Once Upon a Toad (23 page)

Las Vegas, apparently.

“Omigosh!” I said, sitting up and staring out the big picture window of the RV. I'd been asleep on one of its dining benches when the sound of a car backfiring woke me up.

My exclamation sent a toad flying across the table to the bench on the other side, where Olivia was sleeping. It landed on her pillow, right by her face.

Croak.

My stepsister cracked open an eyelid and screamed. Diamonds and daffodils scattered in every direction as she flopped around in her sleeping bag like a beached seal. In her panic to get away from the toad, she slid off the bench and onto the floor of the RV with a thud.

“Girls!” scolded Pearl, hoisting herself up onto her elbow and scowling at us from her makeshift bed on the sofa a few feet away. “What in tarnation is going on?”

“Toad!” cried Olivia, pointing frantically at the creature that was still squatting on her pillow.

“LOOK!” I cried, popping out another one as I pointed frantically at the window.

The two of them turned and gasped. The giant redwood trees had completely vanished. In their place a vast cityscape of neon sprawled out before us, blinking and flashing against the night sky. Hotels and casinos, billboards and pyramids, the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower—I even spotted a pirate ship in a lake-size fountain, and a roller coaster atop a high-rise. Every single square inch was bathed in garish light. I wondered fleetingly how many lightbulbs it took to run a city like this. Millions? Billions? It was as over the top and eye-boggling as Olivia's gem-encrusted version of Geoffrey's bedroom.

“Holy sweet whistling Annie,” whispered Pearl. “What are we doing in Vegas?”

Great-Aunt Abyssinia poked her head around the half wall that separated the driver's seat from the rest of the RV. “Ah, sorry, girls—just a little detour,” she said sheepishly, wrestling with a large map. “I made a wrong turn a ways back.”

Wrong turn? We were in
Nevada
! Great-Aunt Aby had messed up again!

“Where's my car?” asked Pearl, sounding anxious.

“Safe and sound,” my great-aunt replied, jerking her thumb toward the back of the RV. “I hitched her to the back.”

Someone behind us honked, and my great-aunt stuck her spiky orange head out the window. “Hey!” she boomed. “Cut me some slack! Senior citizen here!”

I fished around under the table for my backpack, unzipped its
outside pocket, and grabbed my cell phone. I didn't care if he was sleeping—A.J. needed to know about this. We were in serious trouble here.

Woke up in Las Vegas!
I texted.

Waaaaaaaa?
he texted back a moment later.

Occupationally challenged FG.
I added a frowny face.

Maybe we should chip in and get her a new wand.

Ha, ha,
I texted back.
She doesn't use one. Just a map from AAA. How far away from Portland are we, anyway?

Lemme check.
There was a short pause, and then:
A thousand miles. You have to be at the zoo in six hours. You'll never make it!

“We're a thousand miles from Portland,” I announced, flipping the cell phone shut and returning it to the pocket of my backpack. “We have to be at the zoo in six hours. We'll never make it.”

“That's the spirit!” said Great-Aunt Aby sarcastically. “Where's your sense of adventure, Catriona?”

“Adventure!” I cried, my voice rising along with the toad count. “The clock is ticking! Have you forgotten about Geoffrey?” I wondered if I should call NASA again and get them to patch me through to my mother. But what could she do besides yell at Great-Aunt Aby from outer space?

“How could anyone forget the G-Man?” my great-aunt replied. “Charming boy.” She glanced back over her shoulder again and gave me a stern look. “Now, clean up those toads and let me drive.”

As the RV lurched down the Las Vegas Strip—the backfiring was coming from us, I soon realized—Olivia and Pearl rushed to the big picture window in the living-room area to gawk at
the sights. I unzipped my sleeping bag in a fury, climbed out, and began tracking down my latest crop of toads.
If anything happens to my little brother because of Great-Aunt Aby's bungling,
I thought, stuffing them in my backpack because the trash was full,
I'll … I'll
… I sat back on my heels. Just exactly what would I do? What
could
I do, after all? I was just a twelve-year-old toad spitter, when it came right down to it.

The thought was sobering. Not only was I just a toad spitter, but I was a toad spitter stuck in the middle of the desert with a waitress named Pearl, an incompetent fairy godmother, and a stepsister who was on Area 51's most-wanted list. Plus one enormous cat. I glanced at Archibald, who was regarding me with his unblinking green eyes.

The odds of this being a successful rescue attempt were not good.

“Look!” cried Olivia. “Gondolas!”

A diamond clinked against the window as we lurched to a stop outside a hotel that looked like it belonged someplace in Italy. The RV backfired again, and I wondered gloomily if I should add “engine trouble” to our long list of handicaps.

I looked over at Olivia as Great-Aunt Aby consulted her map for the umpteenth time. My stepsister was still gaping out the window. She was actually enjoying this!
Lamebrain
.

Struck by a wild idea, I reached down and picked up the diamond on the floor by the window, then slipped it into the pocket of my jeans. What if I were to make a dash for the airport? Surely someone would fly me to Portland in exchange for something as valuable as this. I could easily get to the zoo in time if they did, and surely I could dig up a blond wig and pass
for Olivia. At least one of us would have a chance at rescuing Geoffrey that way.

