Isle of the Lost (9 page)

The chorus of snapping metal jaws rang through the darkness, steel blades against steel blades, as she ran screaming toward the back door. The traps slammed shut,
BAM BAM BAM
, one after another, one a hairbreadth away from her stocking while another almost caught her heel as she turned the door handle, left the room, and shut the door behind her.

But just as she thought she was safe, she realized she had plunged right into a dark, furry presence.

Was it a bear? A horrible shaggy monster? Had she gotten out of the frying pan only to fall into the fire? Evie twisted and turned, but only succeeded in wrapping herself deeper in fur—dense, thick, woolly fur—
with two armholes?

This was no bear…no monster. She was trapped in a fur coat! Evie tried to shake it off, tried to shrug it off her shoulders, but she was smack-dab in the middle of dozens of coats, all of them black or white or black
and
white, made of the thickest, lushest hides—there was spotted ocelot and dip-dyed mink, silky sable and shiny skunk, all of them packed in like sardines, so full, so fluffy, so thick. This was Cruella De Vil’s fur closet, her wondrous collection, her obsession, her greatest weakness.

And those fur traps back there were her security system, just in case anyone got too close to the stuff.

Evie finally managed to untangle herself and push aside the wall of fur, just as a hand grasped her wrist and pulled her through to the other side.

“You okay?” It was Carlos.

Evie took a deep breath. “Yes. I think so. Do I win the game?” she asked drily.

Carlos laughed. “Mal’s going to be annoyed you survived.”

“Where are we?” Evie looked around. There was a lumpy mattress on the floor next to an ironing board and a washbasin, along with a vanity table that held dozens of white-and-black wigs.

When Carlos looked embarrassed, she realized it was his bedroom. Cruella’s fur closet opened onto a dressing room, where her son slept.

“Oh.”

Carlos shrugged. “It’s home.”

Even if her mother annoyed her sometimes, at least Evil Queen was obsessed with Evie’s good looks; and even when she wasn’t worried that perhaps Evie might not be the fairest of them all, she treated her daughter like the princess she was. Evie’s room might be dark and musty, but she had a real bed, not a makeshift one, with a thick blanket and relatively soft pillows.

“It’s not so bad in here, really!” Evie said. “I’m sure it’s cozy and, hey…you’ll never catch a cold. You can just use one of her fur coats for a blanket, right?” It was awfully drafty in the room: like her own home, Hell Hall wasn’t insulated for winter.

Carlos shook his head. “I’m not allowed to touch them,” he said, trying to put the furs back in order. They were so heavy, and there were so many of them. “I’ll fix them later. She doesn’t come back till Sunday.”

Evie nodded. “This is all my mother’s fault. If she hadn’t tried to challenge Maleficent’s leadership when they first came to the Isle, none of this would have happened.”

“Your mother actually
challenged
Maleficent?” Carlos goggled. It was unheard of.

“Well, she is a queen, after all,” Evie pointed out. “Yeah, she was angry that everyone on the island decided to follow Maleficent instead of her.” She walked over to the vanity and began to fix her makeup, delicately powdering her nose and applying pink gloss to her full rosebud lips. “And now here we are.”

“Mal will get over it,” he said hopefully.

“Are you kidding? A grudge is a grudge is a grudge. She’ll never forgive me. Didn’t you listen in Selfie class? I thought you were so smart.” Evie smiled wryly. “Oh well, I should just face it. Go back to our castle and never come out.”

“But you’re not, right?”

“No, I guess not.” Evie put away her compact. “Hey,” she said softly. “I have an old comforter I never use…I mean, if you get cold and you can’t…Oh, never mind.” She’d never had any siblings, so she had no idea what having a little brother would be like. But if Evil Queen had ever stopped looking at herself in the mirror long enough to have another kid, Evie thought it would be tolerable to have a little brother like Carlos.

Carlos looked as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Forget I said anything,” said Evie in a rush.

“No, no, bring it. I mean, no one’s ever cared whether I’m warm or not,” he said, blushing red as his voice trailed off. “Not that
you
care, of course.”

“I certainly don’t!” agreed Evie. Caring was
definitely
against the rules at Dragon Hall and could turn anyone into a laughingstock. “We were going to throw it out.”

“Excellent, just consider my home your Dumpster.”

“Er, okay.”

“Do you think you might have a pillow you were going to toss out too? I’ve never had a pillow.” Carlos turned red again. “I mean, I’ve had
tons
of pillows, of course. So many! We have to keep throwing them away. I get so many pillows. I mean, who’s never had a pillow in their life? That’s preposterous.”

“Yeah, I think we were going to throw away a pillow,” Evie said, turning just as red as Carlos, even as a warm, sunny sensation had taken over her chest. She changed the subject. “Still working on that machine of yours?”

“Yeah, wanna see?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Evie replied, following Carlos out of the room toward the back of the house, away from the party. Carlos slipped outside, holding the door open for Evie.

“Where are we going?”

“To my lab,” Carlos replied, pulling out a matchbook and lighting a candle to lead the way into the weedy backyard.

“Your what?”

“My science lab. Don’t worry, I don’t, like, sacrifice toads or something.”

Evie let out a hesitant laugh.

They approached a huge, gnarled tree with a rope ladder. Carlos started climbing up it. “I have to keep it all in my tree house. I’m afraid my mom is going to get some big ideas and turn my chemicals into makeup and hair products.”

Evie scrambled up the ladder behind him. The tree house was more elaborate than any she’d ever seen, with miniature turrets and a tiny balcony that looked out onto the dark forest below. Inside, Evie spun around, gaping. The walls were lined with shelves of glass beakers, vials, and jars containing various neon-colored liquids. In the corner sat a small, old television with about fifteen different antennas strapped to it.

