The Water and the Wild by Katie Elise Ormsbee Read Free Book Online

stopped as quickly as it had started. There was a short silence. Then there was a rush of wind. Lottie’s wet, stringy hair whipped up on her face. Her feet left the floor of the tree—or was it a tree anymore?
    â€œWhat’s happening?!” she shrieked.
    â€œWe’re going down, of course,” called Adelaide, who sounded perfectly calm. “The tree’s shooting us down, and then back up. Down and up.”
    â€œIt only feels like
down
to me!” Lottie called back.
    It was just then that Lottie’s toes whipped up past her nose and over her face. She tumbled up into a heap on the ceiling. She tumbled down into a heap on the floor.
    Then the pressure, the wind, and the flipping stopped. A single flame, encased in a glass lantern, flickered to life above Lottie’s head. She looked around to see who hadlit it, but there was only Adelaide, who was still standing, arms folded, looking quite at ease.
    â€œAll right?” Adelaide smiled.
    â€œNo!” said Lottie. “And I’m not going to be all right until you tell me what’s going on.”
    â€œI told you.” Adelaide sighed. “We went down through your world. Now we’re going up through mine.” Adelaide clasped her hands neatly in front of her. “I much prefer
my
half of the ride.”
    This tree-room had to be like an elevator, then, Lottie decided. A sort of underground, topsy-turvy elevator that connected the front garden of Thirsby Square to—
    â€œYour world?” repeated Lottie. “What do you mean,
your
world?”
    â€œYou’ll see for yourself in a minute,” Adelaide said, offering Lottie a hand to help her to her feet. “Better now? I told you it might hurt. You get used to it after a while, once your body’s accustomed to root shooting.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œRoot shooting. Shooting through the roots. What we just did.”
    Lottie glared at Adelaide. Lottie wasn’t stupid, and she didn’t appreciate Adelaide looking at her as though shewere. Still, Mrs. Yates had taught her once that politeness was the best response to rudeness.
    â€œI never really introduced myself,” she said, extending her hand for a shake. “I’m Lottie Fiske. But I guess you already know that.”
    Adelaide shook Lottie’s hand with mock formality.
    â€œYes,” she said. “Yes, we know.”

    The rest of the ride was silent. If Adelaide had not told Lottie that they were going up, Lottie wouldn’t have thought that she was moving in any direction at all. The “elevator,” Lottie found on closer inspection, was covered in peeling Victorian-style wallpaper. A soot-spotted mirror hung on one of the walls.
    A shuddering sound broke the silence. Then, quite suddenly, one of the elevator walls began to warp and splinter, revealing a little crack of light at its center. The crack grew larger and larger, filling the elevator with more and more bright light until suddenly the opening was big enough to walk through.
    â€œ
Now
you may step out,” said Adelaide. “Go on. It just takes a little adjusting, that’s all.”
    Lottie stepped out, shading her eyes. They were indoors, and they were standing in the grandest foyer that Lottie had ever seen. The floor was made of glinting black-and-ivory-checkered marble, and to Lottie’s left, two giant fir trees—far more exciting than the fake ficus plants that Mrs. Yates kept in the boardinghouse—guarded a stone archway. The light came from a great silver chandelier that hung from a domed ceiling overhead, and that ceiling was carved in a way that reminded Lottie of a certain type of flower—an iris, she thought it was.
    A breeze was sweeping through the room, as though someone had left a window open. In the breeze sung a faint, sweet smell of garden. Lottie turned back to see where she and Adelaide had come from. There was her green apple tree, but it was