Breath.
“So don’t worry.”
Big breath.
“But how —?” asked her mother, beginning to cry.
“Somebody sent me this — I can’t really explain why.”
Suddenly teary herself, Cass showed her mom the piece of paper that she’d found on the ground in the Barbie Graveyard. The birth certificate that had been in the Sound Prism file.
She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when she’d realized that she was the girl whose name was on the birth certificate. It could have been when the homunculus told her she was the heir of the Jester. Or it might have been one of those sleepless nights after they’d lost the homunculus, when Cass thought she’d lost her chance to be part of the Terces Society as well.
But she’d been carrying the birth certificate around with her ever since she’d found it — as if she’d known what it meant all along.
“Oh, Cass, I love you so much,” said her mother, hugging her tight.
“Me, too,” said Cass, hugging back.
“Us, too,” said her beaming grandfathers, closing in for a group hug.
Cass was a foundling.
As Grandpa Larry and Grandpa Wayne would tell her later that evening, and many more times after that, one night twelve years before, Cass’s mother happened to be having tea with them.
She was in tears — she had no husband or boyfriend in sight, and, she told them, she was afraid she would never have a child.
While Larry and Wayne tried to cheer her up, Sebastian started barking down below. A customer, they wondered, at this hour?
By the time they got downstairs, whoever had been there was gone. But a box had been left on their doorstep — just as so many other boxes had been left on their doorstep over the years. (Everyone knew Larry and Wayne could never bear to throw anything away.)
The box was taped up, just as if it contained old magazines or a mismatched set of plates, and it said nothing but the words “Handle With Care.” A single hole had been poked through the cardboard to let air inside.
When they opened the box, they found a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. There was no note, only a meticulously written label: “Baby girl. 7 lbs. 3 oz. Time of birth 6:35 p.m.”
But Cass’s mother hadn’t needed to read a label to know the baby was hers.
Likewise, Cass hadn’t needed to hear the story twelve years later to know who her mother was meant to be.
Then again, hearing a good story never hurts. Especially when it’s about you.
Months later . . .
Cass was in the audience.
Let me repeat that. Because she was very emphatic about it.
Cass was in the audience.
As in — not onstage.
As in — she wouldn’t be in a talent show if her life depended on it.
As in — yeah, sure, she, Cassandra, was a dedicated survivalist and she was ready to face all the disasters in the world, natural or supernatural, but she would never, as in not ever, face — her — peers — from — up — there!
Their school’s annual talent show had recently been renamed The Talents Show because, as Mrs. Johnson had explained, people had many kinds of talents (“That’s talents with an s, children — plural!”) and no one talent was superior to any other.
The students, of course, knew better. They knew that some talents were always superior to others — the talents that happened, coincidentally, to belong to the most popular students — and to show their disdain for the talent show’s new name, they mockingly called it the “Talents With an S Show.”
Cass had been a little disappointed that Yo-Yoji was refusing to perform in the talent show; if anybody had the power to shake up the school hierarchy with a little guitar playing he did. But her disappointment about Yo-Yoji not performing couldn’t match the anxiety she felt about the fact that Max-Ernest was performing.
After a ten-year-old boy named Lucas delivered a surprisingly strong rendition of Tom Jones’s swinging song “It’s Not Unusual,” Mrs. Johnson called Max-Ernest’s name.
Twice.
When nobody appeared on stage, Cass, sitting discreetly near the back of the auditorium, was almost relieved. Maybe he was backing out after all.
“Max-Ernest, if you don’t come out now, you’re going to lose your turn!” Mrs. Johnson bellowed as only a principal can.
“But I can’t get my hat to stay on!”
Suddenly, as if someone had pulled him out of the wings with a cane, Max-Ernest stumbled onto the stage, holding a top hat on his head with one hand, and holding a wand with the other. He wore a magician’s cape that was about five sizes too big for him.
“Hi. I’m . . . I’m Max-Ernest,” he stammered. “Most of you know me already because you go to school with me. But some of you are parents, so you don’t go to school — well, that’s not exactly true, but — Anyway, um, like I was saying, I’m Max- Ernest, but today I am Max-Ernest the Magnificent and I’m going to do a magi-comedy act — that’s comedy, plus magic —”
“Get on with it, Max-Ernest — and use the microphone!” said Mrs. Johnson, not very gently.
Cass groaned: it was even worse than she’d feared.
“OK. OK. I was just about to tell a joke. Here it is — Knock, knock! Now somebody say — ‘Who’s there?’”
“Who’s there?” shouted a man in the corner.
“Who’s there?” shouted a woman in the opposite corner.
“I am! Get it?” Max-Ernest looked out at the audience expectantly.
“Ha-ha! I am — I get it!” shouted the man.
“I am — that’s really funny!” shouted the woman.
Cass didn’t have to look to know who they were: Max-Ernest’s parents.
Nobody else laughed.
Just then, Yo-Yoji ran onto the stage from the wings, his guitar around his neck. “Say I am again!”
“Um, I am,” said Max-Ernest, surprised.
