It was early Saturday morning when Pamela padded downstairs to find her mother sitting alone at the breakfast table. The house was quiet; everybody else was still asleep. All night, Pamela had been mulling over Abby’s words. You’ve got to find out the truth. So she sat down at the table and fixed her eyes upon her mother with a steady and resolute gaze.
“Mom, I need to know about my dad.”
Trudy Baskin didn’t look up, but her chin began to tremble slightly. “What is it you want to know, dear?”
“Who was he and what happened to him?”
“Well, I’ve been expecting that question,” admitted Trudy. “And I’d like to be able to tell you. But the truth is…”
Excited, Pamela leaned forward. “What?”
“The night you were born, I lost my memory. And your father disappeared.”
“But you always told me he died.”
“Died or vanished—I’m not sure which is worse,” Trudy replied. “All I know is that something terrible happened that night. The last thing I remember was seeing a hideous raven with one yellow eye.”
“No way,” said Gabriel when Pamela shared her mother’s explanation. “How could he just disappear? And why was a valraven the last thing she saw?”
It was later that Saturday afternoon, and the four were clustered on Gabriel’s stoop. They were shivering because a cold snap had descended over Brooklyn. Pamela didn’t want to talk inside, where her mother might overhear them.
“A sudden disappearance,” said Somes. “Sounds like someone in your family, Gabriel.”
“Yeah, but I know what my mom looks like,” replied Gabriel. “I have pictures. How could Pamela’s dad be a total mystery?”
“Doesn’t your mom have wedding pictures?” asked Abby.
“Nope,” Pamela replied. “And she said all his stuff vanished into thin air.”
“No uncles, aunts? Other family?” added Gabriel.
“She doesn’t remember.”
Abby threw up her hands. “Totally impossible!”
“Do you think she was lying?” asked Gabriel.
Pamela shook her head. “I think she was very scared and she’s afraid of remembering what happened.”
“Hmm,” said Somes. “So she remembered a raven with one yellow eye?”
“I guess that explains why she doesn’t like ravens,” said Gabriel.
Abby sprang up from the step, delighted. “This is too cool! You have a mysterious father who completely disappeared when you were born, and the only thing your mother remembers is a valraven.”
“It doesn’t feel cool,” Pamela said wistfully. “I have a zillion questions and zero answers.”
“Hey,” said Gabriel, “maybe it’s time to ask the writing desk.”
Gabriel was, of course, referring to the other mojo-mechanism in the Finley house—the small black desk with carved talons on its front feet and a pair of wings on its sides. This desk could answer questions…if it could be found. Pamela had discovered that when she played a jig on her violin, the desk would come running, eager to dance.
While her mother was busy folding laundry in the kitchen, Pamela led the others upstairs to her bedroom and removed her violin from a case lined with red velvet. She fixed it under her chin, tuned the strings, and rubbed rosin on her bow. While she prepared, the others came up with questions of their own.
“I want to ask if I’m going to be a raven’s amicus,” said Abby.
“I need to know where disappeared things go,” added Gabriel. “And why that robin is after me.”
“I have a question, too,” said Somes. “About my dad.”
Somes rarely talked about his father. Mr. Grindle was a harsh, disagreeable man, and Somes had run away from home several times.
“Somes?” Abby asked gently. “What is it?”
“My dad hurt his hand years ago,” Somes explained. “It never healed properly. The pain keeps coming back, and it makes him angry and mean.” He shivered. “I asked him once what happened, and he said it was too weird to explain, that I would never believe him. Well, I need to know.”
The others nodded in sympathy.
Pamela began playing “Swallowtail Jig.” It was a short piece, and she played it over and over in a spirited style. Presently, a clatter came from the downstairs bathroom—as if something was scrambling out of the bathtub. Moments later, a galloping noise came from the staircase. The bedroom door flew open, and the desk made its entry, draped in a shower curtain printed with little goldfish.
The desk did a wild pirouette in the center of the room, flinging metal shower hooks in every direction as it stamped loudly on its carved wooden talons. Then it shook the curtain off, as if to declare itself ready to dance.
Pamela played vigorously. It took ten minutes of fervid dancing before the desk began to wobble with exhaustion. It ended its jig with a high jump, then landed in a crouch on all fours, panting heavily.
Somes had never seen the desk in action before; he kneeled beside it, laughing. “Awesome!” he gasped.
“Okay,” said Pamela. “Who wants to ask first?”
“I’ll go!” Somes turned to Gabriel. “Will it talk back to me?”
“No,” said Gabriel, drawing a key out of his pocket. “If the desk has an answer, it will be lying inside when I unlock it. It might be a thing, or a letter, or—”
“One time,” interrupted Abby, “I found a postcard with a picture that came to life.”
Somes fixed the desk with a serious look. “A long time ago, when I was a baby,” he began, “my dad was driving a truck when something attacked him. He won’t tell me what it was, but he lost the tip of his pinkie. It still hurts, twelve years later, and it makes him crazy. So, desk, can you tell me what happened that night?”
“Somes,” whispered Abby, “that’s a very long question.”
“You said it answered questions. What difference does it make if it’s short or long?”
Gabriel put the key in the keyhole and turned it, raising the desk lid.
“Look!” cried Pamela.
A glass globe lay in the middle cubbyhole. Little flakes of snow swirled inside it. Somes placed the globe gently in his palm and held it up for the others to see.
Inside the globe, a bakery truck rolled forward out of the blizzard. The words Love in a Loaf were painted on the truck’s side.
“My dad’s bakery truck,” murmured Somes.
As the children watched, the driver climbed out and squinted into the falling snow.
