The Mapmaker and the Ghost(34)

“But I’m only eleven now—” Randy started.

“Exactly,” the old lady said emphatically, before turning to No-Bone. “As for you, I’m sure you don’t have any parents of your own, do you?”

Still dumbfounded, No-Bone shook his head.

“Well, that seems to be typical for Spitbubble,” the old lady said. “But believe me, I have ways to make your life just as sorry as Randall’s is going to be.”

No-Bone didn’t respond, but he certainly looked like he wouldn’t want to experiment with her claim.

“Now you’re going to tell me where the rest of your miserable lot is,” she continued.

No-Bone remained silent.

The old lady positioned the trophy to send it flying at his other arm.

“Okay, okay,” he finally said, looking as sore as his elbow. “They decided to teach that Mold-and-rot a lesson. They’re at her house.”

“Doing what?” the old lady asked.

“Well, apparently Brains knew that Mold-and-rot’s mother—”

“Her name isn’t Mold-and-rot,” the old lady snapped.

No-Bone looked confused, and Goldenrod realized he must have never known her real name. “Oh…,” he said.

“It’s Goldenrod,” Randy squeaked.

“So what did Jonas know about Goldenrod’s mother?” the old lady continued.

“Well, he says that she has a really nice garden that she loves, so he was going to—”

“No!” Goldenrod watched with surprise as her little brother went flying down the ladder.

No-Bone and Toe Jam both looked shocked to see him. “You’re here?” No-Bone asked stupidly.

Goldenrod supposed that Birch had had it. Between getting kidnapped, and being called names, and hiding in strange, musty attics with curiously strong old ladies, it seemed his tolerance for fear had broken through the threshold. Now, he looked simply angry.

“You, you…,” he sputtered as he stamped toward the bigger boys. “You!” he finally screamed as he punched No-Bone in his hurt arm.

“Ow!” No-Bone looked furious. “I’m gonna …”

“You will do nothing,” the old lady boomed, “or I will call the cops.”

By this point, Goldenrod had climbed down the ladder and was standing beside Birch.

“Let’s go stop him, Birch,” she said.

Birch turned to her, and Goldenrod saw a look of determination and confidence she had never, ever seen on his face before. Her heart surged with pride.

“Okay,” he said and immediately started for the door.

“Thanks,” Goldenrod told the old lady before jogging after him. “Wait,” she stopped just as she had gotten to the front door. “What’s your name?” She turned to the old lady.

“Cassandra Rubina Lewis.” The old lady stood up a little straighter as she said it. “Pleased to meet you, and you’d better hurry.”





25

SOMETHING EVIL


Goldenrod and Birch were running faster than they ever had in their lives. Each was conjuring up a different horrific vision of what they might find when they finally got back to their house.

Birch was imagining a front lawn that resembled the color of severely rusted iron. The sun would blaze on the penny-colored grass, sharply outlining the wilted brown petals of all his mother’s flowers. A tumbleweed would roll by as a whistling tune played.

Okay, so that’s probably not exactly how it would go, but Birch was imagining the worst.

As they got nearer and nearer to their house, Birch could feel the pit of his stomach stretch farther and farther down toward his feet. He was almost dreading this moment more than anything else that had happened to him all day.

Finally, they turned the corner onto their street and could see their green roof at the end of the block. Little by little, as they passed each neighboring home, more of their house came into view. First the white sidings. Then the windows. The front door. And, finally, they caught a glimpse of their lawn.

It was green. As green as their roof. As green as it had ever been.

Birch could hardly believe it. Maybe they weren’t too late after all … he could see the purples of some of the dahlias, the tall goldenrods, the chrysanthemums, and all the rest. And there, happily spraying them, was his mother, in her orange gardening gloves and clogs. She was humming to herself.

Goldenrod ran to her. But, as overjoyed as Birch was to see no damage done, he also quickly remembered that he was probably in trouble. He couldn’t see how it would be possible, but he hung back behind Goldenrod, hoping that she might create some distraction that would make their mother forget he was supposed to be sick in bed. At least she was wearing some crazy face paint. That might help.

“Mom!” Goldenrod yelled breathlessly.

Their mother looked up. “Hello, darling,” she said cheerfully. “What’s that on your face?”

“Oh. Right. I was just practicing my camouflage techniques.”

Mrs. Moram looked like she was thinking this through for a moment before shrugging it off with a smile. “Oh.”

It figures that it’d take more than face paint to bother her, Birch thought with a sigh.

“So … is everything all right?” Goldenrod asked.