The magicians map, p.1
The Magician's Map, page 1
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1: A Little Change
Chapter 2: The Invitation
Chapter 3: The Second Cousin (Once Removed)
Chapter 4: Chamber and Parlor
Chapter 5: A Map Moored
Chapter 6: The Opening Ceremony
Chapter 7: The Wrong Hands
Chapter 8: Stowaway
Chapter 9: Whisker Wish
Chapter 10: Undertow
Chapter 11: South
Chapter 12: Mystify Me
Chapter 13: Puzzlewood
Chapter 14: The Blanket Fort
Chapter 15: Wood Puzzles
Chapter 16: The Foundry
Chapter 17: Onward or Back
Chapter 18: Little-Known Things
Chapter 19: Slipstream
Chapter 20: Duel
Chapter 21: To Undo the Unbearable Decision
Chapter 22: The Cave of Melody
Chapter 23: The Pact
Chapter 24: Shortcut
Chapter 25: From Inside the Thunderhead
Chapter 26: The Giant’s Causeway
Chapter 27: Challengers
Chapter 28: Samhain
Chapter 29: After All
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Copyright
Spencer! Watch out!”
Spencer van Beer risked a look behind him as he flew through the air. The stone griffin was closing in on him, its wings flapping fast. Worse still was its outstretched talon, aiming for his ankle. He yelped. Scrunching his legs up before the griffin could swipe him, he urged his own wings to beat faster and whooshed toward the trees.
The high-pitched whistle of his pursuer dropped away as he skirted the edge of the woods. A minute later, he swooped in among the tree trunks, randomly flying left, right, up, and down to shake the griffin from his trail. Autumn leaves rustled in his wake.
Once he had lost count of the turns he’d taken, Spencer peeked over his shoulder. He was in the shadowy heart of the woods now. A bird darted through the air, but there was no griffin. Perhaps he’d lost it. Have to get back to the others, he thought nervously. Eyes peeled, he wended his way out to the fringes of the woods and then made the final dash for safety.
There they were, waving wildly at him. But when he was just a few yards away, the griffin streaked out from the trees. It shot straight for him, and Spencer felt his control of the wings slip in panic. He floundered, wings beating out of time. Sensing victory, the griffin stretched a talon toward him with an exultant screech. Spencer cartwheeled in the air and dropped clumsily to the earth, winded. He spat out a mouthful of grass as the griffin landed on top of him and croaked, “Tag!”
The others laughed.
“Are you okay?” his older sister, Hedy, asked, holding out her hand to help him to his feet. “You looked like you tripped in midair.”
“Nice flying, Ginger Ninja,” called Jelly, their cousin.
“Gingers are the best kind of ninjas,” Spencer said. With an annoyed glance at the griffin, he added, “I can’t believe they won again. Hey, Max, did the griffin cheat?”
The stone griffin whistled indignantly at the accusation and allowed itself to be petted by their youngest cousin, Max. “I don’t think so,” said Max. “So Hedy still has the most points out of us.”
Of course she does, Spencer thought, unbuckling the enchanted metal wings that they’d borrowed from his grandfather.
“Well, I haven’t had a turn in the sky yet,” said Doug, the talking bear rug. He spat out the centipede he had surreptitiously licked up from the ground.
“I clearly recall you saying once that if you were meant to fly, you would have been born with a beak,” said Stan, the stuffed stag head.
“Just because I wasn’t born to do it doesn’t mean I can’t,” Doug rumbled. “By the way, you look ridiculous. What on earth has Jelly put on you?”
Jelly sat back on her heels, pleased. “It’s just a bit of lip gloss. And a bit of glitter on the antlers. And one stick-on jewel between the eyes. It’ll come off, don’t worry. Unless you want to keep it on, Stan?” She held up a small mirror for Stan to study his reflection.
“Hmm. I’m not entirely sure the effect is … noble,” Stan murmured doubtfully.
“But you do stand out,” Jelly said. “Isn’t that what you wanted? It’s just the same as me and Hedy. Hedy looks amazing, see? Total standout now!”
