CHAPTER NINE

Stephen sat at the kitchen table the next morning, finishing up his crime scene drawing in the largest sketchbook he owned. He’d made a study first, the night before, and now was adding detail and color—hopefully enough to please Ivan.

And he hoped it was enough detail to give them some clues, so they could identify the culprit who’d impersonated Stephen and get the book back. So far he didn’t see anything earth-shattering, but he also didn’t know what to look for.

When he heard his dad’s bedroom door open, he flipped to a different page and started shading the drawing on it. Ivan said their investigation had to remain secret for the time being.

“You’re up early,” his dad said cautiously.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Stephen muttered.

His dad already had on his Cubs cap, so he must be on his way down to the kitchens. He looked exhausted. “I know we were hard on you yesterday. You’re dealing with a lot, being new here. And it’s not like I never screwed up. . . . You know, once when I was your age, Carmen and I, well . . . we went through a gate without permission.”

Stephen’s mouth opened to protest that he hadn’t even gone near a gate, but instead he said: “What happened?”

His stomach growled as soon as he asked the question.

His dad frowned. “Did you eat anything yet?”

Stephen shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” his dad said. “I know I screwed up here. It was just such a shock.”

A burst of shame went through Stephen. Even though he hadn’t taken the book, he’d played a part in its disappearance by disobeying his dad. Except, wait, it wasn’t shame. It was worry.

Worry, gnawing its way through him with sharp, pointed teeth. What would happen if they never got the book back?

His dad got up and moved over to the little kitchen. “One cheese omelet coming up.” He rummaged in the fridge for butter, eggs, and cheese. “I can still make food for you at least.”

Stephen said, “What happened back then? When you went through the gate?”

“Oh. Right.” His dad talked while he began cracking three eggs into a bowl, then whisking them together. “We weren’t supposed to use the gates. ‘They’re not toys,’” he said, imitating someone. He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Which, of course, meant we wanted to do nothing else. And so when we were about ten, Carmen decided that we were going to go through one. She picked the Kingdom because it looked the cleanest and safest in the pictures in the library.”

There was a brief interruption for the sizzle of the eggs hitting the pan, followed by the familiar sound of his dad reducing the heat of the burner.

“It probably was one of the cleanest.” His dad went on. “But not the safest. Think of it as the fairy tale gate. The minute we went through, we were captured by a witch with a giant wart on her chin. It had this long, curly hair growing out of it. She took us to this cottage stuck all over with shiny, unreal-looking candy.”

“The witch from ‘Hansel and Gretel’?” Stephen asked, not able to pretend that he wasn’t interested in the story.

His dad nodded. “It must sound crazy to you, but yes. She put us in a bone cage. Around that time I told Carmen I was never listening to her again.”

“How did you escape?” Stephen asked.

His dad snorted. “We didn’t. The previous generation of La Doyts came through and found us, after Carmen’s mom and Chef Nana discovered we were missing. Without them, we’d probably still be there—or have long since been supper. We were grounded for a month, then put on the housekeeping rotation for another month.”

“Wow,” Stephen said.

His dad turned and set a perfect omelet in front of him. “That is why you can’t mess around with gateways,” he said. “Well, and also, fae can’t use those kinds of gateways. Theirs have to be under open sky.”

Stephen picked up his fork. Baroness Thyme’s face flashed through his mind. “Are you sure my mother is a fae?”

“Yes,” his dad said. “And I hope you’ll get the chance to know her.”

Stephen felt slightly better. It was nice to have his dad talking to him again, nice to feel that maybe, maybe they might get through this okay. “You know if I did know where the book was, I’d tell you, right?”

His dad hesitated, then said, “I know you’d tell me if you remembered which gate you put it through.”

It hurt that his dad still believed he’d taken the book, but he was determined to make things right. “Is it okay if I hang out with Ivan and Sofia today?”

“As long as you don’t get in any trouble.” His dad brushed Stephen’s hair back from his temples. He had done that all the time when Stephen was little, but hardly ever did these days. “You and your new friends keep your noses clean, all right? I’m meeting with Trevor’s mother to apologize. Carmen sent to the head of the Great Coven for her advice yesterday, and she seemed to think that the book might return under its own power, that it would try to find its way back to me, the rightful owner. The Perilous Guard are going to be stationed in the lobby today in case it comes back through a gate.”

