“Von Stikk’s singing a different tune nowadays, isn’t she?” Max said.
“Did somebody say my name?” came Andrea von Stikk’s sweet, trilling voice. Pippa turned and saw her sailing down the street, dressed in one of her typically ornate outfits, complete with bows and ruffles and lace, so that she looked more like a parade float than a person. Behind her came Chubby, his hands in his pockets, still wearing a badly fitting school uniform, smiling sheepishly.
“There you are, my darlings.” Von Stikk squeezed Pippa into a hug so tight, Pippa felt as if she might suffocate in the older woman’s layers of clothing. “And you.” She repeated the performance with Thomas and Sam and nearly went for Max but thought better of it, especially when Max bared her teeth and growled. She obviously hadn’t forgotten that Max had once jabbed a fork into her left hand. “And—er—Mackenzie. And you.” She turned to Mr. Dumfrey and seized his hand. “Our hero! Our savior! Our saint.”
“A servant, madame,” Mr. Dumfrey said gallantly, bending forward to kiss Von Stikk’s hand, as if all of the tension between them had never existed. “As always and ever at your service.”
“Oh, Mr. Dumfrey.” Miss von Stikk whipped a paper fan from the folds of her enormous dress and vigorously fanned herself with it. “You are too, too much.”
“And you, my dear, are never enough!”
Max pretended to gag. Pippa had to turn away, clapping her mouth to stifle the laugh that was rising like soda bubbles in her chest, threatening to burst. She couldn’t ever remember a time when she’d been quite so happy and when the museum had felt so deeply and totally at peace.
She didn’t know what, exactly, had happened between Gil Kestrel and Lash—only that when Mr. Dumfrey realized that the children were missing from the museum, he had immediately guessed that they were heading to stop Rattigan at all costs and had set Gil and Lash in immediate pursuit. Somewhere along the way—or perhaps even midair in Manhattan—Gil and Lash had come to an understanding about what had happened in the past. All Kestrel would say about it now was that Lash was a good man, a fine friend. And Lash, usually so talkative, would say only that Kestrel was a mighty tall hog at the trough—an expression Pippa didn’t entirely understand but knew to be a compliment.
But it was more than that. Rattigan was well and truly gone. Even now, the police were combing the river for his remains. The whole museum had, for the past three days, been in a near-constant state of celebration. Max had graciously congratulated Pippa on what she had done in the dirigible and even suggested that mind manipulation become a new part of Pippa’s performance—although Pippa had quickly declined, since the effort had left her exhausted and weak for two days.
Gil Kestrel and Emily had quietly announced their engagement, and Lash had expressed his excitement by tossing the sour-faced Miss Fitch in the air and planting a kiss directly on her lips. Although this had of course made the twins unhappy, even they couldn’t be sore for long, especially now that Miss Fitch, shockingly, had begun appearing in the morning with her hair loosened in long waves, seemingly too distracted to notice or care if the performers were late to their curtain calls.
Good luck, it appeared, was contagious. Smalls had just received a letter that his poem “How Sweetly Doth the Pigeons Coo” had been accepted into the Poets of Our Period. (Smalls was so thrilled, he didn’t even care that the magazine’s acronym was POOP.)
“What’s the matter, Chubby?” Sam nudged Chubby with an elbow, and Chubby took a quick step sideways to avoid being knocked over. “I thought you were done with school.”
“Oh, er, yeah.” Chubby coughed and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, feigning an air of casualness. “Turns out Von Stikk’s not so bad. I think I might hang out a little longer. I been working on my vocabulary. And reading’s not so bad, once you get the gist of it. Plus the free grub and all,” he added quickly. Red splotches had appeared in both of his cheeks.
“Good for you,” Pippa said. “That’s great.”
“Thanks, Pippa,” he said, smiling at her. It was the first time he’d ever called her Pippa, not Pip or Philippa, and it occurred to her then that he was not so very, not so absolutely, silly-looking after all. In fact, the way he blushed was actually kind of . . . cute. As if tomatoes had been crushed beneath his skin. And his nose was sort of fantastic. . . .
All down Forty-Third Street, she recognized neighbors and friends, all of them lingering outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the four children who’d saved New York City, or to cheer on General Farnum when he made his triumphant return home. There was Henry from the St. Edna Hotel, for once awake on the job; Barney Bamberg, standing outside his delicatessen; Miss Groenovelt, with one of her many cats encircling her ankles; Sol from the sweet shop on the corner; and there was Gus, from the barber shop below Eli Sadowski’s apartment, still holding a bottle of shaving cream. Even Mr. Sadowski himself could be seen at his window—which was amazing, considering that his window was usually entirely concealed behind stacks of things—and Pippa gave him a little wave before turning her eyes back to the street.
And there, just rounding the corner of Forty-Third Street . . .
“Look!” she cried. “It’s Rosie! And General Farnum!”
Rosie Bickers and General Farnum didn’t make it halfway down the street before they were absolutely swarmed. Goldini was pumping Farnum’s hand and Smalls was reciting bits of The Iliad and Andrea von Stikk and Rosie were embracing and in the chaos Mr. Dumfrey kissed Rosie right on the mouth not once but twice. They moved back toward the museum as a babbling, many-headed creature, everyone talking at once, and Pippa was carried along on a wave of sound and a crush of her friends all around her.
