“This way, Master,” Hoot said, leading the way.

The owl flapped along the street. Warwick looked ahead and spotted Billy holding his staff. And Billy wasn’t alone.

“He’s got all sorts of terrifying creatures following him,” Warwick commented with disgust. “How will we get to him?”

The warlock couldn’t waste any more time. He needed to get his staff back and then move on with his plan. He walked up to Billy.

“Young warlock,” he addressed the boy, “do you know who I am?”

Billy and his friends looked confused. “Uh, I’m not sure,” Billy said.

“I am Warwick the Warlock!” Warwick declared. “The most evil warlock known to man! All you ghouls will be my slaves! Now give me my staff.”

Billy’s eyes widened. Now he knew why this guy looked familiar. He’d seen his picture in that police file!

Warwick lunged for the staff. Billy did the only thing he could think of—he pointed the staff at Warwick.

“Protect us!” he commanded in his best wizard voice.

The staff lit up. Warwick gasped. “Oh, no!” he cried.

A second later a bolt of magical energy shot out of the staff. It hit Warwick, sending him flying back. He landed in a fake coffin on someone’s lawn, and the coffin’s lid slammed shut.

“Whoa,” Billy said, completely shocked.

“How did you do that?” Sam asked, equally shocked.

Billy shook his head. “I have no idea. But look at this!” He pulled the police sketch out of his backpack and showed it to the others.

“Dudes!” Pete exclaimed, “he really is the warlock!”

“Let’s go find Sheriff Dan,” Alice added. “Now!”

They all took off. A moment later, the coffin’s lid flipped open. Hoot landed on a nearby fake tombstone and peered down into the coffin.

“Are you okay, Master?” he asked.

Warwick sat up. He didn’t look okay. The magical bolt had frizzed his hair. His robe was smoldering.

“I clearly underestimated that warlock,” he muttered, glaring down the street after the kids.

Warwick picked himself up. He smoothed down his hair and shook the ashes from his robe. Determined to make things right, he returned to Mrs. Carroll’s door with Hoot perched on his arm. Once again, Mr. Carroll answered.

“Oh, hey,” Mr. Carroll said. “Loved your bit. But everyone only gets one piece of candy per trick.”

“I need your help, monster,” Warwick said with narrowed eyes. “You’re big and scary and the perfect henchman for the job.” Then, without warning, Warlock pulled out a potion and splashed it on Mr. Carroll.

“Servis mentus!” Warwick chanted.

Mr. Carroll’s eyes suddenly turned green.

“You will now do exactly as I say,” Warwick commanded.

“Yes, Master,” Mr. Carroll responded. He was hypnotized.

Warwick smiled. Finally, something was going right. “I want you to find a young warlock carrying a staff with a glowing black jewel,” he said. “Seize it—and eliminate him.”

“Yes, Master,” Mr. Carroll replied.

He stepped off the porch. His foot landed right in a jack-o’-lantern, but he kept walking with the pumpkin stuck on his foot.

Then Warwick and Hoot followed Frankendude out of the yard.