The Sisters Eight Book 9 Read online

  “Fire?” came Petal’s muffled voice. “Oh no. This can’t end well.”

  “And now,” Mark said, “I’ll light the volcano. Look! It’s erupting just like a real volcano, with lava running down the sides and little puffs of smoke!”

  “Yawn,” Marcia said, not bothering to stifle her yawn. “A homemade volcano? Seriously? I think I made my first one when I was four.”

  “Actually,” Georgia put in, “Marcia was three when she did that.”

  “Don’t you know how to do anything more impressive?” Marcia asked Mark.

  “All right then,” Mark said, still game and not seeming at all bothered by the criticism. We made a note to ourselves based on what we’d observed that day: criticism could get chefs rather touchy, but scientists just seemed to find it a challenge.

  Mark did another whole bunch of things, but these involved smaller items and more restrained moves than he’d used to make the volcano. Meanwhile, Marcia put some liquid that looked remarkably similar to ordinary tap water into her lone beaker.

  “There!” Mark said, gleefully triumphant once more. “I just do this, this, and . . . voilà!”

  At his voilà! tiny puffs of smoke began to explode all over the room like fireworks. They kept exploding and exploding until the entire lab was so filled with puffs of smoke, the room became as dark as a moonless night. None of us could even see our hands in front of our faces.

  “What do you call this?” Marcia asked from within the puffy-smoke-filled darkness.

  “I call it the Smoke Puffer,” Mark said. “It’s great for if you’re ever in danger. You just set these off and everything goes dark—your enemies can’t find you!”

  As people who did indeed have some enemies, we thought this invention had some merit.

  “There’s just one problem,” Marcia said.

  “Hmm?” Mark said.

  “Perhaps your enemies can’t see you, but you can’t see anything either,” Marcia said.

  “That’s what the Super-Duper Night-Vision Goggles are for,” Mark said.

  “Oh?” Marcia said, sounding concerned for the first time. “You’ve invented your own set of those too, have you?”

  “Well, no,” Mark admitted ruefully. “But I am working on it!”

  “How long is it going to be like this?” Petal fretted.

  “A bit,” Mark confessed.

  “Oh dear,” Petal said. “It’s never a good idea to allow the spiders too much time in complete darkness. You never know what they might plot!”

  “At least the smoke doesn’t smell like anything,” Jackie said.

  “Yes,” Durinda said, “it would be awful to be stuck in the dark with stinky smoke that could make a person cough.”

  “I don’t know,” Rebecca said darkly. “That sounds like it could be rather fun to me.”

  Still, despite Petal’s fears and Mark’s confession, the back-to-back puffs of smoke slowly began to dissolve, and soon we could see one another again.

  “A homemade volcano that puffs smoke, and the Smoke Puffer,” Marcia said, listing Mark’s accomplishments thus far. “I’m beginning to sense a theme here. Can’t you invent anything that doesn’t involve smoke or explosions?”

  “Seriously,” Rebecca said. “Boys can be so violent.”

  We had to bite our tongues at Rebecca—Rebecca!—saying that.

  “Of course I can,” Mark said, finally sounding miffed. “Why, I can do all sorts of nonsmoky things that don’t explode at all.”

  “Why don’t you, then?” Marcia dared him.

  Now Mark started whirling around the room like a, well, mad scientist. He poured things, mixed things, hammered and nailed things. Honestly, it was an impressive show of activity and energy.

  “Excuse me?” Durinda said. “Um, Marcia?”

  “Hmm?” Marcia said.

  “Don’t you think you should start working on your own invention now?” Durinda wondered. “Mark’s already on his third, while all you’ve done is get out a beaker and put what looks like ordinary tap water in it.”

  “No,” Marcia said simply.

  “No?” Durinda echoed. “Then that isn’t tap water? It’s some amazing, fantastical clear liquid you’ve invented that will do all sorts of amazing and fantastical things?”

  “Of course it’s tap water,” Marcia said. “I meant no, I shouldn’t start working on my own invention just yet.” Marcia smiled at Durinda. “I learned this technique from watching you.”

