She knocked on the heavy fortress door. “Mom?” she called nervously. “Um, it’s me? Evie! Are you there?”

“It looks deserted,” said Carlos, glancing askance at the cobwebs and dust.

“Oh, it always looks like this,” Evie assured him. “Mom’s big on personal maintenance, but housekeeping, not so much.

“Let me see if I can find the key,” she said, walking over to the nearest wall and feeling for a brick that had come loose. “Here it is,” she said, holding up an ancient rusted key. “Maybe she’s out getting ready for the Anti-Heroes meeting?”

“Maybe. Wow, this place really looks like no one’s lived here for centuries,” said Carlos as they walked inside.

Evie bristled. “It’s the height of Gothic style!”

“More like the bottom of it,” said Carlos, scrunching his nose.

“Okay, fine, maybe it is a bit dark and dreary,” said Evie, who had never been too bothered by the gargoyles and cobwebs until now. She looked around. Hmm. Maybe Carlos was right. It was a little dustier than she remembered. She took another step and sneezed.

“I’ll wait here,” said Carlos as Evie went off to check the bedrooms.

“Mom?” she called, gingerly stepping into the Evil Queen’s room. Her mother kept it the way it had always been, when she had been queen of her kingdom and bent upon destroying Snow White. There was a dark silhouette in the middle of the room where the Magic Mirror used to hang before it had been broken into pieces, and a little podium in front of it where her mother would pose and preen, as if the mirror were still there to showcase her reflection.

The closet doors were open, blue gowns and black capes in disarray, white ruffs strewn over the floor. Her mother’s traveling trunk was missing from the topmost shelf, and from the looks of the mess, Evil Queen had packed in a hurry. That was odd; where had she gone? Didn’t she have to be back in time for the meeting tonight?

Evie noticed something else. In the center of her mother’s dressing table was a large ebony box, one that Evie knew well. Her mother had schooled her in the art of beauty regimes from the pots and brushes, paints and blushes, eye makeup, foundation, and mascara in that very chest.

It was strange. Her mother had left behind her most prized possession? Where could Evil Queen have gone without her makeup?

Evie walked down the grand staircase, still sneezing from the dust. She couldn’t believe they had lived this way for so long, forgotten and unloved.

Carlos was nowhere to be found. Evie got a little worried and called his name, but there was no answer. Where was he? Evie didn’t scare easily, and she was in the house she had grown up in, but it was strange to be here all alone, without her mom bustling around and pressuring her to try the latest exercise fad. She didn’t even know where to start looking. The castle was so big that Evie never even knew how many rooms it had. She and Evil Queen had mostly stayed in the main area in the middle.

Maybe he was outside. She walked out the front door. “Carlos?” she yelled again.

“Over here!” he called. He was all the way on the other side of the castle, hidden by the overgrown weeds. In the moonlight, she could barely make out the tips of his black-and-white hair.

She walked over and found him standing in front of a series of stone steps that led to a cellar door. “Well, this is the place all right,” he said, pointing to a sign that was hung on the front.

ALL ANTI-HEROES WELCOME,

MEETINGS ARE SATURDAYS NEAR MIDNIGHT

How strange, Evie thought, and for a moment wondered nervously if Evil Queen was just out at the market buying provisions for this very mysterious gathering.

“Is anyone inside? I don’t even know where that door leads,” she told him.

“No, I don’t hear anything,” he told her. “Any sign of your mom?”

“No.” Evie told him what she found in the room. “It looks like she went away somewhere. She took her trunk, but left her makeup behind. But maybe she’ll be back for the meeting?”

Carlos nodded. “Come on, let’s go check out my place. Hopefully we’ll be just as lucky there.”

“But we didn’t find my mom,” said Evie.

“Exactly,” said Carlos.

Hell Hall was built in the style of an elegant Victorian mansion. Of course, since it had been transported to the Isle of the Lost, it was nothing but a rotting shell now. Carlos let them in through the side door. So far, everything was as he remembered. Cruella’s mean-looking red sports car was parked in the garage, covered by a canvas sheet. The kitchen was still decorated in black and white tile, the refrigerator nearly empty. He peeked into the living room, and saw that it was exactly the same—the broken-down furniture covered with dusty white cloths, the standing knight’s armor they kept in the hallway still rusty, the wallpaper still faded, and there were still holes in the plaster molding.

“Mom?” Carlos whispered.

Evie nudged him. “She’s not going to hear you that way. Louder.”

Carlos tried again. “Mom?” he croaked.

“CRUELLA? ARE YOU HERE?” Evie yelled.

Carlos almost fell to the floor in fright. “Don’t DO that! Or at least warn me first!”

The kitchen was untidy, with dirty dishes in the sink and crusted food on the counter. Carlos began cleaning up almost automatically. It had been his job to keep house when he lived there. Cruella spent her days eating waxy old chocolate bonbons and watching the Dungeon Shopping Network.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while either,” said Evie, sniffing. “I think I’m allergic to the Isle,” she said apologetically.

“There’s only one way to find out. Wait here,” said Carlos. He steeled himself and went through the hidden passage to Cruella’s treasured fur closet.

There was no way his mother would leave without her precious furs. They were all she cared about in life. He flung open the door and gasped. They were all still there—mink and ocelot, beaver and fox, rabbit and raccoon, sable and skunk. Alas, not one Dalmatian coat; Cruella’s greatest regret. But he noticed that her rollers were missing from their case in her dressing room, along with the small overnight bag she often used when she went to visit the spa in Troll Town. (Apparently trolls were talented masseurs, due to their large hands.)