Hedy tentatively touched the gem that Jelly had stuck between her own glitter-dusted eyes, at odds with her faded sweatshirt and scuffed sneakers.
“There’s standing out because you’ve got fourteen-point antlers and aren’t afraid to use them, and then there’s standing out like a bee sting on a weasel’s backside,” Doug said. “Now, Spencer, are we going up for a flight?”
When the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the peculiar group headed on their bikes into the village, Marberry’s Rest. They’d been looking forward to this fall break time together for weeks. Spencer, Hedy, and their mom were visiting while their dad was on a long bike ride to raise money for a charity. As soon as it had been arranged, they’d asked for Jelly and Max to join them.
“Can you tell me again how you found Auntie Rose?” Max asked.
“Not again!” Jelly groaned. “Max, you’ve heard it at least seventy-eight thousand times.”
But Hedy looked back over her shoulder at Max with a smile. She never got tired of telling him how, nearly two years ago, she and Spencer had solved the mystery of their missing Grandma Rose and rescued her from the Kaleidos.
The parts that Max really loved hearing over and over again were about how Spencer and Hedy had been helped by the many magical items that Grandpa John had hoarded and kept secret over the years. Besides Doug and Stan, there were the Woodspies who traveled through the wooden surfaces of the house, and the small stone statues known as grotesques that sat atop Grandpa John’s roof to guard against intruders.
Doug was now squeezed into a milk crate on the back of Spencer’s bicycle. Stan was strapped to Hedy’s handlebars, and the griffin and gargoyle sat in Jelly and Max’s baskets. No one in Marberry’s Rest was supposed to know that Grandpa John collected magical artifacts. Ever since the village shopkeeper, Mrs. Sutton, had once spotted Hedy flying—and had to be convinced by Grandma Rose that she must have mistaken a massive bird for a person—they were under strict instructions not to use Grandpa John’s metal wings where neighbors could see them.
In the village, Doug and Stan behaved exactly as they needed to—unmoving, unblinking, and silent—but the grotesques kept forgetting to stay still and had to be shushed by the children regularly.
“Wait out here,” Hedy said, standing her bike outside Sutton’s General Store. The shopwindow was decorated for Halloween with carved jack-o’-lantern pumpkins, giant black spiders, and a merry toy witch on a broomstick. “I’ll get the cake.”
An elderly couple came around the corner, and the children all shuffled across the sidewalk to make room. Spencer had never seen them before, and he guessed they were visiting the area.
“Good afternoon,” said the man, smiling at the children and staring at Stan and Doug. “Quite a collection you have there. Good hunting around here, then?”
He was joking, of course, but hunting was a very sensitive topic for the animals. Spencer could feel Doug rumbling low in his throat, and he saw Stan’s nostrils flare.
“We’re not allowed to have pets,” Spencer explained, “so we take these around instead.”
“Oh, but I see you’re allowed a pet,” said the woman to Max. She squinted at the gargoyle in his basket and frowned. “Oh my, what an odd-looking cat.” By “odd” she clearly meant ugly.
The gargoyle, instead of staying still and letting them pretend it was a statue they carted around for fun, hissed at the woman, making her gasp and clutch her husband’s arm.
“I’m so sorry,” Jelly said hastily, smothering a laugh and rapping the gargoyle sharply on the head. It sank into the basket, glowering. “We only got it from a shelter not long ago, and it’s not very well trained.”
Luckily, the bell of the shop door jingled and Hedy stepped out with a large cake box. The affable Mrs. Sutton was right behind her.
“Hello, Spencer, Angelica, Max!” she trilled. “Taking your pets out for a romp, I see!” Mrs. Sutton had wholeheartedly bought their cover story of not being allowed real pets and was used to seeing them cycling around with Doug, Stan, and the grotesques. She turned her attention to the newcomers. “And welcome to our village! Where are you visiting from? Won’t you come inside …”
The elderly couple, still taken aback by the hissing “cat,” were powerless to resist her hospitable chatter and found themselves drawn inside. Calling out their goodbyes to Mrs. Sutton, the children took off.
