The messenger’s name was Chintzy, and she returned to Circus Mirandus just before the sun set on a dreary afternoon. She ignored the excited oohs and aahs of the children who spotted her as she zipped toward the black-and-gold tent she called home.

“All this rain!” she squawked once she was safely atop her perch. “I don’t know why the Head allows it. Gray, cold, wet. Ruins the mood of the place.”

She ruffled her damp red feathers and glared with one beady yellow eye at the Man Who Bends Light, who was fiddling with an ornate silver coffee service beside her perch. He looked as he had for centuries. His sandy hair was a tangled nest, and his beaten, brown leather coat swept the ground. His nose was strong—almost, Chintzy had been known to admit from time to time, like a proper beak.

“The meadow around the circus needs rain as much as any other living thing,” he said. “You’re just in a snit because you wasted your day on a fool’s errand. Not every twitch of your tail is a magical event. I told you I wasn’t expecting any messages.”

Chintzy snatched a lemon cookie off the coffee tray with one clawed foot. “Shows what you know,” she muttered around a beakful of crumbs.

“I told you,” he said again, then paused. “Wait. There was a message?”

She shook her tail feathers at him. “You won’t be insulting my tail twitches anymore, will you?” she said smugly. “I wouldn’t have gone if there wasn’t a message. Flying all that way. My poor wings!”

The tray rattled as he plunked the creamer onto it. “Who could possibly . . .?” He looked sharply at her. “It wasn’t Victoria. Was it?”

Chintzy honk-snorted at him. It was her favorite rude sound. “Of course not! After all these years? Not that I would deliver a message for her anyway. Not after what she did.”

“I suppose that is for the best. Who sent the message?”

“You suppose right. Can you imagine what the Head would say?”

“The message, Chintzy,” he reminded her.

“I almost perished of fatigue, you know.” She drooped on her perch in an attempt to look terribly forlorn and dramatic. “You could have lost me.”

He rolled his eyes. “I am rarely so lucky.”

Chintzy shrieked.

“Do not swear at me. I know for a fact that Porter opened a Door for you last night. It’s not as though you had to flap all the way there.”

She turned her back on him. “Ingrate.”

He sighed. “I know. I am sorry, Chintzy. I do appreciate your hard work. Would you please give me the message?”

“Well, if you’re going to beg . . .” She spun around and puffed out her scarlet chest. “I’m a professional, you know. The letter disintegrated in this rain you insist upon defending, but I memorized it for safekeeping.”

“Very impressive.”

“I am,” she agreed. “The message is from a child who saw your show.”

Then she paused and tilted her head. “Well, no, that’s not exactly right. He’s not a child anymore. He grew up.”

The Man Who Bends Light furrowed his brow. “It’s from an adult?”

“He almost shocked the eggs out of me,” Chintzy admitted. “It’s that serious. You’re going to be in such trouble with the Head, and . . . well, I guess I’ll let you hear it.” She cleared her throat to acknowledge the formality of the situation, and then she recited Ephraim’s letter.

After she finished, the tent was silent for a long time. The Man Who Bends Light stood as still as a petrified stump. As the minutes dragged by, the quiet started to itch. Chintzy plucked a couple of particularly beautiful chest feathers before she even realized how nervous she was.

She cleared her throat again. “He shortened your name, such as it is. Lightbender. Clever. Much more modern.”

When he didn’t respond, she bobbed her head and added, “He called me ma’am, too. You should take notes.”

“As if your ego needed stroking.” He folded his legs and sank onto a tasseled floor cushion. “Ephraim Tuttle,” he murmured. “That is something I didn’t expect.”

“Who is he? Looked about as special as a goose on a pond, if you ask me. Not the sort we usually deal with.”

The Man Who Bends Light looked thoughtful. “He is a child who was called to Circus Mirandus. Or he was. And he was special, compared to most.” He stared down at his long fingers, and a smile crept across his lips. “He showed me a magic trick.”

“A real one?”

“Quite.” He glanced at her. “Do you know what Ephraim wants for his miracle?”

“I’m not sure. He wants to talk to you. Maybe . . .” Chintzy refused to look at him.

“What is it?”

“He’s very old,” she said. “And he’s dying, I think.”

The Man Who Bends Light flinched. “Dying? What if he wants something impossible?”

“Well, that’s a problem for you, isn’t it?” Chintzy turned her head around to preen a few feathers that had been mussed by the rain. “I didn’t even know the children could save their miracles. Never heard of that before.”

“Nobody before Ephraim ever asked to. I didn’t expect him to wait so long. I had almost forgotten.” He was pacing now, back and forth in front of Chintzy’s perch. “I’ll have to speak to Mr. Head.”

“He’ll feed you to one of his creatures,” she predicted.

“Nevertheless.” He strode toward the curtain that served as a door. “Go back to Ephraim. Find out exactly what he needs. I must be prepared.”

“What do you mean ‘go back’? I just got home!”

“Back,” he said. “Talk to Porter about a Door.”

Chintzy fluffed herself to threatening proportions. “I’m not your carrier pigeon.”

“Go.”

The word echoed between them. Chintzy hated it when he used that voice, that deep tone with his magic bleeding through at the edges. She ground her beak.

“Fine!” she squawked. “I don’t know how you got into this mess anyway. Thought you didn’t offer miracles.”

“I did once,” he said softly. The lamps in the tent seemed to dim for a moment. “Before.”