CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The New-York Circulating Material Repository

The ride to New York City took a lot longer than I expected, mostly because I hadn’t thought it through. North Harbor is a couple of hundred miles from Manhattan as the crow flies. As it happened, a crow took off from one of the chimneys and flew out ahead of me, and I actually considered following it before deciding that would be insane. So I took Andre’s advice from earlier and hugged the coast.

Following all the bends along the shore—all the coves and nubbles and promontories—added distance to my trip. Clinging to the broomstick with hands and knees, I urged it to go faster, faster! I outstripped crows and seagulls. Mist stung my cheeks and soaked through my scarf. Kitty hated it. This was far, far more dangerous than riding a bike without training wheels. She tried to help by blowing the air backward from my face, but that just whipped my hair around, stinging my ears. My legs were aching and everything chafed.

Then I saw a helicopter ahead of me, and I panicked. I gave the broom a storm of mixed messages: Up! Down! Forward—no, back! But most of all, go! Get past it!

The broomstick hung for a moment, as if paralyzed. The helicopter came hurtling toward me. It seemed to be blowing up like a balloon. Then something intangible snapped, and the broomstick broke loose into some unknown dimension. Everything vanished: the helicopter, the sharp mist, the seagulls, the coast. My sister. I was alone in dark, blank, racing silence.

I gasped and pulled up on the broom’s end. The broom flapped impatiently, as if irritated at being interrupted by someone who clearly had no idea what she was doing.

“Take me back,” I shouted. My voice sounded dim and flat in the emptiness. “Go back to the coast!”

The broom didn’t respond.

“Broom! Come on!”

The broom made a reluctant turn—I felt the motion, but I couldn’t tell the direction—and gave a swishing shudder, as if it were sweeping stars along the infinite stone wall at the end of the universe. It made a rough, sparking sound. Then I felt the air catch around my arms and legs, and the wind came back, slicing at my forehead. I blinked away tears and saw the coast below me again, laid out like a map. The helicopter was gone, as was Connecticut. I saw Manhattan ahead of me. We were almost there.

I flew slowly forward and let myself down in Central Park, choosing a wooded area that looked empty. Nobody saw me land. I staggered off the broomstick, straightening my shaking legs. I made my way out of the park near the Metropolitan Museum of Art and walked quickly through well-kept streets to the address on Elizabeth’s card.

• • •

The New-York Circulating Material Repository was a townhouse at the end of a row of similar-looking houses. It had marble stairs, double doors, and a brass plaque.

Kitty found me as I was walking up the steps. She was furious. What had I done back there? Where had I disappeared to when that helicopter had shown up? Did I have any idea how fast helicopters go? What if I hadn’t made it out of the way in time?

“I’m fine, Kitty,” I said. “I don’t think the broom wanted to get caught in those propellers any more than I did.”

She was still blasting me with fury as I pulled open the heavy doors.

Inside was a surprisingly big room with a tall ceiling and a marble floor. A girl about my age was sitting at a desk, reading a book. She glanced up, smiled, then went back to her book.

I walked over to the desk. “Can I help you?” she asked in a friendly voice.

“Um, yeah, I hope so.”

“First time here?”

I nodded. “I was hoping to see Dr. Rew. Is she here?”

“Yes, I think so. Is she expecting you?”

“I doubt it.” Though who really knew what someone like that expected. “If she’s busy, I could talk to Andre Merritt.”

She raised one eyebrow, then lifted the receiver of an old-fashioned dial telephone like the one in my tower room. “Elizabeth? You have visitors downstairs, asking for you and Andre. . . . No, a girl and . . . I’m not sure. Right, hang on.” She held the mouthpiece away from her and asked, “Your name?”

“Sukie O’Dare.”

She nodded, then told the telephone, “She says she’s Sukie O’Dare. . . . Okay, good.” She hung up the receiver. “Take the elevator up to four. Someone will meet you there. Do you want to leave that here?” She pointed to my broomstick.

“No, thanks, I’d rather keep it with me.”

“That’s fine. Elevator’s that way.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

As the elevator doors shut behind me and Kitty, I realized the girl behind the desk had referred to us in the plural.

• • •

The elevator opened onto a landing with white walls, tile floors, and Andre Merritt. He was even taller than I remembered. “What’s up, Sukie?” He nodded down at me.

I stepped out and stood there awkwardly with my broomstick and my ghost sister. “Hi, Andre.”

“Laila downstairs said you want to see Libbet? Come on, I’ll take you to her office.” He held a door for me and strode off down a hallway. I followed him, and Kitty skimmed along on the wall beside us like a movie of herself being projected from a moving film projector. Andre kept glancing at the wall and frowning, but he didn’t seem to actually see her.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” he asked, nodding at my broom.

“One of the things.”

“Did you change your mind about selling it?”

“No! I just—I was hoping you could tell me more about it. The broom and something else I brought.”

“Cool, okay. Here.” We stopped in front of a narrow, arched door made of dark wood. A brass plaque read Elizabeth Rew, Acquisitions. Andre knocked.

“Come in,” called Elizabeth.

He opened the door a crack and squeezed himself through. “Come in, Sukie,” he said when I hesitated, pulling the door open a millimeter more and snaking an arm out to take my elbow.

Turning sideways and sucking in my breath, I eased myself in after him.

The tiny room was shaped like a bud vase: round, narrow, and very tall, tapering toward a distant domed skylight. A single shelf crammed with objects spiraled around the walls all the way up, with little round windows scattered here and there among the objects on the shelf. A pulley and a rope ladder dangled from an iron bar just under the skylight.

Elizabeth sat behind a desk piled with objects and teetering towers of papers. Other piles on the floor blocked the door, preventing it from opening all the way—not that there was room for it to open anyway, with Andre and me taking up all the remaining floor space.

“Welcome, welcome, Sukie,” Elizabeth said. “Please, sit down.”

I looked around for a chair, but there were none. Where would they even fit?

Andre laughed, reached behind me, and did something to a spot on the wall. A narrow section unfolded down into a cushioned seat. He unfolded one for himself too and sat down, his knees bumping up against Elizabeth’s desk.

I unzipped my parka and unwound my scarf.

“Here, you can put those . . .” Elizabeth looked around. There really was nowhere to put them.

“That’s okay. I can hold them,” I said, tucking my backpack behind my legs, draping my coat over my knees, and leaning the broom against the spiral shelf. “This is quite a room!”

Elizabeth laughed. “Yeah, well, they didn’t have a proper office for me when I got promoted, so they had to get creative. This used to be a chimney. So. What brings you here today?”