Time to improvise! As soon as this thought flashed through my head, there was a sharp movement from the driver's seat. I turned to see Great-Aunt Aby adjusting the rearview mirror.
Maybe she really can read my thoughts,
I thought as I caught a glimpse of her magnified eyes staring at me.

Before she or anyone else could stop me, I grabbed my backpack, opened the side door of the RV, and sprinted into the night.

CHAPTER 22

I ran back down the Strip in the opposite direction from the RV, then turned onto a side path that crossed an open expanse of lawn. It felt good to run. I'd been feeling cooped up for days: in my room at home, on the bus, and then in the Red Rocket and the RV. My backpack jounced as I sped down the sidewalk, causing the toads it contained to croak wildly in protest. I ignored them and ran on.

I hurdled a hedge and cut across a manicured garden, ran through an archway, and found myself indoors. It was unlike any place I'd ever seen indoors, though. It was more like being outdoors—only a fake outdoors. The large, open plaza was surrounded on all four sides by the high walls of a fake Italian building. Graceful arched windows looked down on the restaurant tables spilling out onto the cobblestones below. All of it was spread under a soaring, painted blue sky.

This is a hotel?
I thought.
Whoa
.

I slowed to a walk. The plaza was thronged with people, and I
figured I could blend in with the crowd, then look for a taxi to the airport once I was sure I'd thrown Great-Aunt Aby off my trail. As long as I kept a low profile and didn't spill any toads, I'd probably be all right.

I felt a flicker of guilt at having ditched Great-Aunt Aby. I knew my mother definitely wouldn't approve. But I thrust the feeling firmly away. Getting back to Portland and saving Geoffrey was the only thing that mattered now.

I was warm from running, so I peeled back the hood of my sweatshirt. I took the glasses from the pocket of my backpack and put them back on, though, just in case. My picture was still plastered all over the news alongside Olivia's, after all.

You'd have never known it was the middle of the night by the number of people who were out. There were college students and retirees, businessmen in suits, people in shorts and swimsuits, and a few in glamorous evening wear. There were even people in costumes, including an Elvis impersonator.

I ducked into a doorway for a moment to text A.J., watching as a couple in a wedding dress and a tuxedo posed for pictures on the bridge that arched over a phony canal at the far end of the plaza. Were they for real, or just models? I wondered. It was hard to tell in a city like this, where so many things were fake. They sure seemed like a real couple, though. The groom said something to the bride and she laughed, tossing back her curly blond hair. From a distance she looked like Iz.

All of a sudden I was struck by a pang of homesickness so strong I nearly keeled over. Dad and Iz had been married on a bridge too—the one in Portland's Japanese Garden. They'd called the wedding their “bridge to a new life.” One that
included me and Olivia, and one that would expand to include our little brother a year later.

I would have given anything at that moment to see them again, or at least to be able to call and talk to them. I knew they must be worried sick about us. First Geoffrey, then Olivia and me. All three of us had vanished! My mother, too, must be frantic by now. I hoped that Great-Aunt Aby had somehow been able to get a message through to her.

Great-Aunt Aby.

I snapped Connor's cell phone shut and returned it to the pocket of my backpack. A.J. would have to wait. I peered out from the doorway, scanning the crowd. There was no sign of my great-aunt yet, but I doubted she was far behind. I stood there for a moment, trying to clear my mind of anything that might tip her off as to where I was—
Don't think about the big bell tower you passed, Cat, and don't think about the plaza or the canal or the gondolas or the fancy shops or strolling musicians
—
and tried instead to think of something entirely different.

Something like fast-food restaurants.

I'd been to a zillion in my lifetime, and I quickly flipped through my mental photo album of them, pausing at one in particular. I conjured up as clearly as I could the red booths and jukeboxes, the smell of french fries, the menu board on the wall behind the cash registers.
There,
I thought.
That should throw her off track
.

Then I dashed out of hiding and began to zigzag through the crowd.

I paused briefly by a kiosk displaying a map of the hotel and its grounds. After quickly locating the
YOU ARE HERE
dot (I was someplace called Saint Mark's Square), I tracked down the
valet parking area. There were bound to be taxis there.

Calculating the quickest route, I was surprised to find that it looked to be by gondola. Turning around, I stood on my tippy-toes, craning to see across the crowded plaza to the stairs that led down to the pretend canal. Were there any boats available?

There were. One was pulling alongside just now, in fact.

I made a dash for it and arrived breathless, just behind the bride and groom.

“That'll be sixteen dollars,” said the gondolier. He was wearing a costume too—black pants, red sash, black and white striped T-shirt, red neck scarf, and a straw boater hat with a matching red ribbon wound around it.

I drooped. All I had was Olivia's diamond, and I wasn't about to waste that on a boat ride. It was my ticket home to Portland.

Sometimes it helps to be vertically challenged. The bride and groom turned and saw me, then exchanged a glance.

“Poor little boy,” said the bride. “He just wants to have some fun!”

“That'll be sixteen dollars,” the gondolier repeated, unmoved.

“Tell you what, kid—I'll pay your fare if you'll take some pictures of us,” said the groom, holding out his camera.

I gave him an enthusiastic smile and a thumbs-up in return, and the three of us stepped into the crescent-shaped boat. The bride settled into her seat in a whoosh of white chiffon, like a marshmallow collapsing in a campfire.