THEY STOOD STARING at one another over the threshold: Marzana on one side with J.J. pacing behind her, and her mother and father on the landing at the top of the stairs. For a moment, no one said anything. Then Mrs. Hakelbarend leaned sideways to glance into the apartment beyond. “Is that Peony?” She sounded surprised, but more than that, she sounded almost . . . what was that tone? Almost wary.
“Yes,” Marzana said, completely at a loss as to whether she was about to be a hero or about to be grounded.
Her mother frowned. “Who’s that with her?”
“Hey, Mrs. Hakelbarend,” Meddy called. “It’s Meddy. Addie. Addie Whitcher.”
Marzana’s mom’s eyes bugged out. She hurried past Marzana and J.J. and into the living room without a word.
Mr. Hakelbarend spoke up. “We clearly have a lot to talk about. But this is not the time.” He looked at the cell phone in J.J.’s hand. “You guys rang the police?”
J.J. nodded. “They’re still on. I just muted the call.” In the living room, Marzana’s mom began speaking in a low, soothing voice to Peony.
“Smart.” Mr. Hakelbarend held out his hand. J.J. put the phone into it. “One of Katia del Olmo’s?” he asked. Nobody bothered to answer. Marzana’s father hit a button and put the phone to his ear. “Hi, who am I talking to? . . . This is Peter Hakelbarend. You’ll find my name in the Q Register. Are there officers en route? Good. If you’re in contact with them, tell them they want the upstairs apartment. The door is to the left of the window on the ground floor. I’ll go down and keep an eye out for them. . . . Yes, I’ll stay on the line.” Without so much as a backward glance, he headed down the stairs to the street.
J.J. edged up close to Marzana. “What’s the Q Register?”
“I have no idea,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Pretty sure it’s not a squash league, though.”
Mrs. Hakelbarend called sharply from the living room. “Marzana!”
Marzana hurried past a nervous Meddy lingering in the short hallway to join her mother and Peony in the living room. Mrs. Hakelbarend had settled the kidnapped girl on the sofa. “Sit with her for a minute. I need to have a look around.”
Oh, Mrs. Agravin! She was still unaccounted for. But did Marzana’s parents even know about her? “Mom,” Marzana said, “this is my math teacher’s apartment. She’s been out since Tuesday—she’s missing. She’s pretty old, Mom. She might be hurt.”
“Your math teacher,” Mrs. Hakelbarend repeated. Then her expression hardened and she pointed a finger at Marzana. “You and I are going to have a significant conversation when we get home.” She stalked out of the room. As soon as she was gone, J.J. and Meddy came cautiously in from the hall, looking like they couldn’t quite figure out where to be. J.J. sat down in a tall wing chair in the corner. Meddy paced, arms folded, by the window that looked out over Cop-Bone Way.
Peony huddled on the couch. “That lady is your mom?” She held the cut rope in her hands and worried the knot between her fingers.
“Yup,” Marzana replied lightly, trying to sound like she wasn’t obviously in trouble.
Peony wasn’t fooled. “You’re in trouble, huh?”
Marzana sighed. “You know that part where Casie has the amazing escape from Ragmire and Devix only to get caught by her parents sneaking back into her house, and she has that moment when, after all the awesome stuff she manages to do, she gets grounded just like any other kid?”
Peony smiled weakly. “What?”
“In The Sidledywry Knot. First book.” Marzana attempted a comforting smile. “You were reading that series, right?”
“Oh. Right. Yes.” She rubbed her face. “It feels like so long ago.” She smiled back, a little apologetically. “I’m up to the fifth book. I had forgotten about Casie.”
A warm little ray of happiness curled through Marzana’s heart. This was good. She might get grounded later, but for now, she was doing something worthwhile and maybe even important, comforting this lost girl. “I’ve only read the first one,” she said, “but I think I’ll keep going. Are the rest just as good?”
Peony’s smile brightened, and she sat up straighter, which made her look taller, older than eleven. “Yes. Although the main character is different in the later books.”
“Nell Southsea,” Marzana said.
“Yes! She’s awesome.” Peony beamed at Marzana. “I thought you looked just like her when you came flying in.”