“And that’s my dad when he was younger.”
Mr. Grindle raised the truck’s hood to examine the engine. He shook his head and lowered the hood. Suddenly, an enormous black bird swooped down and landed before him. Mr. Grindle stared with astonishment. It was easy to see why, for the bird resembled a raven but with a strangely human head. In addition to wings, it had arms, which cradled a small bundle. Its yellow eyes glared menacingly at the driver.
“Is that a valraven?” murmured Pamela.
“Valravens don’t have arms,” said Gabriel. “It’s Corax—part human, part valraven. Do you see what he’s holding?”
“It’s a baby!” said Abby with astonishment.
In a swift movement, Corax lurched forward and snapped at Mr. Grindle’s hand. Mr. Grindle uttered a soundless cry and nursed his bloody finger. It appeared that Corax had taken something from his victim, which he then dropped from his beak into the mouth of the baby. Then, drawing the baby closer, he spread his wings and flew off into the swirling snow.
Mr. Grindle sank to his knees, clutching his bleeding hand.
Then, very slowly, the truck and Mr. Grindle faded away until nothing remained inside the globe but snow tumbling around in darkness.
Somes didn’t say anything for a moment. He simply placed the snow globe back in the desk and shut the lid.
“I can see why my dad didn’t want to explain what happened,” he muttered at last. “Most people would say he was crazy.”
Just then the desk began rattling its talons impatiently on the floorboards, as if to remind the children of their other questions.
Gabriel’s turn came next. “How do I find out where my mother is?” he asked.
He turned the key and raised the lid. As he peered inside, his expression fell. There was no slip of paper, no snow globe, nothing in any of the cubbyholes. He was about to close the lid when Abby pointed.
“Ooh! Look in the corner!”
A single feather rested in the third cubbyhole. Gabriel picked it up and turned it over. It was just a fluffy white feather with gray markings, no longer than his thumb. Gabriel held it up to show the others.
“Strange answer,” remarked Somes.
“What could it mean?” wondered Gabriel.
“I have no clue,” said Abby, rubbing her spectacles.
“Can I go now?” Pamela looked about ready to burst.
Gabriel placed the feather gently in his shirt pocket and closed the lid. “Darn,” he said.
Pamela leaned toward the desk. “Deskie?” she whispered. “Where is my father?”
The desk seemed to take a deep breath, but as Gabriel leaned forward to put the key in the lock, the desk hopped backward.
“Hey!” he said sharply. “Come here!”
The desk crouched and retreated like a dog preparing to flee.
“Why doesn’t it want to answer?” Pamela wondered.
Scraping its talons hurriedly on the floor, the desk fled through the gap between Pamela and Somes, thundered down the staircase, and struck the landing with a loud crash.
Moments later, they heard a door slam.
Somes turned to the others. “Well, that’s the end of that.”
“What about my question?” Abby was upset. “I wanted to find out if a raven is going to ask me a riddle on my birthday.”
“Hey, look!” said Gabriel.
He pointed to Pamela’s window. The robin gazed at them in profile, his eye scrutinizing each child.
“Nobody move,” said Gabriel, concerned that a wish was on the way.
At that moment, footsteps came up the stairs. The children turned, expecting that the desk had returned, but when the door opened, it was only Trudy.
“What are you all doing?” she asked brusquely.
Pamela tried to think of an explanation. “Oh, Mom, we’re just—”
“Trying not to scare the robin at the window,” said Abby.
“What robin?” said Trudy.
The children turned to look.
But Snitcher had flown away.
After his friends had gone, Gabriel headed downstairs to Mr. Finley’s study. His father was in his armchair, examining a thick volume with a magnifying glass. He looked weary and frustrated, and simply frowned when Gabriel showed him the feather.
“I have no idea what this means,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay, thanks anyway, Dad.”
Disappointed, Gabriel trudged slowly upstairs. He passed his aunt’s bedroom and noticed that she was applying a brilliant shade of red lipstick. “Are you going somewhere fancy?” he asked.
“Oh no, just meeting a friend.” Aunt Jaz took another glance at herself in the mirror, then turned to him. “How do I look?”
There was something different about her appearance. It took Gabriel a moment to realize that she had not applied her little black boomerang eyebrows. Without them, her blue eyes stood out brightly. She looked very nice, and he told her so.
Aunt Jaz’s dimples appeared. “Thank you, my dear!” she said. She rose quickly, put on her coat, and said goodbye.
Gabriel continued to his room and sat on his bed, puzzling over the feather. What can it mean? he wondered. What does it have to do with finding disappeared things?
And then a voice said, It’s quite obvious to me.
Startled, Gabriel looked up and saw Paladin perched on the bed knob, tidying his feathers very carefully with his beak.
“What’s so obvious, Paladin?”
Every raven recognizes a feather like that. It sends chills through his wings. That is a feather no raven wants to see.
“Why? What does it come from?”
A great horned owl.
“Ah!” said Gabriel. He knew that ravens were terrified of great horned owls. And he remembered that he and Paladin had met such owls before.
Do you recall that night in the zoo when the great horned owls entrusted us with the torc? Paladin continued. They know a lot about its past. If anybody can tell us about disappeared things, it will be them. We must pay them a visit.
Gabriel gave a sigh. “But I promised my dad that I wouldn’t paravolate.”
Paladin hopped onto Gabriel’s shoulder. If you learn where your mother is, I think your father will forgive you; he needs your help.
When his amicus put it that way, Gabriel was convinced. He stood up from his bed and threw the window open. A fresh breeze rippled the curtains.
Paladin hopped to the windowsill, spread his wings, and cried, Jump!