The Isle of the Lost: Chapters 7–11

He didn’t mince words, and the threats only grew more exaggerated as the school day wore on.

Carlos nodded, feeling mollified and more than a little impressed that even someone who’d been trapped inside a locker all day had heard the news about the party.

A voice echoed from the other end of the crumbling ballroom, from behind the giant, tarnished statue of a great knight.

Still, the decrepit Victorian mansion was one of the grandest on the island, covered in vines more twisted than Cruella’s own mind, and gated with iron more wrought than Cruella’s own daily hysterias.

His mother, of course, would be furious when she saw that Carlos had gotten into her boxes again—“My stolen treasures,” she’d scream, “my lost babies!”—but Carlos was a pragmatist, and a scavenger.

Next, was the chandelier swing—a staple at any Isle party, or so he’d heard.

There were only feet, in varying degrees of shoddy footwear.

During the awkward silence that followed the Gastons head-butting their hellos and competitively slamming pitchers of smuggled root beer, a whole ship’s worth of Harriet Hook’s pirate crew came marauding through the door.

This happened to be an entire cackling slew of evil step-granddaughters, festooned with raggedy ribbons and droopy curls, elbowing their way around the corners at top speed.

This happened to be an entire cackling slew of evil step-granddaughters, festooned with raggedy ribbons and droopy curls, elbowing their way around the corners at top speed.

The band struck up a rollicking tune.

Like her mother, she hated the sights and sounds of revelry. Fun made her uncomfortable. Laughter? Gave her hives.

She’d been getting ready for the party, trying to choose between violet-hued holey or mauve patchwork jeans, when her mother had made a rare appearance at her door.

For a moment she had been lost in the memory of that awful dream again. Except that this time it didn’t seem so much a dream as a premonition? That one day she might just find herself in Auradon?

A few of them puckered their lips and powdered their noses while fluttering their eyelashes at Jay, who was stationed by the front door like a sentry.

She wondered why Carlos was so concerned about Evie. It wasn’t as if they’d been taught to care about other people.
But Carlos soon made clear that he wasn’t being altruistic.

She had been looking forward to the party all day, had run home to go through every outfit in her closet, holding up dress after dress to see which shade of blue looked best. Azure? Periwinkle? Turquoise?

It was hard to see, so Evie felt her way tentatively in the darkness, sliding her left foot on the floor first.

Evie tried to shake it off, tried to shrug it off her shoulders, but she was smack-dab in the middle of dozens of coats, all of them black or white or black and white, made of the thickest, lushest hides—there was spotted ocelot and dip-dyed mink, silky sable and shiny skunk, all of them packed in like sardines, so full, so fluffy, so thick.

“Are you kidding? A grudge is a grudge is a grudge. She’ll never forgive me. Didn’t you listen in Selfie class? I thought you were so smart.” Evie smiled wryly.

“I mean, I’ve had tons of pillows, of course. So many! We have to keep throwing them away. I get so many pillows. I mean, who’s never had a pillow in their life? That’s preposterous.”

They approached a huge, gnarled tree with a rope ladder.

Unbeknown to the two villain children, far off in the distance, deep in the heart of the forbidden fortress, hidden behind a gray misty fog on the other side of the island, a long black scepter with a jewel on its end came back to life, glowing green with power again.

They were chatting amiably enough, discussing last night’s Tourney scores and whose Fantasy Tourney League was winning.

Seated next to the dwarfs (or rather, sitting along the edge of a book of Auradon’s Civic Rules & Regulations that lay on the table nearest them, because they were much too small to take any seat at all) were the very same mice who had helped Cinderella win her prince—wily Jaq, chubby Gus, and sweet Mary.

Even Pongo and Perdita of the freed De Vil Dalmatian contingent joined in the laughter with a little lively barking.

“Well, it’s certainly not a party now,” Grumpy said, examining a cookie. “There isn’t even a currant or a chocolate chip? What, are we discussing budget problems today?”

Ben cleared his throat and tried to affect a confidence he did not feel.

No wonder the dwarf was called Grumpy; Ben had never met such a cantankerous person!

“And has anyone noticed that we sidekicks do all the work in this kingdom? Since the Fairy Godmother frowns on magic, we mice make all the dresses!” Mary said indignantly.

The room began to dissolve into absolute chaos, as the sidekicks and dwarfs began to shout at one another, while the good fairies kept on complaining about the back-breaking work even ordinary chores now entailed, and all the rest of the company advocated for relief from their own grievances.

The room began to dissolve into absolute chaos, as the sidekicks and dwarfs began to shout at one another, while the good fairies kept on complaining about the back-breaking work even ordinary chores now entailed, and all the rest of the company advocated for relief from their own grievances.

“ENOUGH!” he yelled from the top of the table. “THIS MEETING IS ADJOURNED!”

“How rude! To speak to us in such a way!”
“Impertinent and ungrateful, that’s for certain,” sniffed Flora.

Since when had Maleficent imposed a curfew? It wasn’t as if her mother cared where she went or when she came home, now—did she?

Yet the distinctive menace had not abated, it just came in a tinier package.

“It doesn’t matter. I thought those three despicably good fairies had destroyed it, but they had only frozen it, like they had Diablo. It is alive, it is out there somewhere, and best of all—you—my dear—will get it for me!” Maleficent announced with a flourish.

“You know how much you are a disappointment to me, how when I was your age, I had armies of goblins under my control, but you…what do you do—put your little drawings all over town? You need to do MORE!” she seethed, standing up from her chair.

She’d heard the spiel so many times, she could chant it in her sleep. Maleficent took her hand, and they chorused, “Revenge on the fools who imprisoned us on this cursed island!”

Little Mal had stared into the dingy mirror leaning precariously on her vanity.