over broken furniture, searching and calling, pawing through piles of splintered wood, trying to avoid slicing their hands on shattered glass. Brendan felt guilty – what kind of older brother was he? He hadn’t even been able to keep his little sister safe.
A musical plink made him turn his head.
“What was that?” Cordelia asked.
It came again, a tiny chime, like a muted string being plucked. Brendan and Cordelia moved towards it. “Nell?”
“Mum?”
“Dad?”
They reached the wreckage of the Steinway. It wasn’t as ruined as the rest of the furniture; although its legs were snapped off, it still had its sinuous piano shape. The plinks were coming from inside. Brendan and Cordelia lifted together…
And there was Eleanor, curled up on the strings. She picked at one. “I think that’s an A.”
“Come here, you.” Cordelia offered Eleanor a hand while Brendan held the piano open. Once she was out, her brother and sister hugged her so hard that they all fell over.
“Did you black out?” Brendan asked.
“No, I was awake the whole time.”
“What did you see?”
“That… angel thing rose to the ceiling, the whole house got really tall, and everything went black.”
“That’s what we saw! You did black out!”
“No, I was awake. It was the world that went black. She made it happen. I told you I saw her when we first looked at the house, and you didn’t believe me, remember? And now look what happened!”
“How do you know it was her?” Cordelia asked. “It could’ve—”
But Brendan interrupted his sister: “I saw her too. The Wind Witch.”
“What? When?”
“When I freaked and said it was ’cause I lost my PSP? I saw her. She grabbed my hand and… she asked me my name.”
“Bren!” Cordelia shoved her brother. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“How was I supposed to tell you? Would you have believed me? No, you would’ve told me I was trying to get attention.”
“No, I wouldn’t! I listen to you – when you actually have important things to say. Which is very rarely—”
“You’re the one who got us into this situation, Cordelia. You stole from the library—”
“I borrowed—”
“She specifically said, ‘You stole from my library!’ Do you remember that, or were you already blacked out?”
“Stop fighting!” Eleanor yelled. “Where are Mum and Dad?”
Brendan and Cordelia had to catch their breath. “We don’t know,” Brendan admitted.
Cordelia struggled to keep her face composed so she wouldn’t scare Nell. “They’re gone.”
“Then let’s find them,” said Eleanor.
They started looking by the wall where they had last seen their parents. There was a streak of blood on the paint, but otherwise no sign. Eleanor started to cry when she saw the blood. Cordelia put an arm around her. The siblings made their way into the great hall. It was as unrecognisable as the living room, with the coat-rack sticking out of a wall and the pottery reduced to jagged jigsaw chunks.
“Arsdottle’s fine,” said Brendan, looking at the philosopher bust.
“Because the Wind Witch liked him when she was a girl,” Cordelia said. “She spared him.”
They spent a quiet moment staring at the implacable bust – and then entered the library. Cordelia cringed. It was bare now, with the shelves gone, the ladders smashed and the long table split in two. The books had mostly sailed into the living room, but some were still there, strewn around with their covers open. Cordelia picked one up.
“Guys, it’s The Fighting Ace! This is the book I was reading when the Wind Witch attacked. Isn’t that crazy?”
Brendan wondered briefly if it was one of the three books that had expanded in front of him, but they had bigger problems now. “Who cares?”
“I do,” insisted Cordelia. Brendan snorted and led Eleanor towards the kitchen. Cordelia carefully found her place in the novel and salvaged a sliver of wood for a bookmark. No matter how bad things got at Kristoff House, with The Fighting Ace she could escape.
The kitchen showcased more destruction: the fridge was dented and leaking; a burner grate from the stove had smashed through a cabinet and destroyed the dinnerware; a family-size box of Cheerios had spilled its guts into the sink. The kids ran upstairs, frantically calling for their parents, but there was no sign.
The second floor was also in ruins, with two exceptions. The pictures in the hallway were in perfect condition. That made sense, because they were of Dahlia’s family; she wouldn’t hurt them. But Cordelia discovered something in the master bedroom too: the white-and-bronze RW trunk.
“Bren? Nell? Look. Everything is demolished, but this trunk is fine.”
“Maybe the Wind Witch protected it,” said Brendan. “Maybe there’s something inside she wanted to keep.”
“Or,” said Cordelia, “it’s magical. Guarded by a ward.”
“A what?”
“You know, like a magic symbol that protects something.”
Cordelia paused. “What about ‘RW’? Who do you think he is?”
“Maybe it’s a she,” Eleanor said.
“Rutherford Walker,” said Brendan, recalling the name. “Dr Rutherford Walker, to be exact.”
“Who?”
“Our great-great-grandfather. Dad told me his name once.”
Cordelia was impressed. “You remembered from hearing that once? How come you don’t have better grades?”
“Because at school there’s nothing worth remembering.”
“Well, this trunk could be a clue,” said Cordelia. “Remember what the Wind Witch said: ‘For the evil done him by the Walkers—’”
“‘For all the evil done upon him by the Walkers—’”
“Bren, she was talking about revenge. And him was her father, Denver Kristoff. It must be revenge for something that happened decades ago. Maybe Kristoff started a blood feud against us.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t