Yo-Yoji plucked his guitar, making that sound you hear on television after somebody makes a joke: wah wahhh.
This time, everybody laughed.
Slunk down in her seat, Cass smiled gratefully. Thank you, Yo-Yoji.
“OK, now for some magic,” said Max-Ernest, gaining confidence. “I need somebody who’s really beautiful and really really nice to volunteer. Amber?”
Everybody craned their necks to look at Amber, sitting in the front row. She looked at Max-Ernest, startled.
Next to her, Veronica applauded loudly. “Go, Amber!”
She stood up, feigning modesty. “Well, I don’t know, but if he really wants me to . . .”
As Amber stepped onto the stage, swinging her hair, Max-Ernest gestured behind him where the Gateway to the Invisible stood in a spotlight, on loan from the Magic Museum.
“Look at this booth here — looks totally normal, right, Amber?”
“Right, Max-Ernest,” she said, smiling at the audience to show she was taking this very seriously.
“But actually, it’s the door to another dimension — the Invisible!” said Max-Ernest dramatically. Or almost dramatically. “OK, now close the curtain behind me after I step inside —”
She did.
“Knock, knock,” he said loudly from inside.
“Who’s there?” replied Amber, playing along.
“Nobody!” declared Max-Ernest. “Now open the curtain.”
As Amber opened the curtain, Yo-Yoji played some spooky, build-up-the-tension-type guitar chords.
The booth was empty.
The audience gasped. Then burst into applause.
Not bad, Cass thought. Maybe he won’t be such a disaster after all.
“Now, close the curtain,” said the voice of the missing Max-Ernest.
As soon as Amber had closed the curtain, Max-Ernest pulled it open again and stepped out.
He smiled. “How ’bout that?”
More applause. Victorious guitar chords.
“Now, how would you like to disappear, Amber?”
Sh
e smiled nervously. “Uh. OK, I guess.”
Max-Ernest held up his bandanna. “First, you have to put on this blindfold. Looking straight at the Invisible can be very scary and disorienting for somebody who’s never experienced it before. Whatever you do, don’t take the bandanna off!”
Obviously reluctant, but afraid to show it, Amber allowed him to tie the bandanna around her eyes and escort her into the booth.
But when the curtain closed behind her, the audience heard Amber cry in protest, “Hey — what’s happening?! Help —!”
“Relax, Amber — you are now invisible!”
While Yo-Yoji strummed his guitar repeatedly — almost like a drumbeat — Max-Ernest opened the curtain with a flourish. She was gone.
“How ’bout that?”
More victory music. More applause. Most of it from Cass, who couldn’t stop smiling: if only Amber would disappear forever!
“And now . . .” As Yo-Yoji strummed, Max-Ernest once again closed and reopened the curtain.
But this time the booth was still empty!
The audience tittered nervously. Yo-Yoji stopped playing and looked confusedly back and forth between the booth and Max-Ernest.
“Huh,” said Max-Ernest, scratching his head. “I guess the magic was a little too strong. . . .”
He closed and opened the curtain again. Still empty.
Everyone squirmed in their seats, uncertain what was happening.
“Sorry, Mrs. Johnson, this has never happened before,” said Max-Ernest, making a big show of his confusion. “I think we lost her.”
Mrs. Johnson looked outraged. “Well, you better find her!”
Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled. “TRY THE PARKING LOT!” boomed a spooky voice with a hint of an Italian accent.
It was a stampede. Led by Cass.
When they got outside, people pointed, giggling: Amber was stumbling around the parking lot, blindfolded, her hands out in front of her.
“Where am I?? Somebody help me!!!”
Of the whole school, only Mrs. Johnson was not amused. Everybody else cheered for Max-Ernest. Even Amber’s friends.
How did he do it? they asked over and over, impressed and amazed.
Cass had an inkling of the answer when she saw Pietro walking quickly out of the parking lot. He waved at her, then disappeared into the distance.
Cass waved back, grinning from big pointy ear to big pointy ear.
Who said being a member of a dangerous secret society didn’t have its benefits?
APPENDIX
Mr. Cabbage Face’s “Roast Villain” Recipe
Note: Before roasting, sear your villain at a high temperature. Mr. Cabbage Face says that is the key. “It seals in the juices.”
1 villain, freshly slaughtered
10 cloves garlic, minced
6 sprigs of rosemary
3 pinches of paprika
1 apple for stuffing in villain’s mouth
Salt and pepper to taste
Baste liberally with butter
Serves four to six people — or one homunculus.
Sound Waves: How Whispers Travel Across Whisper Lake
Sound waves travel at faster speeds in warm temperatures than they do in cold temperatures.
Thus, in the early morning, when the air high above a lake is starting to warm but the air at ground level is still chilled by the cold water, the higher-up sound waves travel faster than the lower-down sound waves. This makes the higher-up sound waves curve over the lower-down waves, creating an arc of sound across the lake. Imagine a rainbow of sound with the colder sounds on the bottom and the warmer sounds on the top. The result is that you can hear sounds from across the lake that normally would disappear before they reached you.