“Aww.” Well, that felt nice, at least. What would Casie Patrick, alias Nell Southsea, be doing if she were here right now? Assuming her mother had also effectively told her to sit on the sofa and not move. Get some information. Yes. After all, Peony wasn’t only a kidnap victim; she was also a witness. But where to begin? There were so many questions. “Peony, can you tell me what happened to you?”
The girl’s face drained of every ounce of cheer it had just gained. She stiffened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well . . . can you tell me anything about the people who took you?”
Peony’s mouth tightened into a line.
“Anything?” Marzana asked. “Even whether it was one person or two, or more?”
Peony clutched the rope to her chest and huddled back into Mrs. Agravin’s couch cushions.
Grasping at straws, Marzana changed tack. Maybe the idea of helping someone else might shake Peony out of her withdrawal. “What about the lady who lives here? She’s missing, you know.” She pointed to a framed picture on the table beside the couch: Mrs. Agravin, wearing a medal around her neck and shaking hands with someone in a suit. “That’s her. Has she been gone the whole time you’ve been here, or have you seen her?”
Peony barely glanced at the picture. “No,” she whispered.
“Okay.” One final try with a query she couldn’t leave unasked. “Last question, I promise. Peony, did you ever hear any of them—whoever took you, I mean—mention someone named Victor Cormorant?”
Peony said nothing. She pulled her knees up and curled herself around them. Her face disappeared under her lank hair. Oh, no. Oh, no. I broke her. Marzana glanced desperately across at J.J. What do I do? she mouthed.
J.J. hopped to his feet, picked up his backpack off the floor, and came across to kneel at the coffee table opposite Marzana and Peony. “Want to see some magic?”
“Hope you have something other than those cards you weaponized in the hallway,” Meddy said drily from the window. “Kind of a pity. I bet she’d be really impressed by a perfect faro shuffle.”
He shot Meddy a brief glare, but of course, the ghost girl hadn’t shown herself to Peony, so she could hear none of Meddy’s commentary. She looked reluctantly up from her knees. “What kind of magic?”
J.J. unzipped his backpack and took out a little black velvet pouch. “Let’s see what I’ve got.” He peeked into the pouch. “Spectator’s choice. Cups or shells?”
Peony unfolded a little, interested. “What kind of shells? Seashells?”
“Walnuts.” J.J. picked three brown shells from the bag, then reached in with his other hand, rooted around, and pulled out a single tiny green ball. “And a pea.”
He lined up the three halves in a row and set the pea in front of them. “Here we go.” He put the pea under the middle one, then moved it and the shell to its right a short distance across the table toward Marzana and Peony. Then he slid them back and did the same move with the two outside walnut halves. When all three were in a line again, he looked up at Peony. “Where’s the pea?” She grinned and pointed at the middle one. J.J. nodded. “Pretty easy, right? We’ll make it harder in a minute.” He lifted the shell she’d pointed to.
Peony squealed. There was nothing there. J.J. looked down in consternation. “Whoops.” He lifted the walnut to the left. There was the pea. “That’s odd.”
The girl laughed. “Let me try again.” She scooted forward and leaned on her knees for a closer look.
As J.J. began moving his shells back and forth again, Mrs. Hakelbarend stepped into the doorway beside the couch. Wordlessly, she leaned against the frame, arms folded, and watched him lift the one where the pea had been to display the empty space underneath. Peony clapped in delight. He began the trick once more, varying the pattern, and Marzana glanced up at her mother, girding herself first for whatever she’d see. But Mrs. Hakelbarend wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes rested, troubled, on Peony.
From somewhere outside, the whee-ooo, whee-ooo of a siren bounced through the alleys, getting louder little by little. “Police are coming,” Meddy said from the window.
Marzana’s mother straightened. “Not long now, Peony,” she said. “You ready to go home?”
The girl nodded, still fidgeting nervously with the rope. “Will my mom and dad be mad?”
“Not a chance.” Mrs. Hakelbarend smiled. “They’re going to be so happy to have you back.” Her gaze shifted to Marzana. “You guys okay for a few more minutes?”
