It is common knowledge that in order to be a serious villain, you must have a lair. But not just any old lair. It should be a really cool, state-of-the-art, storybook kind of lair. Only with that sort of lair can a villain expect to become feared and famous.

Now, I’m not suggesting that you become a villain. Au contraire—villainy is an expensive, time-consuming, and lonely lifestyle. It is not for the tenderhearted or sweet-tempered. If your goal is to be popular and get invited to lots of parties, do not become a villain. If you like to go out in public without people booing you, throwing rotten fruit at your head, or fleeing from you in terror, do not become a villain. However, if you relish the thought of being alone and you have a single goal in mind and are willing to do anything to reach that goal, whether it be ruling the universe or becoming the richest kid in the world, then villainy might be an option.

It appeared, to Homer, that Lorelei had chosen the villain lifestyle. She didn’t care about having friends, which was why she’d stolen from Homer on three different occasions. She was willing to do anything to become the most famous treasure hunter in the world, including lying, stealing, and cheating. And she was the current owner of an amazing lair. He needed no more proof than that. Lorelei had gone to the dark side.

Lorelei’s lair had once belonged to Madame la Directeur. It lay in the bowels of the Museum of Natural History, which happened to be a short walk from the Mockingbird Hotel. And so, leash in hand, backpack on back, Homer began the trek down the sidewalk. Dog was blissfully unaware of the destination. If he’d known they were about to revisit the place where he’d come face-to-face with a mutant, carnivorous tortoise, he most assuredly would have plopped onto his belly in his “I’m-not-budging-and-you-can’t-make-me” stance. But since he was unaware, he practically pranced, his ears and jowls swinging in a carefree way. Homer, however, was filled with trepidation. How would he get the map? How would he keep Lorelei from blabbing about L.O.S.T.? And worse, if he failed, how would he face Ajitabh and Zelda?

After a few minutes of worried walking, during which Homer almost persuaded himself to turn back, the museum loomed into view. A pair of towering lion statues sat at the museum’s entrance—noble guardians that greeted all visitors. Homer wiped the back of his neck. Was it the muggy August air that had made him all sweaty or was it fear? If only he’d had the time to come up with a plan. Even a half-baked plan was better than no plan. “What am I going to do?” he asked Dog.

Dog stared up at one of the lions and growled.

Tourists waited in line at the museum’s ticket booth. A horse and carriage pulled up to the sidewalk and deposited more tourists, who ran up the steps, cameras in hand, sunglasses and sun hats bobbing. Homer wished he could be an ordinary tourist, off to explore the museum’s exhibits, instead of a L.O.S.T. spy, off to stop a rival treasure-hunting organization. For a brief moment, he yearned for the good old days when he’d known nothing of danger except for the occasional slip in the mud or collision with a dodgeball.

“Grrrr,” Dog growled at the other lion.

“Come on,” Homer said with a tug of the leash.

There were two ways to get into the lair. One was by water, via City Lake. A channel opened at the edge of the lake, in an area accessible only by boat. This channel led directly into the depths of the lair, where it formed a pool. The channel, however, was blocked by a heavy gate, upon which hung a sign.

This sign, put there by Madame la Directeur when she’d been the lair’s owner, kept curious boaters from peering through the gate. The gate itself could be opened only by remote control—a special universal remote that Lorelei now owned.

The other way to get inside the lair was through a giant tortoise statue, which sat in the museum’s basement. The easiest route to the basement was to walk through the museum’s main entrance, then take the elevator. But this option was not available to Homer. First, the museum had security cameras posted throughout, and Homer didn’t want Ajitabh or Zelda to be able to track his movements. Second, dogs weren’t allowed inside the museum.

So, to get to the tortoise statue, Homer had to use the more difficult route, and that is why he and Dog followed the museum’s north wall. This was the wild side of the building—no parking spaces or sidewalks, just a lot of shrubs and trees. Homer stopped at the wall’s midpoint and kicked aside an ivy vine. A metal grate had been set into the ground. Dog’s ears went limp, and he looked up at Homer with his sad eyes.

“I know you don’t want to go in there, but we have to,” Homer said. “Too bad I don’t have your glow-in-the-dark vest.” Too bad he didn’t have a flashlight or his uncle’s night-vision goggles, either. He’d been in such a hurry to pack for his VIP tour of the map club that he hadn’t thought about bringing his treasure-hunting gear. After all, this was supposed to have been a fun-filled trip, not a clandestine quest to retrieve a stolen pirate map.