If you don’t understand, don’t worry. Like magic tricks, the mysteries of nature are sometimes more exciting when they’re left mysterious.
Max-Ernest the Magnificent’s Magic Cone Trick
With this magic cone, you can make silk handkerchiefs and other small objects like coins or trading cards vanish in thin air. Whether or not you make your own cone, please don’t reveal the cone’s secret to anyone.
What you’ll need:
• 2 pieces of construction paper (they must be the same color)
• Scissors
• Glue
• Glitter and/or other decorating supplies
• Silk handkerchief or other small flat item (bandanna not recommended)
• An audience to amaze and confound
Making the cone:
1. Take your two pieces of construction paper and align them one on top of the other. Make sure the paper is oriented horizontally with the shorter edges to either side and the longer edges above and below.
Now grip both pieces of paper together at the bottom left corner and fold up so the corner touches the top like this:
2. Make a second fold like this:
3. Finally, make a third fold so that you end up with a cone like this:
4. Unfold the pages. Then cut a triangular piece out of the top sheet (only the top sheet!) like this:
5. Discard the biggest part of the top sheet.
Then glue the triangular piece from the top sheet to the matching part of the bottom sheet. Glue only the long edges, leaving the short edge and the interior of the triangle open. You’ve now created a secret pocket in which you can hide a handkerchief or anything else that will fit.
6. Decorate the cone — very lightly — with glitter or whatever else you like for magical effect and to hide the glued edges.
Performing:
First, hold the unfolded paper open in front of you with the secret pocket facing the audience. Your right hand should be covering the opening of the pocket from above. The idea is to make it seem like you have a perfectly normal piece of paper in your hands.
Say something like: “Any magician can pull a handkerchief out of a hat, but only the best magicians can make a handkerchief vanish into thin air. Now watch and be astounded!”
Then fold the paper into a cone again. With the secret pocket now facing you, casually adjust the cone so the pocket is open wide enough to accept your handkerchief. (The opening should be hidden by the top of the other side of the cone.)
Push your handkerchief into the secret pocket (or drop in your coin or whatever else you want).
Now unfold the paper and hold it open for the audience, again being careful to keep the secret pocket closed between your fingers.
It will look like your handkerchief has disappeared!
Say: “Ta-dah!” or, as I prefer, “Voilà!”
Remember: you should always practice a magic trick in front of a mirror before trying the trick on an audience. And if you don’t get it right the first time, try again.
Or just give up in frustration like I do.
PB on PB
An Interview With Pseudonymous Bosch by Pseudonymous Bosch
Bowing to the enormous pressure from readers to reveal more about myself, I have granted myself permission to interview . . . myself.
PB: Mr. Bosch, I’d like to begin by asking the big question — is Pseudonymous Bosch your real name?
PB: What do you think?
PB: Can you tell us your real name?
PB: You’re very funny. You should do comedy.
PB: I’ve noticed that the initials, PB, appear several times in your book. But sometimes the initials are not yours; they are the magician Pietro Bergamo’s. Is that your way of hinting you are the same person?
PB: No comment.
PB: Is it true you are the greatest writer of all time?
PB: Yes.
PB: In your opinion, you mean.
PB: (silence)
PB: It is well known that you are a lover of chocolate and also cheese. To what do you attribute these passions?
PB: Good taste.
PB: Why are you so scared of mayonnaise?
PB: I nearly drowned in a jar when I was a young child. Also, it’s
disgusting.
PB: What is your favorite animal?
PB: To eat?
PB: Mr. Bosch!!!
PB: Just kidding. What happened to your sense of humor? My favorite animal would have to be my pet rabbit. His name is Lorraine (long story there!), but we call him Quiche.
PB: Who are your heroes?
PB: Cass and Max-Ernest, of course.
PB: What dead person would you most like to have lunch with?
PB: I wouldn’t want to have lunch with a dead person. Would you?
PB: We’re not here to talk about me.
PB: Oh . . . right.
PB: Can you tell us your real name?
PB: #*##*@%*&%^*!!!!!
PB: Please.
PB: No!
PB: Why all this secrecy surrounding your identity?
PB: Fear.
PB: One of your readers has suggested that the true reason you won’t reveal your name is that you are embarrassed by it.
PB: Um. I don’t think . . . (cough) never mind.
PB: Some say you are really a woman.
PB: They also say I’m a highly intelligent chimpanzee.
PB: Did you say “highly intelligent”?
PB: Are you here to interview me or insult me?
PB: What is your real name?
PB: If you ask me that one more time I’m going to kill you!
PB: I’ll be your best friend. . . .
PB: (pause) OK. But I’m only telling you.
* IF NOT, SEE CASS AND MAX-ERNEST AND THE MYSTERY OF THE SECRET SPA. ALSO CALLED CASS AND MAX-ERNEST AND THE CURSE OF THE NOT-SO-ANCIENT PYRAMID. YOU MAY KNOW IT AS THE NAME OF THIS BOOK IS SECRET — A TITLE THAT IS SO CONFUSING I SELDOM USE IT MYSELF. (back to text)
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