Marzana nodded, afraid to say anything aloud. Peony’s parents wouldn’t be mad, but holy cow, it was obviously taking a Herculean effort for her own mother to keep her fury under control. Marzana was in for it.
Mrs. Hakelbarend departed, leaving the four kids alone again. J.J. tapped the middle shell. “Where’s the pea?”
Peony hesitated, then pointed to the walnut on the left.
“Good guess.” J.J. lifted it. Nothing, of course. “But wrong. Guess again.” Peony pointed to the middle one. He lifted it: no pea. She pointed to the last remaining half and he lifted that one. Still nothing. Peony squealed again. J.J. scratched his chin. “That’s so funny. I wonder where . . . oh.” He lifted the walnut she’d pointed to in the first place and revealed not one but two green peas. “Guess you were right after all.”
“Amazing!” Peony crowed, clapping.
“Showoff,” Meddy said.
“Try it,” J.J. challenged under his breath, masking the word with a short bow.
“Oh, you’re so on.” Meddy dropped onto the floor at his side. “Scoot over.”
J.J. grinned at Peony. “You know, sometimes the shells like to try the trick without me,” he said. “Want to see?”
“Without you?” Peony repeated dubiously.
“Sure. Let’s see if they’re in the mood.” J.J. scooted over.
Unseen by Peony, Meddy took his place behind the shells. She cracked the knuckles of both hands. “Here we go.” She put a finger on each of the outside shells and moved them forward, then backwards, just as J.J. had done, touching the shells as little as possible. Peony gasped, reminding Marzana that, from the girl’s perspective, the shells appeared to be shifting all on their own.
Meddy moved the middle and left shells. Then the middle and the right. Then she hesitated.
“This is the part when the shells remember that there’s more to this trick than just the three of them sliding around,” J.J. said with a smirk.
Meddy shot him a glare. She switched the left walnut with the middle, then the middle with the right; then she switched the two on the outside. Then she switched them all again, faster. “Wow,” Peony breathed. “How are you doing that?”
“How are you doing that?” Meddy repeated, glaring indignantly at J.J. as she brought the shells to a standstill. “You’re going to get credit for this, aren’t you?”
J.J. held out his hands as if to show there was nothing in either palm. “A magician never tells.”
Meddy made an exasperated noise. Then she looked down at the table, frowning. J.J. grinned. He caught Marzana’s eye and winked. Either Meddy couldn’t remember where the peas were, or she’d realized she didn’t actually know how to move them unseen. She held her hand over the walnut, closing it and opening it thoughtfully.
“Huh,” J.J. said in a wondering tone. “The invisible hand . . . hesitates.”
“Give me a minute!” Meddy snapped. “I can reach through the shell,” she said as if talking out a problem, “but I think I need to be able to close my hand around the peas to make them both invisible to her and incorporeal enough to pass through the walnut, and I’m trying to figure out how to do that without scooping up the walnut and making that invisible, too.”
Peony, meanwhile, took the shells’ motionlessness as her cue. She pointed to the middle one. Marzana held her breath. The switching around would certainly have been impressive if you’d been seeing them apparently moving on their own, but it hadn’t been hard to follow. Unless Marzana was much mistaken, and unless Meddy pulled off something crazy, there were still two peas under that shell.
Meddy drummed her fingers once on the tabletop, shrugged, and reached through the shell, trying to scoop the peas into her fist. As she’d predicted, the same action caused the entire shell to vanish briefly into her hand, but only for a second. Then Meddy let go suddenly, jumping a little in surprise. She picked up the walnut shell and flicked it aside. There was nothing there. As Peony clapped, Meddy flipped the other two, one after the other. Nothing. Nothing.
J.J. leaned one elbow casually on the tabletop and extended a closed fist. When everyone’s eyes were on it, he opened his hand to reveal two peas. Peony actually shrieked in delight, and at last she dropped the rope she’d been clutching to applaud properly.
“Okay,” Meddy admitted, “that’s impressive. But I get the finale.” She darted out her hand, plucked the peas from J.J.’s, then leaned her head back and tossed them, one-two, so they arced up and down again into her open mouth. Where, of course, they disappeared. “Ta-daaa!” she sang with a flourish. She swallowed, then winced and grabbed at her throat. “Ugh.”
