Escape from the Isle of the Lost (Descendants 4)

“No, it’s mine!”

“MINE!”

“Nooooo!”

The sounds of people squabbling always reminded Carlos of his mother, he realized. She would never stop haunting his dreams.

It was only when his heart had stopped pounding that he realized that there were just three of them in the hideout. “Where’s Mal?” he asked.

Jay and Evie glanced around. “What?” said Jay.

“Omigosh!” Evie gasped. “I was asleep until I heard you, Carlos. Did either of you see her?”

They shook their heads. Evie dashed frantically around the room, overturning pillows and blankets. Mal’s jacket and boots were missing too. Carlos scratched his head. “She’s gone?”

Jay flushed. “I was supposed to be keeping watch!” he said. “But I was exhausted.”

“It’s not your fault,” Evie said. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“But where would she have gone? And why didn’t she tell us where she was going?” asked Carlos. An uneasy feeling crept over him.

“I don’t know,” said Evie. “It’s not like her to do this. She knows we would worry.”

Carlos looked around the dark loft. “Did she leave a note?”

“Let’s check,” said Evie, and the three of them searched the entirety of the loft. Jay even picked through the trash, which was still full of rotten pirate debris. But they didn’t find anything. Not a word.

Carlos sighed. This was why he had been reluctant to go back to the island in the first place. He knew something like this would happen. It always did.

Then he heard Evie gasp. “Guys, check this out!” She pointed at the floor.

It was Mal’s boot print, leading toward the door. But there was something strange about it. It seemed to have the slightest glow. Almost…blue.

“Uma,” said Jay, his eyes narrowing. The others nodded in agreement. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. But at least it looked like there were tracks to follow.

Carlos pulled on his black-and-white leather jacket. “What are we waiting for?” he said. “Let’s go. We’ve got to find her.”

his way, Mal.

Come on.

Hurry.

Mal followed the deep, strangely familiar voice that urged her out of the hideout into the deserted streets of the Isle of the Lost. She walked by the Slop Shop, down Mean Street, and past Gaston’s cottage. She wandered in a daze, unsure if she was still dreaming and asleep on the mattress, or actually outside in the cold night air. She heard the crunch of gravel beneath her feet. Her head felt foggy. She was compelled to follow the voice, no matter what.

“Keep going,” said a new voice, and when Mal looked up she saw Dizzy Tremaine, with her signature pigtails and oversize glasses, standing on the deserted sidewalk.

“Dizzy? What are you doing here?” asked Mal. What was she doing out here so late and so far from her home on Stepmother’s Island? Dizzy shouldn’t be out at this time of the night.

“Don’t worry about me,” Dizzy said with a laugh. “You just keep going, Mal. That way!” Dizzy threw her head back and cackled, and something glowed around her neck. She reminded Mal of someone. Who laughed like that? The answer was in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t access it. It was like she was sleepwalking. Maybe she was.

“Where am I going?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” said Dizzy mysteriously. “You’re almost there.”

Mal bent down to tie her shoelace, and when she stood up Dizzy had disappeared. Had that even been Dizzy? What was going on? But she felt that she was going the right way. She had to continue.

She walked to the intersection of Pitty Lane and Bitter Boulevard, a route she had traveled countless times when she was a denizen of the Isle of the Lost. She remembered knocking down garden gnomes, pushing over mailboxes, tagging walls.