The next morning before the sun was up, Pete and Weasel helped Bailey hitch the horses to the carriage. Bailey didn’t say one word to them, but he grumbled and growled under his breath. He was following Margaret’s orders, but he didn’t want to let his horses and his carriage go off with Pete in charge.
Weasel climbed into Mr. Greenly’s seat and Pete sat next to him, then, with shaky hands, took up the reins. Snipe and Rush sat inside the carriage.
Bailey stood with his fists on his hips, glaring up at them. “I’m to come collect the horses and the carriage by nightfall. Tie them up at the crossroads. They better be in fine shape is all I can say.”
Pete’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t do more than grunt a yes before he let the reins slap lightly against the horses’ backs. They pulled out the stable door at a slow walk.
“You’ll not get anywhere before dark at that pace,” Bailey shouted at their backs.
“Slow is good,” Weasel said. “Better get to Stranglewood after dark than not at all.”
“This isn’t so hard.” Pete risked taking his eyes off the road and smiled at Weasel.
“Look out!”
Just in time, Pete pulled on the reins and the horses veered clear of a deep rut still full of rainwater.
“Right. Not so hard if you watch where you’re going.” Weasel pointed down the road. “Eyes straight ahead.”
They found the road to Oak Bridge Lake and bumped their way down to the water. They followed the muddy path about the width of the carriage wheels and made their way around to the other side. No one was in sight. It was early and since the day was cold and drizzly, Pete doubted anyone would be out for a walk.
“Fanon!” he shouted. There was no answer. He handed the reins to Weasel. “Back in a sec.”
Pete ran for the only bushes that were big enough to hide an alligator. “Fanon?”
“Over here.” Fanon’s voice came from the water. He swam to shore and crawled over to Pete. “I wasn’t taking any chances. When I saw those horses coming around the lake I hid where nobody would come after me.”
“Come on. We’ve got a ways to go today.” Pete hurried to the carriage and opened the door. “You might want to get down and let Fanon in.”
Snipe and Rush peered out the windows at Fanon and didn’t move.
“Uh, maybe we’ll get out on the other side,” Snipe said.
“I don’t bite. Pete told you that, right?”
Both boys pulled back quickly from the windows. An alligator up close was one thing. An alligator up close that talked was another. They looked at each other, silently agreed, and then climbed from the carriage on the opposite side. They waited until Fanon had clawed his way up into the cab.
“Okay, now get back in and let’s go.” Pete held the door open for them.
Snipe peered in at Fanon who’d made it onto one seat. Most of him fit, but his tail dangled to the floor.
“It’s kind of crowded in there,” Snipe said. “Maybe we’ll ride up top with you.”
“Are you kidding? There’s no room up there.” Pete pointed to where Weasel sat, looking down at them. “Come on, we’re wasting time.”
“Look, I can drive a team of horses, and I can get us to Stranglewood faster than you can,” Rush said. “Guides aren’t supposed to interfere with the Traveler’s experience, only to help when necessary, but I’ve decided this is a very necessary thing to do. You and Weasel are used to him.” He nodded at Fanon. “Snipe and I aren’t. Let’s switch.”
Weasel grumbled, but he got into the carriage and Rush took over as driver. He did know how to handle the horses a lot better than Pete, and they were making much better time with him holding the reins.
Fanon slept most of the way, and so did Pete and Weasel. The steady rocking of the carriage made it easy to doze off. It was when the rocking stopped that they all woke up. It was dusk, but they were at the crossroads and Stranglewood Wildes was just ahead.
Pete stepped out and faced the twisty street with those wooden shops that lined up side by side. All was still, the same as when they first visited. He wondered if anyone lurked behind those closed doors and those shuttered windows. Just as before, none of the windows had any light.
Fanon leapt to the ground and Weasel followed him. Rush and Snipe tied off the horses, saw they had water and covered them with blankets. They’d no sooner finished than Bailey rode up. He barely glanced at any of them, and he was gone before they’d taken another step down Stranglewood Wildes Lane.
The chill Pete remembered from his first time here seemed even chillier. Weasel wrapped his arms around himself and hunched forward.
“Bloody cold,” Rush said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“How far?” Snipe asked, just as lightning zigzagged across the night sky. Thunder pounded the air a few seconds later.
“Dang. That’s not what we need right now.” Pete found the path that led to Mattie’s. “Come on. We’re about half an hour away. Be careful. Watch for roots and”—he stepped ankle deep in a pool—“water.”
