CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Elliot would have turned around right then, but Uchenna had already slipped past the professor, into the greenhouse. Fauna was right behind her.

Elliot paused to consider. Brand-new friend. Terrifying teacher. Mythical animal. Breaking and entering. First day at a new school.

Well, at least it was educational.

As he grabbed the door to follow the professor, he noticed that the hinges were reinforced with heavy-duty springs. Why would you spring-load a door? Elliot wondered. He let it close—but stopped it just before the latch caught. He slid his backpack from his shoulders and propped the door open, just in case.

The air was thick and wet inside the greenhouse. They followed a carefully manicured stone path. On either side, enormous and strange vegetation hung over their heads. There were purple orchids with yellow tendrils that zigzagged like lightning bolts. There was a flower that was at least three feet wide and appeared to be covered in armor. There were Venus flytraps large enough to catch a small bird.

“Children,” Fauna whispered, “these are some of the rarest plants in the world.”

A path branched to the left, toward the center of the greenhouse. Uchenna took it. The plants grew stranger. There was an enormous lump of blue-green moss. A clear tube had been stuck into its side, and bluish liquid oozed down the tube and into a beaker marked ELIXIR 1525. Nearby, a pot with green water and lily pads stood on an electric hot plate. The temperature dial was set just shy of 212 degrees Fahrenheit. Fauna stopped to investigate it. “This is fascinating!” he murmured.

“Professor, please focus,” Elliot said.

“But you see—”

Just then, somewhere in the greenhouse, a door opened. They all froze. Crisp footfalls on stone.

Uchenna grabbed the professor’s hand and yanked him off the path, into the dense, hanging tendrils of a small tree. Elliot stood exactly where he was, unable to move a muscle. Uchenna grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him next to Fauna. They waited.

The clicking footsteps grew louder. And louder. And louder. Uchenna was breathing hard. Fauna was breathing harder. Elliot wasn’t breathing at all.

Then, through the tendrils, they could see him. He was clearly a butler—he wore a black, pressed suit, white gloves, and a sneer of disapproval. He examined the temperature on the electric burner. Then he measured the level of blue liquid in the beaker. He took off one glove, finger by finger, and then plunged his pinkie into the blue-green moss. It came out orange. He nodded.

The butler was no more than a foot from Elliot, which made the boy’s entire body quiver. Uchenna glanced at her new friend, and then had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. The hanging tendrils of the tree were entangling themselves with Elliot’s hair. Uchenna reached up and grabbed her own head. Thin branches were braiding themselves into her black twists. She looked back at the professor. The tendrils had woven themselves into his beard, his hair, and even his long eyebrows. He was totally still, staring at Uchenna, looking terrified.

Uchenna held up one finger. Elliot and Fauna nodded. The footsteps receded. Finally, the butler was entirely out of earshot. Uchenna grabbed the tendrils on top of her head and tore at them. They would not break. She wrenched her head to the left and right. No use. They were as strong as iron.

Then she noticed Professor Fauna, running his fingers up and down the trunk of the tree, as if he were tickling it. To her great surprise, the tree’s tendrils seemed to relax, before curling up and out of reach. They were free.

“Go!” Fauna whispered, and they all dashed out from under the tree and back onto the path.

“Did you just tickle that tree?” Elliot demanded.

“After a brief examination,” Fauna explained, “I realized that it is an Ailanthus humorous.” He shrugged. “It just likes to cuddle. But if it gets too—how do you say? Touchy-feely?—tickling usually does the trick.”

And then, the clicking sound of fine shoes on composite stone grew louder again. They spun around.

The butler was walking toward them down the middle of the path, wearing only one glove, muttering to himself. “Must have left it by the moss, blast it. Come on, Phipps! Focus! You know the masters don’t tolerate—” He looked up and stopped. His mouth fell open.

And then he began to scream.