  “There!” Mark crowed, tossing his hammer aside.

  “It looks like Mark’s really outdone himself this time,” Andrew said.

  “It looks like one of those airport-security things you have to walk through before going on a plane,” Drew said.

  “I wonder if we’ll ever get to fly on a plane again,” George said. “It does get a little cramped in this snow globe at times, with so many people in it.”

  “I was caught in an avalanche once,” Georgia informed George proudly.

  “Excellent!” George said.

  “What does it do, Mark?” Jack said with a nod toward Mark’s latest invention.

  “Only this,” Mark said. He stepped under the airport- security-type gate, said, “Dog,” and passed through to the other side.

  And he was a talking dog.

  “See that?” the dog said in Mark’s voice. “I can still talk like me, but I can shift my shape to anything I want just by uttering a simple command.”

  The dog that Mark had become wagged its tail as it passed through the gate again, this time uttering, “Annie.”

  “It’s a shape-changing machine,” he said. “In fact, that’s what I’m going to patent it as. The Shape- Changing Machine!”

  It was really odd, Mark’s voice coming out of a body that looked exactly like Annie’s.

  “You might want to work on that title,” Marcia suggested. “I think lots of people will assume it has to do with losing weight or exercising and might therefore be disappointed with their purchase.”

  “I wasn’t planning on selling it!” Mark was outraged. “What good would it do the Ocho family if every household had one of these? Still, I suspect you’re right, and I will reconsider the name. Now watch this.”

  Mark, looking like Annie, walked through the gate again, this time saying, “Book.”

  Instantly, he was a book. A talking book.

  “See?” the book said. “I can even become inanimate objects if I like.”

  “There’s just one problem with that feature,” Marcia pointed out.

  “Hmm?” the book said.

  “If you’re an object,” Marcia said, “unless you specifically command the machine to make you a walking version of the object—and can the machine even produce that level of detail for something that doesn’t really exist?—you’ll be stuck as that object unless someone else helps you change back.”

  “Oh,” the book said, sounding crestfallen. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “A scientist-inventor must think of things from all angles,” Marcia admonished. “If no one helps you change back, you’ll be a book forever.”

  “I like reading, but—” the book said.

  “And of course,” Marcia went on, “if you’re a book forever, I’m pretty sure I automatically beat you at this invent-off because you’ll have to forfeit.”

  “I suppose that’s right,” the book said glumly.

  Poor book. It sounded so depressed.

  “But I can’t let that happen,” Marcia said with a sigh.

  “You can’t?” Georgia said in shock.

  “Why can’t you?” Rebecca demanded. “Of course you can!”

  “No.” Marcia sighed again. “It wouldn’t be sporting.”

  Then Marcia picked up the book and passed through the device. Both the book and Marcia said, “Mark,” to effect the transformation, and suddenly there were two Marks.

  “Oops.” Marcia’s voice came out of one of the Marks. “I didn’t need to go overboard l
ike that.”

  “But it was indeed very sporting of you,” Mark said. “Thanks for that. I almost feel bad about beating you.”

  “Marcia,” Marcia said, transforming herself as she passed through the device. Then she rounded on Mark, hands on hips. “Beat me? What do you mean, beat me? You haven’t beaten me.”

  “Oh, but I think I have,” Mark said. “I’ve invented three things while you’ve invented none.”

  “Oh, come on,” Marcia scoffed with a very Rebecca-like scoff. “You can’t count that as three, not when one’s a homemade volcano and one’s that ridiculous Smoke Puffer thing.”

  “Fine,” Mark said. “Then I’ve only invented one thing, but it is quite an incredible thing, while you haven’t invented anything.”

  We had to admit, the thing he’d invented was pretty incredible.

  “Oh no,” Petal said. “Now we’ll be stuck down here forever, for Marcia can never top that!”

  Oh, ye Petal of little faith.

  “Watch this!” Marcia said. She took some powder, added it to her beaker of tap water, and stirred until the water turned blue.