“They’re not real peas,” J.J. said, leaning on his chin, his words mostly drowned out by Peony’s rapturous clapping.
“Yes, I know that now.” Meddy made a gagging noise, prodded the back of her mouth with a finger, gagged again. “Nope, they’re not coming back up.” She looked at J.J. “Sorry. Not sure how I’m going to get those back for you.”
J.J. winced. “It’s really okay.” He turned a thousand-watt showman’s grin on Peony. “Really. It’s okay.”
“‘Okay’?” she erupted. “That was so cool! When you asked if I wanted to see magic, and then you started off with that first trick, I thought it might be lame. I mean, no offense. But then, when the shells started moving on their own . . .”
J.J.’s grin, which had begun to look a bit smug, faded a little. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Meddy punched him on the arm. “Teamwork! Go, team!”
Footsteps—a lot of them—drummed up from below, the sound amplified by the narrow staircase, and a small flood of people poured into the apartment: a handful of cops, a lady in a suit carrying a doctor’s bag, Marzana’s mother. Mrs. Hakelbarend strode forward with the suited woman and one of the cops. “Peony, this is Lieutenant Coles. He’s already been on the phone with your parents, and they’re on their way. And this is Dr. Lazaride. She has some questions for you.” She looked around at Marzana, J.J., and Meddy. “You thr—you guys, follow me.”
Marzana slid off the couch, giving Peony’s hand a quick squeeze as she got up. J.J. collected his magic supplies and returned them to his backpack, which made Marzana realize that she had no idea where she’d dropped her own bag; all she’d managed to hold on to was the toolkit purse. Meddy walked beside her as the three of them followed Mrs. Hakelbarend through the suddenly crowded apartment and down the stairs to the street, where the shadows were beginning to lengthen toward dark.
The lane was almost completely blocked by a pair of squad cars, vintage-looking buglike vehicles that had probably been chosen because of their ability to just barely squeeze through the narrow streets of Whipping Hyde. At the side of the nearest one, with Marzana’s backpack hanging from his shoulder and Ciro’s phone in his hand, Mr. Hakelbarend stood deep in conversation with another officer. Up and down Cop-Bone Way, doors had opened and a few of the other denizens of the street had begun to come out to investigate the commotion. They stood alone or in little clusters, talking among themselves and smoking and looking down toward the rotating red light on top of the squat cop car.
Her mom took Marzana’s backpack from him. “You heading out?” Mr. Hakelbarend asked.
“Yeah. I’ll drop—” Mrs. Hakelbarend glanced at J.J. “We haven’t been introduced, now that I think of it. Excuse my bluntness, but who are you and where do you live?”
“J.J. Mowbry,” J.J. said meekly.
“He lives a couple houses down from Nialla,” Marzana put in, hoping the situation wasn’t so dire that literally anything she said would only get her deeper in trouble. The look her mother shot her was not comforting.
“Okay, J.J.” She took Ciro’s phone from her husband, stepped closer to J.J., and lowered her voice. “I’m guessing this belongs to a friend of yours. Would you return it, please, since I gather he lives thereabouts too?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And did I see you put a piece of cordage in your bag right before we left?”
Marzana and Meddy glanced at J.J., who frowned, confused. “Cordage?” He dropped his backpack, unzipped it, flinched, and pulled out the rope that had been used to tie Peony to the chair. “You mean this. I do some rope tricks—when I cleaned up the other trick, I must’ve grabbed it. I didn’t mean to . . . to tamper with evidence or anything.”
“Not a problem.” Marzana’s mother coiled the rope and turned to Meddy. “And you . . . I’m guessing you’re coming with us?”
“That’s the idea.” Meddy’s voice had an edge of challenge to it. Must be nice to not have to worry about your dad getting called in if you get up to trouble, Marzana thought, then almost immediately regretted it.
