The Mapmaker and the Ghost(35)

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Moram squinted as she looked up at her daughter in the late-afternoon sun.

“I mean, has anything been destroyed … or, er, anyone strange visited here?” Goldenrod seemed to be faltering.

Their mother was staring at her and looking slightly confused. “No, of course not, dear. Are you okay?”

Goldenrod nodded.

“Are you sure?” their mother continued. “You look a little flushed. I hope you’re not coming down with whatever it is that Birch has.”

The moment she said his name, she noticed her son standing back at the edge of the lawn. “What are you doing out of bed?” she asked.

Birch gulped, thinking that it was finally time to come clean.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” Mrs. Moram followed brightly. She got up and walked over to him, took one hand out of a bright orange glove, and went to feel Birch’s forehead. “Hmmm … you’re a little warm.”

“I’m better,” Birch said meekly.

“Hmmm … well, yes. You are looking a little less pale.”

“I’ll, um, take him inside, Mom,” Goldenrod said.

“Okay, dear. I’m almost finished out here. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

Goldenrod gently took Birch by the shoulder and led him through the front door.

As soon as they had gotten inside, she started frantically running around the house, looking under the tables, in all the drawers, and in every nook and cranny she came across.

“What are you doing?” Birch asked.

“We were gone so long,” Goldenrod said. “Brains must have already been here. Don’t you think?”

“But what are you looking for?”

“I have no idea. Knowing him, something pretty evil.”

With a sharp nod, Birch also started to search the house, hoping that he’d be able to spot evil items fast enough to prevent them from causing damage.

They had made their way through the front hallway and living room, not leaving a single coaster or souvenir plate unturned. They were about to start on the kitchen when they heard their mother calling Goldenrod’s name.

Goldenrod went to the front door to answer.

“Could you grab me another bottle of insecticide?” their mother’s voice came drifting into the house. “There’s one in the box on the kitchen counter.”

“Sure,” Goldenrod said and walked over to a small cardboard box that was, in fact, on the kitchen counter. She took a small, white spray bottle from it. But instead of walking the bottle out to her mother, she seemed to completely freeze.

After she hadn’t moved for a few moments, Birch started toward her. “What’s the matter?” he asked, noting Goldenrod’s wide-eyed look of horror as she stared down into the box.

Slowly, she turned the white spray bottle around. There was a label on it with bright red writing. BRAINS’S ALL-ORGANIC GARDEN INSECTICIDE, it said. THE ENVIRONMENT-FRIENDLY SOLUTION TO ALL YOUR PESKIEST PROBLEMS. In tiny writing in the corner were the words: A TRADEMARK OF SPITBUBBLE, INC. There was a picture of a hand giving the thumbs-up right next to a plump red rose.

They stared at each other in horror for only a moment, before both bolting straight for the front door.

There, they saw their mother liberally spraying her garden with the other white bottle.

“Mom …” Goldenrod ran up to her breathlessly. “Where did you get this?” She showed her mother the bottle that was in her hand.

“Oh, it was a free gift from the Seed of the Month Club. It’s supposed to be amazing. Look at all these testimonials on the back. From Home & Garden and everything.” She went to grab the bottle out of Goldenrod’s hand, but Goldenrod wouldn’t let go.

“How much of it did you use?” Goldenrod asked.

“The first sampler bottle. I used it on the entire lawn. It’s supposed to be good for grass too.” Mrs. Moram tugged on the bottle.

Birch looked hopelessly around the lawn. Now that he knew, he could see how all of it seemed to glisten in a rather peculiar way.

“Goldenrod, dear, you have quite the firm grip.” Mrs. Moram kept tugging.

“Um, don’t use the rest, Mom,” Birch said.

“Why not?” Mrs. Moram looked confused.

“Because … because, the directions say not to use more than one bottle per week,” Birch blurted out.

“They do?” Mrs. Moram frowned, holding up her empty bottle to read the label.

“Yup,” Goldenrod said brightly. “Let me throw that out for you.” She grabbed the other bottle out of her mother’s hand and walked back into the house, Birch right behind her. They both looked at each other with eerily identical narrowed eyes.





26

PLOTTING OVER CHOCOLATE MILK


When Goldenrod walked into the living room the next morning, a little earlier even than she usually set out, her dad had just left for work and her mom was tending to the small herb garden they had on their kitchen sill.

“Hi, Mom,” Goldenrod said.

“Morning. Would you like some breakfast?” She went to open the cereal cupboard.

“No, I don’t think so,” Goldenrod said. “I packed something. I just wanted to ask if it would be okay if I took Birch with me today?”