Fanon took the lead. This was his kind of place. He slipped in and out the stagnant pools and over the roots, calling directions to get them around dangerous spots. After a while, he stopped and cocked his head. Lightning struck. Thunder rolled overhead. Silence followed. “I hear running water.”
“We’re almost at Stranglewood Cottage,” Pete said. “Look to your left. Any lights?”
“There’s one.”
“Head that way.”
Mattie’s loomed ahead, dark and spooky. The candle flickered in the same window as the first time they’d arrived.
Pete rapped on the door and glanced up at the gargoyle staring down from overhead. When the door creaked open, he expected Mattie, but instead he faced Dr. Dread Wraith. His Hawaiian shirt and red tennis shoes were about the last things Pete ever expected to find at Stranglewood Cottage.
“Quick. Quick,” Dr. Wraith said. He waved them inside. When Fanon entered, Dr. Wraith bent down. “Fanon, is it? Harriet spoke of you. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He eyed Snipe. “And you are?”
Lightning lit up the room for an instant. Thunder rolled in behind it.
“Just a Traveler trying to make it back to my own time.” Snipe pulled out a piece of paper from his pants pocket. “Here’s my passport.” He gestured toward Rush. “And my Guide.”
The doctor glanced at the paper and returned it to Snipe. “All seems in order. At least some things are working as they should around here.” He whipped around to Pete. “Now, as for you, you’d best get cracking and figure out your part of the spell. Do you know what day this is?”
Pete shook his head.
“Tomorrow is the full moon. Tomorrow!”
Sharp intakes of breath came from near the fireplace. Pete couldn’t make out who else was in the darkened room.
“Give us some light, for heaven’s sake,” Dr. Wraith shouted. “Mattie, where are your extra candles?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Huge nuisance not having a more stable power source.”
Mattie scurried from what had to be a kitchen nook. Sweet, juicy smells drifted through the open door. She carried two lanterns and placed them on the tables next to the fireplace. With a snap of her finger the candles flamed, banishing the shadows and revealing Eugenia, Aurelia and Constance seated along the fireplace wall, their faces drawn tight with worry.
“That’s better.” Dr. Wraith picked up a can of soda from the table.
“I need to know something,” Pete said.
“What?” Dr. Wraith tapped the side of the can and Pete was having a hard time keeping straight just what century he was in. Soda in a can. Hawaiian surfing shirt. Red tennis shoes. And all in a thatched cottage filled with witches who lived in 1837.
Pete started to say something but the sky lit up again.
This time there was only a second between the blast of light from the sky and the rumble of thunder.
Pete jumped away from the window. He waited a moment so he could talk without gasping for breath. The storm and the crazy collection of people clustered around him were warping his brain. “I got your letter that was for Harriet. How come it missed going to her and wound up in my room?”
Dr. Wraith started to answer, but before he could, Pete went on. “And how come you didn’t use your computer? That was one messy backward message you sent, I can tell you. And how come we landed in 1837? Why not 3010 where he comes from?” He pointed at Snipe.
Dr. Wraith narrowed his eyes to a hard squint and waited. When Pete didn’t come up with more questions, he finally asked, “Done?”
Fanon nudged Pete’s leg. “Be cool. He’s a major dude.”
“Sure,” Pete answered Fanon, then to Dr. Wraith he said, “Sorry. I’m just kind of curious.”
“Perhaps I haven’t been clear about this disaster. You’ve obviously understated the severity of the situation, so you’re not really getting it, are you?” Dr. Wraith had that vapor thing happening all around him again. His ghostly white hair glowed. His eyes turned to chunks of coal.
Pete crept back.
Fanon didn’t send a wordy message, but he sent a little courage. It filtered into the center of Pete’s chest and rested near his heart.
“Thanks, Fanon,” Pete said in their brain-to-brain messaging. It felt good to have someone in his corner.
“I wrote that note from Medieval France, a monastery in Mont Saint-Michel, to be precise. An unauthorized Traveler—some twentieth century student from Israel—had just tumbled in and there was a bit of confusion. I wrote my message in haste as I swept into the future to manage yet another unauthorized event in Scotland. At least I think it was Scotland that time. I was lucky that letter entered the Timelock backwards. It shouldn’t have entered at all.” Wraith didn’t shout. His voice had dropped to a terrible, low pitch.
“As to the ‘choice’ of 1837.” He swung around to face Weasel. “That was you, Master Weasel. You chose that time. Accidentally, it seems. That date must have been rolling around inside your head.”
Lightning seared the sky. Thunder shook Stranglewood Cottage so hard some candles sputtered and went out.