Escape from the Isle of the Lost (Descendants 4)

Carlos stared at the Magic Mirror. It was dark and broken. And it felt like he had been looking into it. Had he imagined that he had seen something there? But that couldn’t be right—the mirror needed magic to work.

“We’re in my home. But why?” Evie continued.

“We were looking for Mal? I think?” Carlos said, his forehead scrunching.

“Did we find her?” asked Evie.

“I hope so,” said Jay.

“We’ve got bigger problems, boys,” said Evie, as they heard the front door creak open. “We need to get out of here. My mom’s home!”

he more Celia stared at the cracks in the cave wall, the more she was certain they weren’t just fissures in the stone. There was a rip in the fabric of their world—this was a broken seam, spilling magic into the tunnels underneath the Isle of the Lost. Uma and Hades must have been counting on this tiny bit of magic to take Mal and her friends by surprise. If only Dizzy were here, Celia thought despairingly. She could help her figure out what to do.

Celia traced the spiderweb of cracks along the cave wall. There were so many of them, and it looked like they were spreading. What could she do? How could she fix a spell? She was nothing but a two-bit hustler, making up fortunes for people silly enough to pay for them. She couldn’t help Mal and her friends.

She shuffled and reshuffled her cards out of habit. Then she realized—if there really was magic down here, she could use it. She sat down on the cold cave floor, cutting and shuffling her cards. She would read her own fortune, to guide her hand and find a solution. For once, her tricks might actually work.

How do I fix the cracks? she asked the cards as she shuffled them again and again, her hands shaking from nerves.

Celia placed three cards in front of her.

The first card was the Magician. Her past.

The next was the Queen of Wands. Her present.

The third was the Hermit. Her future.

What did it mean? The Magician was her past. A strong presence—her father, she thought. The great manipulator, a true magician. The second card represented who she was: the Queen of Wands, a sorceress in her own right. Someone dependable. A person others could count on. The third was t

he Hermit—an inward-looking card, one that represented a person’s inner life.

Then she realized: It meant the ability to fix this rested within her. She didn’t need anyone’s help. She had the power all along.

Celia was her father’s daughter. Dr. Facilier wasn’t just the headmaster of Dragon Hall—he was a powerful witch doctor who had friends on the other side, including one particular friend who was very close indeed. She knew what she had to do.

A spell to fix a spell.

She called on her shadow, the creature that lived in her. Her shadow peeled herself away from Celia and turned to her. “What is your command, mistress?”

“Seal the spaces in between; weave the fabric of the barrier’s spell back to its rightful strength; and where there is light, let darkness rule,” Celia ordered. “Cast yourself wide and dark and deep.”

Her shadow nodded, and then leaped onto the wall. It grew until it covered the cave in darkness, and one by one, every thread of light in the cave blinked out.

Celia held her cards. They did not tremble, nor did they call. The magic was snuffed out like a candle, by a shadow.

Celia felt herself gasp with relief, and she hugged her cards to her chest. Then, just as quickly, she brushed herself off and stood, pulling herself back together. After that, I better get picked to go to Auradon Prep, Celia said to herself as she worked her way back through the tunnel. Imagine what I could do with real magic at my fingertips!

ike a curtain closing on a stage, everything suddenly disappeared—the bubbles, the pirate ship, the door—at the same time that an invisible force pushed Mal away and sent her flying off to safety.

“Face it, Uma, I’ll always be stronger than you!” said Mal as the waves carried her away.

She could hear Uma’s cry of rage from deep below echoing in the waves. “You, strong enough? In your dreams!!!” screamed Uma.

Mal shut her eyes.

When she opened them, she was standing at the pier again, and it was as if she had never fallen into the water. Her memory was fading as well. She fought to hold on to fragments of images—the school of fish that had surrounded her, Uma’s face laughing in all the bubbles, the pirate ship, a mirror, and that strangely compelling door.

Uma! Uma had been standing at the doorway, and she wanted something. Something Mal had.