Isle of the Lost (Descendants 1)

“Maybe you’re not turning it on right,” Evie said.

“Maybe this is just a waste of time.” Jay sighed.

“No, it’s not,” Mal said, giving them a beseeching look. “This is my mother’s castle. We’ve found it, and there has to be a way in. Look at the inscription on the stone—it has to be some kind of test.”

Jay spoke up. “Carlos said they’re like a doorbell. But what if they’re not? What if they’re like the alarm system in a house? All we would have to know to disable them is the code.” He shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I would do, if I was trying to break in.”

Of any of us, he would know, Carlos thought.

“So what’s the code?” Mal turned back to the gargoyles, her eyes blazing. “Tell me, you idiots!”

She drew herself up to her full height and spoke in a voice that Carlos knew well. It was how Cruella spoke to him, and how Maleficent spoke to her minions from the balcony. He was impressed. He’d never seen Mal so like her mother as now.

Mal did not ask the gargoyles, she commanded them.

“This is my mother’s castle, and you are her servants. You will do as I bid. ASK YOUR RIDDLE AND LET US PASS!” she ordered, looking as if she were home—truly home—for the first time.

Because, as they could all now see, she was.

A moment went by.

The mists swirled, in the background, ravens cawed, and green light pulsed in the distant windows of the castle.

“Carlosssssssss,” hissed the gargoyles, in disturbingly creepy unison. “Approaaaach ussssssss.

”

Hearing his name, Carlos took a step forward with an awestruck look on his face. “Why me?”

“Maybe because you touched the step first? So the alarm is set on Carlos mode?” Jay scratched his head. “Better you than me, man.”

“Time for the pass code.” Mal nodded. “You got this, Carlos.”

Then the gargoyles began to hiss again. “Carlosssssss. First quesssssstion…”

Carlos took a breath. It was just like school, he thought. He liked school. He liked answering questions that had answers, right? So wasn’t this just another question? That needed just another answer?

“Ink spot in the snow

Or red, rough, and soft

Black and wet, warm and fast

Loved and lost—What am I?”

No sooner had the gargoyles stopped speaking than rumbling began beneath their feet. “Carlos!” Evie cried, stumbling as she tried to stand in place.

“What?” Carlos ran his hand through his hair anxiously. His mind was reeling.

Ink is black. Snow is white. What’s red and rough? A steak? Who loves a steak? We haven’t had those in a while, anyway. And what does any of this have to do with me?

“Answer the question!” Mal said. The light was once more fading from the gargoyles’ eyes.

“It’s—” said Carlos, stalling. He was stuck.

Black. White. Spots. Red. Loved. Lost.

“The puppies. My mother’s puppies, the Dalmatians. All one hundred and one of them. All loved and all lost, by her.” He looked up at the stone faces. “Though I think the love part is debatable.”