  “Oh no,” Rebecca groaned. “Not the blue Kool-Aid again!”

  Six others of us groaned too.

  “Wait,” Mark said. “Did she say Kool-Aid?”

  “Of course,” Marcia said. She took a sip from the beaker, licked her lips. “It’s very good.”

  “Do you think I might have some?” Mark said.

  “Sure,” Marcia said, pouring some into another beaker and handing it to Mark.

  Mark sipped, closed his eyes, smiled. “Okay,” he said. “You win.”

  “What do you mean, she wins?” Andrew demanded.

  “It’s just Kool-Aid!” Drew said.

  “It must be some Kool-Aid,” George said.

  “I wish I had some,” Jack said.

  “Of course she wins,” Mark said. “This is a very practical invention. I’ve certainly never thought of making anything like it down here. And it will come in so handy. I do get parched when working on my experiments.”

  Mark and Marcia clinked beakers, drank some more.

  “Ahem,” Annie said quietly. Then, “Ahem,” she added more forcefully, causing us to turn to her. “This is all very . . . pleasant,” she said. “But if you’re going to do something practical, Marcia, then why don’t you do something really practical, like using your power to see through walls to tell us what’s going on. You know, upstairs?”

  “Oh,” Marcia said, light dawning. “Oh!”

  “Exactly,” Annie said. “Maybe you can even find out if Mommy’s here as well as Daddy.”

  Marcia set her beaker down on the lab table and tilted her head back, squinting her eyes at the ceiling.

  We tilted our heads too, as if we could see what she was seeing. Not that we could. It just seemed like the thing to do.

  “Well,” Marcia said. “I see the drawing room. There are long shadows in the room, so the sun must be setting.”

  “My,” Jackie said, “that means we’ve been here for a very long time.”

  “At least several upon several hours,” Durinda said.

  “I wonder if it’s time for another meal,” Georgia wondered.

  “I could use some more blue frosting right around now,” Rebecca said.

  “Too bad,” Drew said sourly, “because you finished it all.”

  “Try to see through that room to the next story up,” Annie said, “or better still, the tower.”

  “I’m trying,” Marcia said, “but it’s not as easy as I make it seem. A house like this, with so much stuff in it—the images can get very confusing!”

  Marcia renewed her efforts, squinting harder at the ceiling. We worried it might give her a headache.

  “Oh no!” Marcia screamed, a scream that sounded very out of control for Marcia. “I see a man’s legs sticking out from under a bed!”

  What could that possibly mean?

  Marcia whirled on the Other Eights, or at least the five of them who were with us.

  “Your mummy,” she screamed, “has killed our daddy!”

  Eight

  Thirteen of us raced upstairs to the main floor, eight of us racing more quickly than the other five because the situation was more urgent to those eight. We raced past the open drawing-room door, past the kitchen too, arriving at the base of the stairs where the eight dogs were standing sentinel.

  “Antibiotic! Dishwater! Gewgaw! Jingle! Mysterioso! Peculiar! Riptide! Zanzibar!” Mark shouted from behind us. “Out of the way!”

  The eight dogs separated, four on either side of the staircase, like the Red Sea being parted by Moses.

  “Honestly,” Zinnia said, sounding puzzled, “these dogs don’t appear to do very much.”

  “That’s because they’re dogs!” Rebecca shouted at her.

  We raced past the dogs and up the staircase to the second story. Marcia was in the lead, her head still tilted upward, because she was the only one who could keep an eye on those feet under the bed. We raced with anticipation and fear: anticipation at the thought of seeing Daddy again, or at least his legs; and fear, because what if Marcia’s vision was right and he was dead?

  Achieving the landing, we were faced with a choice of doors, one on either side. Marcia squinted at each of the doors.

  “This one!” Marcia cried, throwing open the door on the left.

  Thank the universe it wasn’t locked, for that would have presented a stumbling block, and we didn’t need any more of those.

  “There!” Marcia cried, pointing a finger at what we could all clearly see were two legs sticking out from beneath one of four beds in the room.