Hoarder Hill was very different from how it had been when Spencer and Hedy had first stayed there. The gardens were filled with new shrubs and flowering plants, Grandpa John’s clutter inside had been stowed away with much more order, and Grandma Rose had taken to modern appliances with great curiosity.
To the children’s delight, an old milk van was parked in the driveway, which meant Mrs. Pal and Soumitra had arrived for dinner. The children pedaled to the backyard, where it was safest for the grotesques to return to the roof without being seen by outsiders.
“You shouldn’t hiss at people,” Spencer scolded the gargoyle, making it scowl. “If you do stuff like that, Grandpa John mig
The gargoyle’s scowl deepened further as it climbed out of the basket. Its only acknowledgment of Spencer was a stone pellet that it sulkily ejected from its bottom. Apologizing was not in the grotesques’ natures.
“Did Fluffy do another one?” Max clapped. He liked to collect the stone pellets, and his insistence on calling the grotesques by babyish names often inspired even more petulant droppings.
The griffin let loose stone pellets of its own (in support of the gargoyle rather than out of kindness to Max), then the pair flapped up to the top of the house, muttering to themselves.
“The mighty challengers return!” called Grandpa John as he walked up from the bottom of the garden. By his side were Mrs. Pal, the owner of a magic shop called the Palisade, and a young man—her grandson, Soumitra. The children ran to hug them.
“Who won?” asked Soumitra.
“The grotesques did, again. Only Hedy can ever beat them at flying,” Spencer groaned.
“Just keep trying and you’ll catch up.” Soumitra grinned. “Who’s going to give me the race highlights? Stan?”
Stan, carried by Jelly, lit up. “Why, I’d be delighted, and can only hope that my reflections adequately chronicle the heroism of the tourney!”
“That might be the first time anyone’s ever described the grotesques as heroic,” Grandpa John mused.
As Hedy, Jelly, and Max went ahead to the house with Soumitra, Grandpa John held Spencer back for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.
“I’m sorry, Spencer,” said Mrs. Pal, “but we’ll have to postpone your visit to the Palisade. I have an event to go to. We’ll plan another time, I promise.”
Spencer tried to disguise his disappointment. He’d had an idea of modifying his Polaroid camera in a special—well, slightly magical—way, and he could think of no one better with whom to figure it out than Mrs. Pal. “Where are you going?”
“It’s called the Fantastikhana,” said Mrs. Pal.
A thrill rippled through Spencer, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Can I go with you?”
“You don’t even know what it is,” Grandpa John snorted.
“But it sounds good. What is it?”
“It’s a gathering of fusty old people like me,” said Grandpa John.
Mrs. Pal, however, tutted and said, “There’s a youth competition for magic and workshops where children can get together and tinker. A bit like those arts-and-crafts workshops in day camp.”
Spencer’s mind was awhirl. “But with magic?”
“Low-level magic, I imagine, not the exciting stuff you’re after,” said Grandpa John.
“But it sounds perfect!” Spencer cried. “Please can we go?”
Grandpa John turned to Mrs. Pal sourly. “Did you plan this?”
“It seems like the perfect opportunity, Mr. Sang,” she said innocently.
Spencer hopped around his grandfather. “Please? I really want to learn how to make stuff like Mrs. Pal. Maybe I can run the Palisade when I grow up.” He suddenly broke off, wondering if he’d overstepped the mark. “I mean, if Soumitra doesn’t want to.”
“Good grief!” Grandpa John exclaimed. “I thought this was an idea for a hobby, not your life’s ambition.”
Oops, thought Spencer, and made a face to make it seem like a joke. How could he convince Grandpa John to go to this Fantastikhana and take them with him?
“Don’t you want to talk with other magicians?” he asked.
Grandpa John shook his head firmly. “Not if I can help it.”
Happy birthday to you!”
Mrs. Pal took a deep breath to blow out the candles, but a gust of wind beat her to it, making them all laugh. It was a fine autumn evening, so they were eating on the back patio under cheery strings of lights, with Doug hanging over a chair and Stan wedged between Mom and Soumitra. The children were perched on the stone bench upon which Grandpa John’s former cook, Mrs. Vilums, and her sisters had once sat as statues.