Hmm. That seemed unlikely if Ivan’s theories were correct. “Do you really think it will? What will you do in the meantime?”

“Carmen’s also getting me some loaner recipes from other chefs, so we don’t have to close the restaurant. But I mean it, you kids stay out of this. It’s serious business.”

Which was exactly why they had to help. Stephen kept quiet.

His dad went on. “That Ivan isn’t a knight detective yet, though he probably will be someday.”

Ivan struck Stephen as not just a detective already but a good one. Declaring yourself someone’s friend apparently worked.

“I hope you get the book back soon, Dad.”

“Me, too. I can’t imagine dealing with Cindermass’s birthday without it.” His dad walked to the door, then hesitated there. “We were all right in Chicago. We could always go back there if I get fired. I just—I can’t bear to think of what Chef Nana would have felt like if it comes to that.”

A chill ran through Stephen. That wasn’t what his dad wanted either. And he must think it was a real possibility if he’d brought it up.

As soon as the door shut behind his dad, Stephen flipped back to the lobby drawing and finished as quickly as he could. He tore out the sheet and rolled it up to take with him.

Ivan and Sofia had said they’d meet up in the Village bright and early, but he should have asked which cottage was the Gutierrezes’. What if he had trouble finding them?

But when he stepped outside into the misty, cool English-village–like morning, the first thing he heard was the loud strike of a mallet against a ball.

Ivan and Sofia were engaged in a match of croquet on the green—against the gargoyles.

Well, had been engaged in a match.

Sofia lifted her arms over her head in the universal sign for victory. The four gargoyles fluttered in the air around her and cheered: “Hooray for Sofia! Undefeated rooftop croquet champion of the wooooorld!”

Sofia bowed low and then waved to Stephen as he crossed the bridge.

Ivan said, “There is such a thing as a gracious winner.”

Aha, Ivan must have lost.

Sofia wore a pale pink dress with her usual boots. She flipped her black hair over her shoulder. “Why, thank you. I’ve never been called gracious before.”

The gargoyles howled with laughter. “Got you there!” one crowed.

When they quieted down, Sofia said, “I don’t think you guys really met the other night. So, Stephen, may I present the Fourth Sept of the Granite Mountain Gargoyle Clan: Elizabeth, Arthur, Charlemagne, and Solomon.”

The gargoyles grimaced—maybe. It was hard to tell.

“You can call me Liz,” chirped the gargoyle who’d made the last quip.

The other gargoyles piped up one by one.

“Art.”

“Chuck.”

“I’m Sollie!” said the smallest and roundest featured of the bunch. “I’m the youngest.”

Sollie’s wings beat twice, bringing him into the air right beside Stephen.

“Pleased to meet you all,” Stephen said. He held up the rolled-up drawing and raised his eyebrows.

Sofia got the hint first. “Will you guys put away the mallets and balls?” she asked the gargoyles. “Ivan and I have to talk to Stephen for a minute.”

The gargoyles fluttered here and there, gathering the hammerlike mallets and the brightly colored balls.

The three friends migrated to the gazebo, which housed a picnic table. As soon as they sat down, Ivan said, “Let’s see what you came up with.”

Stephen unrolled the drawing he’d worked so hard on and turned it so that they were looking at it right side up. The sketch showed a detailed view of the lobby from outside the elevator, with the tiered registration desk on the far right, the hotel entrance past it, some of the tall trees off to one side, and at least partial views of three different gateways along a wall.

And in the gateways there was movement now, like the winking Cindermass earlier. Which was . . . the coolest thing ever.

“Cindermass was right. You must have the gift of fae animation,” Ivan said, noticing. “Your art can come alive on the page.”

And Ivan didn’t even seem to think that was freakish. “That’s what it’s called?” Stephen asked.

Ivan nodded.

“And wow,” Sofia said, “you must have used every color in the rainbow.”

“With the different landscapes in the gateways, there were a lot of colors and shapes to remember. But once I focused on it, it was almost like I could see a photograph of it in my imagination. So I just drew what I saw inside my head.” Stephen felt awkward, afraid that what he’d said sounded dumb.

Ivan and Sofia continued to study the drawing.

In it, Trevor, in his Mets jersey, stood beside one of the gateways with Stephen’s dad and Sofia’s mom. The other supernormals who’d been in the lobby were either occupied at the front desk or heading out, paying no attention to the scene taking place around them.