  We could see something else now too.

  “Those aren’t Daddy’s legs!” Durinda said.

  “Those legs are too short for Daddy’s legs,” Georgia said. “He is a grown man, you know.”

  “And a model too,” Jackie added.

  “Hmm,” Rebecca said, “I wonder who the dead body is?”

  “What are you doing in my room?” said an angry male voice behind us.

  In our minds, we went through the voices of the boys, the male cousins we’d encountered since entering the snow globe: Andrew, Drew, George, Jack, Mark. Nope, it wasn’t one of those.

  Slowly we turned until we came faces-to-face with a boy who was Rebecca’s height.

  My, but he looked angry.

  “I said,” he said, “what are you doing in my room?”

  “You must be Roberto,” Rebecca said, stepping forward. “I’d know you anywhere.”

  “Yes,” Andrew said, sounding a bit nervous. “He shares this room with the other three youngest of us.”

  “Oh!” Zinnia said eagerly. “That’s kind of like our sleeping arrangements back home: four in one bedroom, four in the other, with a connecting bathroom in between. Then at bedtime, we do the Waltons’ routine, calling out to one another randomly like on the old TV show. It’s great fun. Do you do the Waltons’ routine too?”

  “Er, no,” Andrew said. He shook his head as though trying to get a fly out of his ear. “As I was starting to say, Roberto, er, doesn’t usually like people entering without his permission. Roberto, these are—”

  “I know who you are,” Roberto said with a sneer as though he were addressing all of us, but he kept his eyes glued on Rebecca. “You’re the Other Eights.”

  Rebecca reeled back as though she’d been slapped. Well, we have to admit, we all reeled back a bit. It was that shocking, hearing ourselves referred to in that fashion.

  “What do you mean,” Rebecca demanded, “calling us the Other Eights? We’re not the Other Eights—you are!”

  “Oho,” Roberto said with a nasty laugh, causing us all to realize we’d never heard a human being actually say oho before. “I don’t think so,” Roberto went on. “Not from where I’m standing.”

  Rebecca seethed, which was never a good thing.

  “You’re out of order, Eight!” Rebecca bit off th
e words. “It’s Petal’s turn to be challenged after Marcia, not me.”

  “Oh dear,” Petal said, “I was hoping no one would remember that and that you might just want to skip me today. I think I’ll hide under this bed now.”

  A moment later, Petal’s legs could be seen side by side with the legs that weren’t Daddy’s.

  We ignored Petal.

  “I said,” Rebecca said in the same nasty fashion Roberto had, “you’re out of order, Eight!”

  Then Rebecca reached through the space that separated them, made a circle of her thumb and forefinger, and then released the forefinger, flicking it against Roberto’s shoulder with some degree of force.

  We couldn’t be absolutely certain, but we were certainly fairly certain: This was not a good idea.

  “Oh yeah?” Roberto said, looking a peculiar mixture of outraged and thrilled as he returned the flicking favor. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got . . . Eight!”

  Rebecca and Roberto flicked each other in an increasingly fast round of flicks.

  Flick!

  Flick!

  Flickflickflick!

  And then they flew at each other.

  Rebecca’s hands locked on to Roberto’s elbows in a steely grip as Roberto’s hands locked on to Rebecca’s elbows. They did it with such force, we fully expected to see one of them fly through a wall or something, knocked through it by the sheer will of the other.

  But that didn’t happen.

  They remained locked in position, and yet we had the sense that something very powerful was tran­spiring.

  “It’s an impressive show of joint strength,” Annie whispered, as though we were witnessing a heavyweight boxing match.

  “I’m sure it must be incredibly intense,” Durinda whispered.

  “And yet it also really doesn’t look like anything at all,” Marcia said.

  “Maybe if we stepped closer, we could see something actually happening,” Jackie said.

  “I wonder what the dogs are doing,” Zinnia said. “Or the cats back home.”

  “Pjsdhfawoieyf,” Petal said from under the bed.

  “Am I the only one who finds this dull?” Georgia said.