“Uncle John, use some magic to light the candles again!” Max urged.
“Matches are just fine, Max,” Grandpa John said. Although he still collected new artifacts, Grandpa John remained adamant about avoiding the practice of magic.
“Can’t you just bend the rules once in a while?” Hedy asked. “Like a magical windbreak? That wouldn’t do anyone any harm.”
“If I knew how,” Spencer said, “I’d make birthday candles that didn’t blow out unless the person doing the blowing had made a wish.”
Mrs. Pal tapped her chin, intrigued. “The difficulty there would be finding and channeling the power to bestow wishes.”
“What could do that?” asked Jelly.
“Oh, please,” Grandpa John said, “let’s not encourage Spencer to experiment with djinns or magical fish or any of that nonsense. Folklore tells us it’s disaster.”
“How is the shop, Rani?” Grandma Rose asked.
“There’s been a lull in business for a few weeks,” said Mrs. Pal. “But that’s not so surprising, because a lot of trade will be happening this weekend.”
“Someone tried to break in a week ago,” said Soumitra darkly.
“That’s awful,” Hedy exclaimed. “What happened?”
“My security system scared them off before they could get in,” Mrs. Pal assured her. “Whoever it was had a big fall off the roof out the back, but they managed to run away.”
“Maybe it’s time to move the shop out of that area,” suggested Grandpa John.
Mrs. Pal waved away his concern. “There are reasons I’m in that spot.”
“A lot of trade this weekend, did you say?” said Stan. “Do you mean the Fantastikhana is taking place?”
Hedy’s ears pricked up. “What’s that?”
Grandpa John shot Stan an aggrieved look. “As I told Spencer, it’s a get-together of grumpy old folk like me whose best years of magic are behind them.”
“But you said there are workshops where we could do magic arts and crafts,” Spencer reminded him.
“And that’s not all,” said Stan. “I was once at a Fantastikhana, being traded from one owner to another. There’s bartering, there are a great many stalls, and there’s a competition for children about Hedy’s size or bigger. Youngsters have to complete feats of magic to win.”
All four children began talking over one another, clamoring to go to this event with the odd-sounding name. At last, Grandpa John held up his hand. “It’s not the sort of place I want to take you. There are too many unpredictable things at a Fantastikhana.” In his mind, “unpredictable” equaled “dangerous.”
“But won’t they keep a lid on the dangerous stuff?” Jelly asked.
Grandpa John grunted. “You’d be surprised how incompetent they can be.”
“Mrs. Pal thinks it’s all right!” said Spencer.
“And if it’s okay for other kids to go and compete, it must be okay for us to go and watch,” Hedy said. “Please, can’t we do something really fun as a family for once?”
“Your grandmother doesn’t want to go,” said Grandpa John sharply, “so put it out of your mind.”
The children fell silent.
Grandma Rose didn’t bother to hide the exasperated glance she threw in Grandpa John’s direction. “I’m going to put the kettle on.” She held her hand out to Hedy. “Keep me company?”
As they walked to the kitchen, Hedy kept hold of her grandmother’s hand, which she’d never do with her parents now that she was thirteen years old. But she sensed that her grandmother found comfort in it, and here, at Hoarder Hill, Hedy didn’t find it embarrassing.
In fact, a lot of things weren’t embarrassing here but very much were in the outside world. Hedy had learned that the hard way; the rules had changed when she hadn’t been paying attention. Telling your best friend that you knew a talking bear rug and stag head, and had met a ghost pianist—and saved your grandmother from a magic disappearing box—was okay in elementary school. In middle school, it made you a weirdo, and all of a sudden you had to make new friends and keep the most interesting thing in your life secret, and make yourself very, very ordinary.
Grandma Rose plucked a square of thick black card from the fridge. “He was invited to the Fantastikhana, you know,” she said. “This is his invitation. But he turned it down. He still doesn’t trust that group of people—but the main reason he didn’t go is that he didn’t want to leave me on my own.”
