weary, like an old friend returning from a long journey.
It’s a great house,
Eleanor thought,
at least when it’s got a family inside.

It rushed past her with a
whoosh
.

Eleanor looked back down and saw Fat Jagger.

He was sitting up in the river, taking deep breaths, looking at Eleanor with a goofy grin. He waved to her and blew a kiss.

“Thanks, Jagger!” Eleanor yelled. “Hope I get to see you again!” She had an idea, now, where she was headed.

Kristoff House reached the center of the cloud. The Wind Witch and the Storm King circled it, getting close to the front door.

Then something slammed into Eleanor from below.

It was Brendan, flying upward, spinning in midair, terrified.

“What’s happening?” he yelled. Blood was coming out of his side, spiraling up instead of falling down.

“We’re going home!” said Eleanor, and then things got very weird inside her head, almost too weird to describe. It was as if barriers were breaking down in the world and in her mind. She saw Kristoff House at the center of the giant cloud-torus, and then she saw her mother, lying in a hospital bed, holding her as a newborn, with her father standing over them: an image she couldn’t possibly remember, even though she knew it was true. Then she saw Denver Kristoff, not as the Storm King, but as himself with his blocky beard, sitting alone in his attic, about to open
The Book of Doom and Desire
; then she saw younger versions of Cordelia, Brendan, and herself playing on the swings at Alta Vista, their elementary school; this was followed by an image of Kristoff House as it had been when she first saw it, on Sea Cliff Avenue, backlit by the sun, part of the rhythms of San Francisco, of life; and then she saw the chalk outlines of her parents. All the while she got closer and closer to Kristoff House, and then the entrance was right in front of her, and the door was open, and there was seaweed dripping off it, and Cordelia’s unconscious body slipped through it, and Brendan rushed through, clutching his injured side, and behind the door there wasn’t a hallway anymore, but a flat white surface—the same color that had started as the center of the doughnut-shaped cloud and turned into the white disc—and Eleanor remembered how she had asked her dad once,
What’s at the end of the universe?
And he’d said,
There is no end. It just goes on and on . . .
but this seemed like the end.