“What is all this?” Evie asked, picking up a jar of something white and snowy.

“Oh, that’s from Chem Lab. It’s sodium polyacrylate—I was trying to see if I could use it as a sponge when mixed with water,” Carlos said. “But here, this is what I wanted to show you.” He pulled out the wire-box contraption he’d been working on in class. “I think I got the battery to work.”

Carlos fiddled with a few buttons and flicked a few switches. It sputtered to life, then died. His face fell. He tried again. This time, it emitted a high-pitched squeal before dying.

He looked up at Evie sheepishly. “Sorry, I thought I had it.”

Evie looked at the black box. “Maybe try connecting this wire to that one?” she suggested.

Carlos peered at the wires. “You’re right, they’re in the wrong place.” He switched the wires and hit the switch.

A powerful electric burst shot out of the box, sending Carlos and Evie flying back against the wall and falling to the floor. The beam of light burst up toward the plywood ceiling, blasting a hole in the tree-house roof and up to the sky.

“Maleficent!” Carlos cursed.

“Oh my goblins!” Evie screamed. “What just happened?”

They both scrambled out onto the tree-house balcony and stared up at the sky, where the light was streaking all the way up, through the clouds, up, up, up, all to the way to the dome!

The light seared through the barrier as easily as it had burned a hole in the tree-house roof.

Lightning flashed, and the very earth shook with a supersonic rumble. For a second they could see through the dome and directly into the night sky. The black box began to emit a strange beeping noise.

Carlos and Evie scrambled back inside, and Carlos picked up the box. It was making a sound neither of them had ever heard before.

And for a brief moment, there was something on the television in the room, which had burst to life all of a sudden.

“Look!” Evie cried.

The screen was flashing with so many different scenes it was dizzying. For a moment they saw a talking dog (Carlos screamed at the sight); then it switched to a pair of twins who were nothing alike (one was boyish and athletic and the other was sort of a diva, and they both sort of looked like Mal, except with yellow hair); then it switched again to two teenage boys who seemed to be running a hospital for superheroes.

“Look at all these different television shows!” Carlos said. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew there had to be other kinds!”

Evie laughed. Then the screen flickered and went dark again, and the box in Carlos’s hands went dead. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe it worked? It penetrated the dome for a second, didn’t it?” he asked, approaching the box fearfully and touching it with the end of one finger. It was hot to the touch, and he pulled his hand away quickly.

“It must have,” Evie said. “That’s the only explanation.”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone about what happened, especially about the dome. We could get in real trouble, you know.”

“I promise,” said Evie, making an X with her fingers behind her back.

“Good.”

“You want to go back to the party?”

“Do we have to?” she asked, unwilling to find herself trapped in another closet.

“You have a point. And that show you like on Auradon News Network, the one that features the Prince of the Week, is going to be on in five minutes.”

“Excellent!”

Unbeknown to the two villain children, far off in the distance, deep in the heart of the forbidden fortress, hidden behind a gray misty fog on the other side of the island, a long black scepter with a jewel on its end came back to life, glowing green with power again. The most powerful weapon of darkness had been awakened for a moment.

Next to the hidden staff, a stone statue of a raven began to vibrate, and when the bird began to shake its wings, the stone crumbled into dust, and in its place was that black-eyed fiend, that wicked fairy’s familiar, the one and only Diablo, Maleficent’s best and first friend.

Diablo shook his feathers and gave a throaty, triumphant cry. Evil would fly again.

Evil lives
.…

B
en nervously fiddled with the beast-head ring on his finger as he waited for the Council members to come in and take their seats around the king’s conference table later that morning. His father’s advice rang in his ear.
Keep a strong hand. Show ’em who’s king.

He flexed his own fingers, thinking of his father’s fist. His father didn’t mean it literally, but Ben was worried nonetheless. He supposed he would just have to improvise.

“Ready, sire?” Lumiere asked.

Ben took a breath and tried to sound as serious as possible. “Yes, let them in, thank you.”

Lumiere bowed. Even though it had been a long time since he had been enchanted and turned into a candelabrum, there was something about him that still resembled one, and for a moment, Ben could easily imagine two small flames flickering on his outstretched palms.

Lumiere knows who he is—and he’s happy being Lumiere. Is it really so much more complicated to be a king than a candelabrum?

The thought was, for a moment, comforting to Ben. But then the Council entered the room—and he found there was nothing comforting about the sudden sight of the royal advisors.

In fact, they’re pretty terrifying, Ben thought.

He didn’t know why. They were chatting amiably enough, discussing last night’s Tourney scores and whose Fantasy Tourney League was winning. Seats were taken, gossip exchanged, goblets of spiced cider passed around, as well as a plate or two of the castle kitchen’s sugar cookies.

Representing the sidekicks were the usual seven dwarfs, still wearing their mining clothes and stocking hats. Seated next to the dwarfs (or rather, sitting along the edge of a book of
Auradon’s Civic Rules & Regulations
that lay on the table nearest them, because they were much too small to take any seat at all) were the very same mice who had helped Cinderella win her prince—wily Jaq, chubby Gus, and sweet Mary. The rodent portion of the advisory board tended to speak in small, squeaky tones that could be hard for Ben to understand without the communicator in his ear, which translated everything that the animals said in the meeting.

Everyone at the table was wearing one of the clever hearing devices, one of the few magical inventions allowed in the kingdom. The mice’s squeaks, the Dalmatian’s barks, and Flounder’s burbling were all translated so that they could be understood.

Beyond the mice, a few of Ariel’s sisters (Ben could never remember which was which, especially as their names all started with
A
) and Flounder splashed along in their own copper bathtub, wheeled in by a very unhappy Cogsworth, who grimaced every time the slightest bit of water sloshed over the edge.