“. . . can’t believe it . . .”
“Home at last!”
“Justice prevails . . .”
“Well.” Kestrel gestured to the banner hanging proudly above the museum doors. “What do you think?”
General Farnum was momentarily overcome with emotion. His lips trembled. He seemed to have trouble finding the right words. His mustache vibrated so hard that Pippa thought it might fly right off his face.
“What do I think?” General Farnum’s voice cracked, and he coughed to clear his throat. “I think I haven’t seen anything so beautiful since the Battle of San Juan Hill. I think that I’m home.”
“The bit about your new act got kind of squished,” Thomas said, eyeing the lettering critically. “Sorry about that.”
At the very bottom of the banner was a hasty add-on: *Come See World-Famous Farnum and His Cleverly Cavorting Cockroaches!
General Farnum’s eyes were bright. “It’s perfect, sonny.”
Then the babble of conversation started up again. Everyone wanted to hear about Farnum’s time in jail, and all the performers had news to share of their own. Farnum and Rosie were quickly swept up as the crowd flowed into the museum.
Pippa hung back for a bit, reluctant to leave the sunshine. She had the strangest sensation then, that she was watching a scene that had happened years ago—that all of this, the sunshine and the noise of traffic and happy laughter, was already a memory, long-cherished and often relived. Her heart ached with a feeling so strong she couldn’t exactly name it: a sense of time stilled and also rushing by too quickly. It was like Mr. Dumfrey had said. There were, perhaps, other Rattigans in the world, other evils she would someday have to face. They were growing up, and couldn’t stay at the museum forever.
But for now, Sam and Max were walking side by side, perfectly in sync. Mr. Dumfrey was directing everyone into the Odditorium for chilled sodas and free sweets. And Thomas stopped with one hand on the door, glancing back to where Pippa still stood, watching it all with a sense of love and rightness and belonging.
“You coming?” Thomas said. Pippa nodded and jogged up the stairs to pass before him into the museum.
It was like General Farnum had said. For now, they were home.
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About the Authors
> LAUREN OLIVER is the author of the teen novels Replica, Before I Fall, Panic, Vanishing Girls, and the Delirium trilogy: Delirium, Pandemonium, and Requiem, which have been translated into more than thirty languages and are New York Times and international bestselling novels. She is also the author of two standalone novels for middle grade readers, The Spindlers and Liesl & Po, which was an E. B. White Read Aloud Award nominee; the Curiosity House series; and a novel for adults, Rooms. A graduate of the University of Chicago and NYU’s MFA program, Lauren Oliver is also the cofounder of the boutique literary development company Paper Lantern Lit. You can visit her online at www.laurenoliverbooks.com.
H. C. CHESTER is a collector of unusual relics who came into possession of the artifacts of the museum’s estate and discovered the story of the four children.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Praise for Curiosity House: The Shrunken Head
“Stupendous and stupefying! A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a shrunken head. If you aren’t curious about Curiosity House, somebody must have pickled your brain and put it in a jar. Read this book immediately.”—Pseudonymous Bosch, New York Times bestselling author of the Secret Series and Bad Magic
“Step right up! Step right up! Mystery, murder, curses, and sideshow freaks! Or are they superheroes? There’s only one way to find out. . . . Read Curiosity House! You’ll be glad you did!”—Adam Gidwitz, New York Times bestselling author of A Tale Dark and Grimm series
“The continuous action, compelling mystery, and dark, brooding illustrations make this book impossible to put down. Perfect for kids who feel they’re different or those simply after a freakishly good time.”—ALA Booklist (starred review)
“A quick-paced plot is bolstered by the bonds of friendship these unusual yet endearing children form as they try to solve a mystery greater—and more personal—than they ever expected.”—Publishers Weekly
“From the opening sentence, Oliver grabs readers’ attention, enveloping them with strong storytelling and rich language. The first book in a new series, the various oddities, intrigues, and its quirky cast of characters are sure to captivate and become a new favorite for mystery lovers.”—School Library Journal
“Will have readers lining up for their tickets to the next book.”—Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
“The plot abounds with action and mystery.”—Kirkus Reviews
Praise for Curiosity House: The Screaming Statue
“Oliver and Chester have created another quirky middle grade mystery that will have no trouble drawing a crowd.”—ALA Booklist
Books by Lauren Oliver
FOR YOUNGER READERS
Curiosity House: The Shrunken Head
Curiosity House: The Screaming Statue
Curiosity House: The Fearsome Firebird
Liesl & Po
The Spindlers
FOR OLDER READERS
Before I Fall
Panic
Replica
Vanishing Girls
The Delirium Trilogy
Delirium
Pandemonium
Requiem
Delirium Stories: Hana, Annabel, Raven, & Alex
FOR ADULTS
Rooms
Credits
Cover art by Benjamin Lacombe
Cover design by Erin Fitzsimmons
Copyright
CURIOSITY HOUSE: THE FEARSOME FIREBIRD. Text copyright © 2017 by Laura Schechter and Harold Schechter. Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Benjamin Lacombe. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016949914
ISBN 978-0-06-227087-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-06-266102-9 (international edition)
EPub Edition © March 2017 ISBN 9780062270894
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FIRST EDITION
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