Granny promised she would, then backed out of view.
Sabrina examined the inside of the chest. The light was dim and grew dimmer as they descended. When they found themselves in pure darkness, Uncle Jake took a small red amulet from one of his jacket pockets. He whispered something into it, and it lit up their path. They continued down, step after step, until Sabrina was convinced there was no bottom. She was about to suggest they turn back when she heard her sister bang into something. From her groan, it sounded as if it was something quite hard.
“Could someone have warned me there would be a door down here?” Daphne complained.
“Sorry,” Uncle Jake said. “You can open it, but don’t step out until you’ve looked both ways. These traveler’s chests have a tendency to be imprecise, and that door is leading into the real world. Anything could be on the other side.”
Daphne opened the door and looked to her left, then her right. “Looks all clear!” she said, stepping through the opening. A moment later, Sabrina heard a huge splash and Daphne’s cries for help.
abrina rushed through the door. There she found her sister bobbing up and down in a canal. She nearly fell into it herself, but Uncle Jake pulled her back just in time.
Several men in white pants and shirts were standing in long, thin boats they maneuvered down the waterway using tall poles. One used his pole to nudge Daphne to the side of the canal, where Uncle Jake fished her out.
When she was safely back on land, she reached into her pocket for her dictionary, but the book was waterlogged and ruined. Her face crinkled up in frustration, and she tossed it into a nearby trash can. “What does imprecise mean?” Daphne snapped.
“It means not exact,” Sabrina said.
Daphne scowled.
“You should have asked before,” Sabrina said.
Daphne scowled harder, then emptied the water from her shoes.
“Welcome to Venice, girls,” Uncle Jake said.
Sabrina studied her surroundings. Scarecrow had been correct. There weren’t streets in Venice, at least not in the part of the city where they were. Instead, the neighborhoods seemed to be connected by an elaborate canal system lined by narrow sidewalks. The elegant hotels, office buildings, and apartments on either side of the canals were built high so that doorways never touched the water. Boats of various shapes and sizes sailed by: some were taxis, and others were for tourists to take on romantic rides through the majestic arches and bridges of Venice. As a native New Yorker, Sabrina was rarely impressed with anything outside of the Big Apple. After all, once a person had seen the Statue of Liberty or had one of Nathan’s hot dogs at Coney Island, there was little reason to see the rest of the world. But she had to admit Venice was awe-inspiring.
“So, where’s Goldilocks?” Sabrina said, pulling her attention away from the amazing scenery and back to the group. She noticed her uncle seemed to be hypnotized by something. He was looking up at the third floor of a hotel across the canal.
“There,” he said, pointing at a beautiful woman standing on the balcony. She had tight blond curls, a sun-kissed tan, and a warm smile. She, too, was gazing out at the amazing city.
Sabrina was overwhelmed, unsure of whether to laugh or cry. For months she and Daphne had thought their parents abandoned them, only to find out they had been kidnapped. Rescuing them had provided little comfort since they were both victims of a magical spell. Now that obstacle was almost hurdled, too. Hope, wonder, and joy were building in her heart, threatening to explode like a shaken bottle of soda pop. The feelings were mirrored in the faces of her family as well. Daphne, despite being soaked, was grinning ear to ear. Uncle Jake’s fatigue seemed to melt away as he waved for the girls to follow him.
They crossed a bridge to get to the hotel and rushed into the busy lobby. The Hotel Cipriani was even more impressive than the Scarecrow had led them to believe. The floors were made from priceless marble. Opulent arches framed the doors and beautiful sculptures decorated the lobby. The ceiling hung so high above them, Sabrina wondered if clouds ever drifted into the hotel. Dozens of bellhops rushed to and fro, carrying expensive luggage and helping guests to their rooms. Unfortunately, the group’s arrival did not go unnoticed and a chubby, gray-haired man in a black suit approached them. His face was full of disapproval. Sabrina realized how odd they looked for such an elegant place, her sister dripping wet and her uncle in his wrinkled blue jeans and bizarre overcoat.
“Posso aiutarvi?” he said.
“I’m sorry, we don’t speak Italian,” Uncle Jake said.
His comment caused the man’s frown lines to deepen. “Americans,” he huffed. “Are you lost?”
“No, we’re looking for a guest of the hotel,” Uncle Jake said.
“What is this guest’s name?”