Homer knelt and, with a heave, pulled the grate free. Dog started to back away, but Homer grabbed his collar. “It’ll be okay,” he said gently. But would it? Dog stuck his nose into Homer’s sleeve and whined. Homer patted his head. “The killer tortoise is gone. I promise.”

It was a tricky operation. First Homer had to shove Dog into the dark tunnel. Of course, Dog went totally limp and made the whole thing more difficult than it had to be. Then, after tightening his backpack straps, Homer climbed in. As his shoulders brushed the tunnel walls, he remembered Lorelei’s warning from a few months ago. “It’s a long crawl and there’s lots of spiders,” she’d said. Homer grimaced, hoping no spiders would jump onto his head or find their way into his ears.

Even though it was downhill, the going was slow. It’s nearly impossible to gain momentum with a stubborn basset hound blocking the way. It turned out that the best technique to keep Dog moving was a headbutt to his plump rump.

“You’re lucky you can’t smell,” Homer whispered, the dank moldy air filling his nostrils. Thanks to his sister’s hobby, he recognized the sweet scent of decay. Maybe a mouse or two had died in there. Homer shuddered. Maybe twelve or a hundred.

Just as the light from one end of the tunnel faded, light drifted in from the other end. Ten headbutts later, they arrived at the tunnel’s end, where another metal grate was set into a wall. Homer climbed over Dog and peered through the bars.

Everything looked the same. A hallway lit by sconces stretched to the left and to the right. He pushed on the grate, and it swung open. He slid out. As soon as his feet were firmly planted on the museum’s basement floor, he reached back in and grabbed Dog.

Because this wasn’t Homer’s first visit, he didn’t gasp when he came face-to-face with the giant tortoise statue, its reptilian eyes reflecting the hallway light. He didn’t tremble when, after standing on tiptoe and pressing the statue’s left eyeball, a rumbling sounded and the mechanical statue opened its mouth. Wider and wider it opened until a gaping hole had formed in the wall. Homer slid his arms under Dog’s belly, his stomach muscles aching from all the lifting. Once Dog was inside the tortoise mouth, Homer pulled himself in. As soon as his feet had passed through, the mouth began to close quickly, then snapped shut, leaving Homer and Dog in total darkness. But Homer knew what was next, so he was prepared this time. He pulled Dog onto his lap. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll hold on to you.” He scooted forward until the ground gave way, and they slid around and around, down the corkscrew slide, and landed with a thud inside Lorelei’s lair.

Homer cupped a hand over Dog’s muzzle, listening for voices. He expected to hear wicked, satisfied laughter or evil plans being made. But he heard only his heart beating in his ears. “We need to be very quiet,” he whispered as he checked to make sure the leash was securely fastened. “No barking. No howling. Okay?” Dog licked Homer’s hand.

Together, they stepped onto the balcony. The lair’s main room, a vast, cavelike fortress, lay beneath. Homer peeked over the railing. His gaze immediately rested on a head of pink hair. He took a sharp breath, then ducked below the railing. Pulling Dog close, Homer peered through the bars.

Lorelei sat in a red velvet chair that looked a bit like a throne. She still wore the pink FOUND jumpsuit, which perfectly matched her hair. Her rat, Daisy, slept curled in a ball on her lap. She picked up a remote control, then spun the chair around so that she was facing a huge flat-screen monitor on the wall. Her back to Homer, she pushed one of the remote’s buttons. The screen lit up, and Torch and Gertrude Magnum appeared, seated side by side, wearing FOUND jumpsuits.

If there were a television show called Totally Opposite People, these two would have been the perfect guests. Torch was slender; Gertrude was, well, rather hefty. Thick black eyeliner circled Torch’s black eyes. Blue glitter sparkled on Gertrude’s eyelids. Torch’s only accessory was the snake tattoo that wound around her neck. Gertrude dripped in jewels, including a diamond-studded anchor that adorned a doll-sized sailor hat. While everything about Torch spoke to the serious side of life, everything about Gertrude was silly. The way she sparkled, she might have been mistaken for someone’s fairy godmother, but Homer knew better. She was a scorpion disguised as a butterfly.

A ship’s railing could be seen behind the two women. Water shimmered in the background. They were probably on one of Gertrude’s yachts, Homer guessed. He pulled Dog closer, ready to clasp a hand over his muzzle if he started to growl or whine.