Her mother handed the rope off to the police. Then, as the four started down Cop-Bone Way toward the even narrower thoroughfare, a woman came hurrying toward them with a flowered suitcase swinging in one hand. Marzana recognized her immediately. Mrs. Agravin always walked like she was running late for something, even if she was just heading to the Marymead cafeteria for lunch.
“Mom.” Marzana pointed, relieved. “That’s her. My teacher, Mrs. Agravin.”
Mrs. Hakelbarend changed course for interception and waved. “Mrs. Agravin?”
Mrs. Agravin paused, distracted. “Hello—are those police officers at my house?”
“Mrs. Agravin, I’m Barbara Hakelbarend.” Marzana’s mom grabbed the old lady’s free hand, making it look like she was shaking it in greeting but probably really to make sure Mrs. Agravin stopped walking. “I think my daughter, Marzana, is a student of yours.”
“Marzana?” Mrs. Agravin blinked and turned to look down at her. “Goodness, yes. Hello, dear. What are you doing here? And what are they doing here?” she added, nodding down at the police cars parked outside her apartment.
“Marzana tells me you’ve been out since Tuesday,” Mrs. Hakelbarend said, still holding Mrs. Agravin’s hand. “Apparently Marymead hasn’t been able to get hold of you. People were worried.”
That got her attention. Mrs. Agravin frowned, confused. “But it was all arranged! Before I left. Everything was arranged.”
“What was arranged?”
“The trip. The notice was late, of course, but fortunately everything else was in place.”
Marzana’s mother nodded along, painfully patient. “What trip was this?”
“Well, the sweepstakes one. I can’t remember which. I always enter them—I use sweepstakes odds as a project when we talk about statistics and probability in class. And wouldn’t you know, after thirty years, I actually won something.” She smiled in disbelief. “But the notification was lost in the mail, or perhaps the sweepstakes had a wrong address. So they sent someone along to the school to find me on Monday. I had already left for the day, but while the courier was in the office to double-check my home address, she mentioned the trip to Miss Palkowick, who arranged a substitute on the spot. When the courier finally found me with the notice on Monday night, she said everything had been taken care of—which was fortunate, because the cruise left on Tuesday and all I had to do was pack. It was lovely. And what are the odds? Well,” she added, “of course I know exactly what the odds are. If I could just remember what sweepstakes it was, I could tell you. But it’ll be in my sweepstakes file upstairs.” Then her smile faded and her eyes sharpened. “But you say Marymead couldn’t get hold of me. As if . . . as if they didn’t know where I was.”
“They didn’t,” Marzana said. “My friend overheard two teachers talking about it today. The person who claimed to be a courier lied to you about everything.” She pointed at the flower box on the front step. “The school sent those because someone claiming to be your sister called on Monday and said you were sick. They’ve been trying to get hold of you ever since. I’d put money on Miss Palkowick showing up here at some point tonight to make sure you’re not lying upstairs dead on the kitchen floor.”
“Good Lord,” Mrs. Agravin said. “This is . . . upsetting.” She looked down at Mrs. Hakelbarend’s hand, which was still grasping hers. “So someone at the school called the police to make sure I’m all right?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Hakelbarend said. “I’m afraid the police will probably have some questions for you.” She turned and waved. Marzana’s father detached himself from the officer he’d been talking to and jogged toward them. Only when Mr. Hakelbarend had arrived at her side did she let go of Mrs. Agravin’s hand. “Peter, this is Marzana’s teacher, Mrs. Agravin. This is my husband, Peter. He’s working with the police. Could you tell him what you just told me?”
“I suppose,” Mrs. Agravin said uncertainly. “But I wish you’d tell me what this is all about.”
“Glad to,” Mr. Hakelbarend said, taking her suitcase. “Is that spot okay to sit and chat?” he asked, leading her toward a bench below the Ottomy Stalls window. “I’m afraid the police are still busy upstairs.”
“Bye, Mrs. Agravin,” Marzana called. “See you Monday.”
Mrs. Agravin still appeared confused, but she smiled nonetheless. “Yes,” she said. “See you Monday, dear.”
Mrs. Hakelbarend raised her hand in a fleeting wave. She looked down at the three kids. “All right. Let’s go. And while we walk, you lot are going to talk.”