Ivan finally spoke. “As I suspected, you have something approaching an eidetic, or photographic, memory. I imagine that’s a very useful talent for artists to possess. It’s certainly going to come in handy for our investigation.”

“Maybe,” said Stephen, though he wasn’t sure how useful it was.

“Observe,” Ivan said. “We now have an extremely valuable clue that we did not before, right here in this picture.”

Stephen waited for him to go on.

And waited . . .

And waited . . .

Sofia must have been more used to Ivan’s roundabout way of getting to the point. And she must have realized that Stephen was not. Because she cleared her throat.

When Ivan still didn’t speak, Stephen finally did. “You’re killing me here—what’s the clue?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Ivan said, steepling his hands in front of him. “We can presume that one of the gateways pictured near Trevor was used by the thief. Trevor didn’t see which one, but it’s time for a little process of elimination.”

He pointed at one of the gateways in the drawing, which showed a night view of a sprawling golden village constructed at the top of a giant snowy mountain. “The Golden City of the Yetis, in the Himalayas, wouldn’t work. The yeti are well known to dispatch all intruders on sight. If the thief intends to retrieve the book eventually, it is an unlikely place to choose.” And then he moved his finger to the gateway that had fish and a shark swimming in front of a coral reef shaped like a turret. “As is Atlantis.” Finally Ivan’s finger came to rest next to the gateway closest to Trevor. “Which leaves us with this last option. It must be the one.”

The gateway was the same size and shape as the others, a large rectangle, fifteen feet or so long and much taller than a normal human. Unlike the ocean view with its mermaids and coral (Atlantis was real?) or the golden city in the snowy mountains (yetis had a city?) with its bright full moon, the third gateway was darker. Gloomy, even.

It showed a forested hillside with thick green foliage under a sky crowded with thunderclouds. A lonely gravel road, overgrown with grass, extended toward a looming castle with fearsome gargoyles at the edges of the upper level.

“Where is it?” Stephen asked. The darkness of it made him uneasy.

“That,” Ivan said, “I do not know.” He added, “There are lots of castles, and I do not recognize this one. Yet.”

Stephen frowned. “You mean the gateways don’t lead to the same spots all the time?”

“Yes and no,” said Sofia. “There are different kinds of gates. Fae can’t use normal ones, so theirs are a little different—permanent two-way portals between specific sites in their world and ours. Always located under open sky.”

Stephen nodded; his dad had said something about that.

Sofia continued. “But the gateways in the hotels maintained by the order are, well, alive.”

Stephen tilted his head at the drawing, then at Sofia.

“I know how it sounds,” she said. “But you’ve met the elevator. And Cindermass. You know that things are possible you never knew about before. Add the New Harmonia’s gateways to the list. The one your dad uses to get food from the kitchen to the restaurant is fixed, but since the lobby gets such high traffic, the gates are cast to certain general locations—like the Golden City of the Yetis, or Atlantis, or the Library of Congress—and the entry points for them can be shifted here or there within a few hundred miles or so, to accommodate a guest. And sometimes new gates are cast. This night castle scene could be any of a dozen places. Within the hotel the gateways migrate on their own when they feel like it. Which is often. To recall or call one takes a special device.”

Ivan took up the explanation. “This is why without your drawing, we would never have this clue. There’d be no way of knowing what gateway was in this spot at that moment without it. And now that we have a glimpse, we will determine where it is.”

“So my drawing actually did help,” Stephen said.

“Yes,” Ivan said, exasperated.

“What’s it like going through a gate?” Stephen asked. “How much time does the trip take? Is it instant?”

Ivan said, “Er, instantaneous, yes, that’s my understanding.” He took off his glasses, pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with his initials, and began polishing the lenses.

Stephen noticed Ivan had answered only one of his questions. He looked at Sofia and tried to force just one of his eyebrows up. It didn’t work, but she answered his unspoken question anyway.

“Neither of us has ever been through a gateway,” she said. “Our parents haven’t ever let us.”

“I suspect they’re afraid we’ll head off to the Great Pyramids to challenge the wily Sphinx clan to a battle of riddles.” Ivan slipped his glasses back on and climbed to his feet. He was beaming. “Fun as that would be, we’ve other things to do now. We should be off to discover where this mystery location is.”

“But wait, where are we going?” Stephen asked.

“Based on how excited Ivan looks, my guess is the library,” answered Sofia.