“Hello, ladies,” Lorelei said. “I think my little press conference went well.”

Torch grunted and folded her arms. “Those reporters didn’t believe you. And they didn’t take us seriously.” Her hawk flew into view and landed on her shoulder.

“It’s because of the name,” Gertrude said. The hawk sidestepped to the edge of Torch’s shoulder and stared at a pearl that dangled from Gertrude’s ear. “We need a better name.”

“FOUND is a great name,” Lorelei said. “And it makes total sense, since I’m trying to defeat L.O.S.T.”

Gertrude leaned forward, her chins quivering. “Yes, but what does it stand for? What does FOUND stand for?”

Torch glared at Gertrude from the corner of her eye. “Fat, Old, Ugly—”

“You are a rude young lady,” Gertrude said as she pinched Torch’s arm. “I’ve always wanted to tell you that, but I’ve always been too polite to do so.” The hawk suddenly lunged at the earring. Gertrude squealed and pushed the bird away. “Keep that filthy creature away from me.”

“So what’s the plan?” Torch asked Lorelei. “I didn’t leave L.O.S.T. so I could sit on this stupid boat with old Gertie here.”

“It’s not a boat,” Gertrude said, scooting her chair away from the hawk. “It’s a yacht. Yachts are much more expensive than boats.”

“Whatever,” Torch snarled. “What’s our next move?”

“We need to cut all the original map pieces from the reptile book, then put them back together,” Lorelei said.

“No problem. I’m good at jigsaw puzzles.” Torch narrowed her eyes. “Where are you? It looks like you’re in some kind of cave.”

For a moment, Homer thought Torch might spot him and Dog seated up on the balcony.

“Never mind where I am,” Lorelei said. “While I’m gathering supplies for the quest, you and Gertrude can piece the map together.”

“Now that’s a plan I can live with,” Torch said with a satisfied smirk.

What? Homer sat up real straight. Lorelei was going to leave the reptile book with those two while she did errands? How could she do such a thing? They’d steal it. No doubt about it.

“I know,” Gertrude said, pointing a painted fingernail in the air. “How about, Finders Of UNtold Discoveries? No, that’s not it. How about, Fortunes Opened and Unearthed… No, that’s not it, either. Followers Of Unified… hmmm. Fabulous Operators UnderNeath… This is very frustrating. Why did you choose such a difficult word?”

“We’re all girls,” Torch said. “FOUND could stand for Females Of UNtold Destiny.”

“I’m not keen on that,” Gertrude said, pursing her red lips.

“How about Fabulous Overlords of UNbelievable Doom,” Torch said.

“You are a very disturbed person,” Gertrude said, patting her blond curls. “Very disturbed. I’m not sure I want to work with you.”

“Well, I ain’t happy about working with you, either,” Torch said. Her hawk flew onto Gertrude’s hat and began pecking at the jeweled anchor. Gertrude screamed and flapped her hands wildly. Torch snickered. Dog started to growl, but Homer clamped his hands around his muzzle just in time.

“Shhhh,” Homer whispered in Dog’s ear.

“I hate you,” Gertrude said as the hawk flew off with her hat.

“I hate you more,” Torch said.

Lorelei groaned. “Ladies, stop arguing. FOUND is what it is. And once we bring back Rumpold Smeller’s treasure, FOUND will forever be known as the winner, and L.O.S.T. will forever be known as the loser.”

“Well, they are a bunch of losers,” Torch said. “They let that stupid Homer Pudding kid join. And they won’t give me money for my quest to find Atlantis.”

“That’s because it’s your seventh Atlantis quest,” Gertrude said, patting her hair again. “You should have found it by now.”

Torch rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Despite his worries about the map, Homer smiled. The arguing was a good sign. Lorelei’s plan was off to a rocky start. It served her right to get stuck with those two. Maybe the remaining L.O.S.T. members should thank Lorelei for stealing Gertrude and Torch.

Beware the lost and found, Homer thought as The Unpolluter’s words echoed in his mind.

“The reptile book will be delivered to your yacht in one hour,” Lorelei said. “You’ll need scissors and a couple of glue sticks to put the map together. I will join you when I’m done with my errands.” Then she pushed a button on the remote, and the screen went black. She leaned back in her throne and sat in silence for a moment.

Then, without turning around, she said, “Hello, Homer. I’ve been expecting you.”