Chapter 26

FRIDAY, MAY 15

11:46 A.M.

MASON’S KITCHEN, INDIANA

“Hamid?” I cried. “What are you . . . How did you . . . ?”

“I just clonked that guy on the back of the head!” he said. “That was like a video game! I came in all stealthy . . . The garage door was open. I heard signs of a struggle. Found this weapon on the floor.” He hefted the frying pan. “My heart was beating so fast, it was like my strength just leveled up. I went bam and smashed that supervillain. Critical hit. He’s out cold.” Hamid stretched out a toe and nudged Wreckage. “Are you guys okay?”

I stood up and grabbed the top hat off the fridge, pulling Fluffball down with it. “Get me Avery’s credit card,” I said.

Surprisingly, the rabbit didn’t argue. He ducked straight out of sight, returning a moment later with the card pinched between his two front paws.

I stepped over to Avery, using the sharp boon card to slice away the coils of jump rope that held her. The severed parts began to dissolve while the rest shortened to the size of a normal jump rope, the end still lying across Wreckage’s limp hand.

“Oh, Mason!” Mom said, coming around the dining table and pulling me into a hug. “I thought that piano lesson would never end!”

“You know I don’t take piano lessons, right?” I asked, stepping away from her and glancing at her wrist. To my surprise, the bracelet was not there.

“I cut it off when I first got here,” Avery explained. “Before Wreckage showed up.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“We’re storing the bracelet in the top hat for the moment,” said Fluffball.

“It talks . . . ,” Hamid stammered, pointing a shaking finger at Fluffball. “The bunny talks!”

“That’s rabbit to you, kid,” grumbled Fluffball.

“I’m still getting used to it,” Mom said.

Fluffball turned to me. “I was going to say that stinkiness runs in the family, but she actually smells quite nice.”

“You’re not freaking out, Mom?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m freaking out, all right,” she answered. “I’m just trying to keep it inside right now. Avery told me everything.”

“And you believe it?” I said, not able to believe it myself.

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “What choice do I have? I was completely convinced that you were at piano lessons for two days straight, had a conversation with a talking rabbit, reached into a bottomless top hat, got tied up by a magic jump rope, saw you teleport across the kitchen with a baseball, and had my house destroyed by a drumstick. I’d say I’m convinced that magic is real.”

“Mason.” Avery’s voice caused me to turn. She was kneeling on the floor beside Wreckage. She and Hamid had rolled the big man onto his side, and I found myself staring at his black, egg-smeared welding mask. There was a face under that mask. If we learned the bounty hunter’s true identity, it might help lead us to the Mastermind.

Avery reached out and pushed up the black face shield.

“That’s . . . ,” I muttered, unable to finish.

“Wreckage is Special Agent John Clarkston,” Avery whispered. She rocked back, sighing heavily. “I think we found the mole.”

“You should call your dad,” I said. “Warn Magix.”

Avery shook her head. “Not yet. Even if he believes me, the others won’t without proof.”

“You could wear the truth shoe,” I said.

“The truth shoe?” Mom questioned.

Avery dug the shoe out of her top hat and held it up. “This old thing.”

“How does it work?” Hamid asked.

“Whoever is wearing it can only speak the truth,” I said.

“No way!” the boy shouted. “Magic is soooo cool!”

Avery turned on him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What are you doing here, exactly?”

“Knocking out bad guys,” he said proudly.

Avery didn’t look convinced. “Unless you did that just to gain our trust.” She threw the shoe at his feet. “Put this on.”

“What?” Hamid backed away from the shoe. “It doesn’t look like my size.”

“It’ll still work,” I said. “Just do it, Hamid.”

“So you can learn all my secrets?” He folded his arms defiantly. “No way.”

“We won’t ask you anything embarrassing,” I promised. “It’s just to prove that you’re not working with him.” I gestured at the unconscious Wreckage.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Hamid snapped.

I sighed, slipping out of my own sneaker. We didn’t have time for this. The kid could be so stubborn sometimes. I jammed my foot into the truth shoe. “Ask me anything.”

Hamid rubbed his hands together excitedly, but my mom beat him to it.

“Did you get into my chocolate stash last week?” she asked.

Mom had already asked me this question when she thought her supply looked lower than expected. I had denied it then, but with the truth shoe on . . .

“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard at the admission. “I ate two mint truffles.”

“Oh, you little . . .” Mom trailed off, preparing another incriminating question. “Do you ever drink straight out of the milk jug?”

I flinched. She’d caught me doing it a few months ago, and I’d promised never to do it again. “At least once a day,” I admitted. “Usually with my snack when I get home from school, but sometimes at breakfast if you’re not looking.”

“What about the collection of dried boogers that I found on the wall in the TV room?” Mom asked. “Did those really belong to Hamid?”

“Hey! What?” Hamid shrieked.

“No,” I answered, my cheeks turning bright red. “They were my boogers.”

“One more question,” Mom said, her tone the most serious yet. “Do you really think your dad is innocent?”

I took a deep breath. Of all the lies I’d told my mom, this one was the longest running. I think she’d given up on Dad when the therapist had told us to accept the truth. I didn’t like to talk about it, but whenever it came up, I just told my mom what she wanted to hear. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. But inside, I’d never given up on him. And with the truth shoe on my right foot, I couldn’t lie now.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I know Dad is innocent. They framed him for the bank robbery to stop him from giving me that present . . .”

I trailed off, suddenly remembering the little green box Wreckage had taken. I dropped to one knee beside him, pulling open his reflective vest and seeing the present sticking out of his shirt pocket.

I grabbed it, hands trembling. “Do you know what it is?” I asked my mom.

“Yeah,” she said, giving me one of her sad smiles. The kind that seemed to say I love you, and I wish things were different.

“I didn’t want him to give it to you,” Mom said. “That must have been why he asked Carson to hold on to it. So I wouldn’t find it and take it away before your big day. But I was wrong. You should have it.”

Taking a deep breath, I peeled up the edge of the wrapping paper.

Someone grabbed me from behind.

I dropped the small box, shouting in surprise. Wreckage—Agent Clarkston—was awake. His dirty welding mask covered his face once more, and he’d taken advantage of my distraction to spring up and get me. Mom and Hamid screamed, and I saw Avery’s hand plunge into her top hat. But it was too late.

With one arm clamped tightly around my middle, Wreckage used his free hand to hold up a Get Well Soon card. It had a cartoon drawing of a walrus with a box of tissues, and a thermometer dangling from his mouth.

“That’s a boon!” I heard Fluffball warning. “If he opens the card—”

Wreckage opened the card.