Chapter Two

The door banged open, and Moctor swirled around. A tall, thin girl stood frowning at him. Moctor gulped and automatically hunched over so he wouldn't look so intimidating to the girl.  It wouldn't do for the girl to start freaking out.  Not yet anyhow.  He had to find the hidden book first. 

A few days ago, Moctor's grandfather, the illustrious Herbert T. Fall, taught him a much needed lesson on how to assess an adversary so he could quickly strategize to get the upper hand.  Never mind Herbert T. Fall's lessons always focused on the world of big finance, a world Moctor's grandfather hoped to suck him into one day.  If his grandfather ever thought his sought after teachings would be used for rather underhanded purposes...Moctor shook his head.  It wasn't the time to think about his grandfather's wishes.  Moctor quickly looked around the dark room to get his bearings and then focused on the girl, his adversary.  She was maybe half his height and weight.  He could probably push past her if he had to.  She looked smart so he didn't want to try to out talk her, and she. . .

"Just what do you think you're doing?" the girl asked, raising an eyebrow.  Moctor made a quick decision, something he didn't do often.  He gave up assessing his adversary and instead tried to get the window open. 

“It won’t open from the inside,” the girl said to him. 

“Who are you?” Moctor gasped at her, his eyes searching desperately for an exit, finally landing on the door the girl came through.  He might have to try to get past her.

Her thin lips twitched and she scratched her nose absentmindedly. "You first," she demanded.

"I'm--I'm Nate," Moctor babbled.

"Okay, Nate," she said.  She crossed her arms and glared up at him.  "What are you doing in my house?"

"Your house?"  Moctor had trouble thinking straight.  "But it can't be your house.  The Van-who's-it-something Foundation owns it.  So you aren't suppossed to be here either."  Moctor stood up a little straighter.  "And you haven't told me who you are.  And if you're here to steal it too, I'm not going to let you."

"Steal what?"

Moctor glanced around then leaned forward and whispered, "The old hunchbacked man says it's in here.  He told us about The Book."

The girl scratched her at her nose again.  "Told who?  What book?"

"The Book of All Things," Moctor whispered so soft the girl had to lean forward as if she was having trouble hearing him.  Still, he lowered his voice more, afraid that someone would hear him even with the rain pounding the roof and the thunder rolling around outside.  "The hunchback guy told me and my friends about it when we were here for school.  An evil witch named Amelia Honswillhead. . ."

"Amarilla Honeswill," the girl corrected.  She started to smile.

"Whatever," said Moctor.  "Amarilla Honeswill wrote down all the things you need to know to rule the world.  And I'm going to get that book for me and my friends, and you can't have it."  Moctor had stood as tall as possible and shouted this last bit.  He tried looking intimidating, but he didn't seem to be having any effect on the girl.  She was to busy laughing.

"My diary," she managed to get out.  "You're here for my diary."  She laughed even harder.  "You're trying to break into this house in this God-forsaken weather for my diary."

Moctor started to get mad.  He wanted to punch her, but he just stomped his foot and glared.  "Not you're diary.  The Book of All Things.  Stop laughing."  The girl appeared to try, but she still giggled.  "I'm going to steal Amarilla's book."

"I know.  You said that already.  You want the diary that I wrote.  I used to call it my Book of All Things."

"But you can't be Amarilla," Moctor said.  His arms dropped to his side.  "She died, like, a hundred years ago."

"Yeah, I know," the girl said.  "Obviously I'm a ghost."