Micah almost walked into the Strongman on his way out of the tent. The giant in the bowler hat didn’t say anything at all. He stepped out of the way and let them pass. Micah bulled his way toward the gate. He wasn’t going to spend one more moment in Circus Mirandus than he had to.

Jenny stumbled after him. “Micah,” she said in a shocked voice. “Micah, I don’t think the Lightbender uses cameras.”

“He might as well.”

“I . . . I think this . . . All of it is real.”

Micah snorted.

“Slow down!” Jenny said. “I need a minute. I need to think.”

But Micah didn’t slow down, and they were just yards away from Geoffrey and the outside world when Jenny dug in her heels. Micah jerked to a stop and dropped her arm.

“What about Rosebud’s wagon?” she said.

Micah shook his head. “These people aren’t going to help us, Jenny. We shouldn’t even have come.”

“The Lightbender said she could give your grandfather something to make him feel better, though. If this is all real, don’t you want to try?”

No. Micah didn’t. He had tried and tried until he was scraped raw inside.

“Micah Tuttle!” Jenny cried. “You can’t give up now.”

Micah breathed in and out slowly until he had calmed down enough to think. He knew Jenny was right, but vicious disappointment was gnawing its way through his heart. Grandpa Ephraim was going to . . . he was . . . Grandpa Ephraim could use every bit of help Micah could find for him.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Micah wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t noticed Rosebud’s wagon before. It looked like a dollhouse next to the menagerie. He didn’t want to be too hopeful, but as soon as he saw it, he had to admit that it looked like it had potential. The wagon was painted a bright green that glowed in the light from the spotlight on top of Mr. Head’s tent, and four fat yellow ponies were tied to a stake nearby. The sign beside the three wooden steps that led up to the door said ROSEBUD’S POTIONS AND POULTICES.

“She must be some kind of herbalist,” said Jenny. She knocked on the door.

It swung open almost instantly, and they both gasped. The woman standing in front of them was huge. Her skin was as dark as the Lightbender’s tent, and she must have been at least seven feet tall. She didn’t have a single strand of hair on her head, but her skull was painted with bright pink flowers.

“Um,” said Jenny.

“We’re looking for Rosebud?” Micah said. “Ma’am.”

Her grin was almost as big as she was. “Looking for me?” she said in a booming voice. “Well of course you are, ducklings! Come in.”

And before either of them could decide whether that was a good idea or not, she grabbed Micah and Jenny by the shoulders and pulled them into the wagon. Micah wasn’t sure, but he thought his feet actually left the ground for a second.

They were dropped onto an armchair so large that it took up almost all of the room in the wagon that Rosebud herself didn’t occupy. “Holy smokes,” said Jenny.

“I’ve got those!” Rosebud said. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

“No, ma’am.” Micah took in his surroundings. A baby alligator with a bandaged tail slept on top of a stack of foreign-language dictionaries and astronomy textbooks in one corner, but every other spare inch of the wagon was covered with jars and bottles and baskets. “At least I don’t think so. We’re looking for something to fix someone’s lungs.”

“Oh dear.” Her smile faded. “So it’s a serious problem you’ve come to me about? Tell me all about it, ducklings. We’ll see what we can cook up.”

Rosebud’s wagon smelled stranger than any place Micah had ever been, and she wouldn’t stop calling him a duckling. But as soon as he finished describing Grandpa Ephraim’s symptoms to her, she started reaching into her baskets and beakers and cookie tins, pulling out things that definitely looked disgusting enough to be medicine. “I can’t fix everything,” she said, “and I can’t stop the dying from doing their thing, but this will help a mite.”

Jenny whispered into Micah’s ear that “mite” meant a little bit, but he couldn’t help feeling encouraged while he watched Rosebud grind all of her ingredients with a mortar and pestle that were much too small for her hands. She made a fine, brown powder and tipped it into a small pot with a cork top. Then she dipped a brush into a jar of white paint and wrote, “For Ephraim Tuttle,” on it in pretty calligraphy.

“My special tea,” she said as she passed it to Micah. “You steep it in some hot water for a few minutes and give it to him. It’ll make him feel better.”

The pot was heavier than it looked. Micah clutched it to his chest with both hands.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“Aww, duckling.” She patted him on the shoulder. “You have a good day.”

“Day?” Micah asked. Surely he hadn’t been at Circus Mirandus for so long. But when they stepped outside Rosebud’s wagon, he looked up at the sky and felt Jenny stiffen beside him.

A band of gray light crept across the horizon. It was almost sunrise.

“My parents,” Jenny squeaked.

“Aunt Gertrudis,” Micah whispered.

“The bikes!” they both shouted at the same time.

They pedaled like they were being chased by a whole army of white tigers, but it wasn’t enough. By the time they reached Micah’s house, the sun had stained the sky an early morning pink.

Jenny didn’t even stop. She shouted, “Bye! Good luck!” and streaked away with the Pooch Prowler rattling crazily behind her. Micah jumped off his bike and left it lying in the yard. He had one hand clutched tightly around Rosebud’s pot of medicine.

I’m going to need good luck, he thought. He could only hope that Aunt Gertrudis hadn’t woken up yet.

He made it up the stairs. He moved as quickly as he could without letting the floorboards creak beneath his feet. The house was completely quiet. When he reached the door of his bedroom, Micah paused for a few seconds to catch his breath.

That was his mistake.

Just before he could turn the handle, Aunt Gertrudis stepped out of the guest room. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she took in his appearance. He was sweaty from the bike ride. He smelled like the menagerie animals and Rosebud’s herbs.

Aunt Gertrudis had never been stupid. Her nostrils flared. “Where have you been?”

Micah knew he was a goner.