It was a typical autumn day in San Francisco, clear and sunny but with a lot of wind. No dark blue Honda in the driveway, so no Dorcas. Also there was a big clue that Tree wasn’t approaching at the moment: a man washing the windshield of his car right in front of the office was paying strict attention to what he was doing, which was something men hardly ever managed to do when Tree Torrelli was anywhere in the vicinity.
So the coast was clear. Abby scooted back to the desk and as she picked up the envelope some photographs fell out, and along with them a pink heart-shaped locket on a gold chain. Picking up the locket, Abby released the catch. The picture in the heart-shaped frame was obviously of Miranda herself; a larger version of the same picture had been in the Chronicle a day or two before. But why was the locket in the envelope? Of course Dorcas needed to know what the kid looked like, but the picture in the paper was a lot bigger and clearer.
Abby frowned as she began to understand why a locket that had belonged to Miranda was in Dorcas’s file. She was remembering the Great-aunt Fianna story that had always bothered her the most: the one about how some of the strange ancestors could hold objects in their hands and get information about the people the objects belonged to. Like a message about where the owner was at that moment, or what was happening to him or her.
A special reason why that part of the weird ancestors’ story made Abby particularly uneasy was that it made her wonder about something that had happened to her a lot when she was very young. But she wasn’t going to let her mind go in that direction. With one side of her mouth twisted into a disbelieving smile, Abby was reaching out to put the locket back in the envelope when something strange began to happen.
The locket suddenly began to feel very warm—as warm as if it had been lying in the sun. What came next, weird as it was, wasn’t an entirely new sensation. Abby remembered having that strange woozy feeling quite often when she was a little kid. The feeling that her eyes had begun to see in extra dimensions. There would be brightly colored shapes and pieces that spun around inside her head and then began to arrange themselves into patterns. One pattern and then another, until they finally came together in a real-life scene, like something in a movie. And now it was happening again. Still there, but in the shadowy distance, was Dorcas’s messy desk, and behind it a dusty file cabinet, but on a closer plane a whirl of parts and pieces was quickly spinning into view.
When Abby was really young she’d kind of enjoyed the strange sensation, as if it were her own private TV show. A show that she thought of as taking place in her Magic Nation, because that was what Mrs. Watson, the day care lady, said when Abby asked about it. “It’s just your Magic Nation, dear,” Mrs. Watson told her more than once. “Nothing to worry about.”
So for quite a while Abby went on thinking of the experience as a visit to her Magic Nation, like Mrs. Watson said. “It’s just your Magic Nation,” Abby would tell herself firmly. “Nothing to worry about.” And she went on not worrying about it even after she realized that what Mrs. Watson might have said was “It’s just your imagination.”
By the time she was nine or ten, however, Abby had started to react to the woozy feeling, and what followed it, in a different way. By then she’d begun to spend a lot of time at the Bordens’ with her friend Paige, and now and then with other kids she knew from the Margaret Elston Barnett Academy, a well-known and expensive school for girls. A school that the O’Malleys never could have afforded if not for a scholarship fund that one of her father’s grateful clients had set up for Abby when she was still a baby.
Most of Abby’s Barnett Academy friends lived lives that were more or less like the Bordens’. Maybe a little bit less, as in having slightly smaller mansions, maybe only two or three cars instead of four, and nothing to compare to the Bordens’ enormous cabin in Squaw Valley. But most of their lives were pretty much the same, with parents who had regular jobs instead of ones that required doing surveillance in Oakland one day, looking through police files in San Francisco the next, and then flying off to Portland, Oregon, to track down a suspect the day after that. Activities that Dorcas might or might not get paid for, depending on how rich—and honest—a particular client happened to be.
As time went by and Abby became very much at home at Barnett Academy, as well as at the Bordens’, she became more and more resistant to Dorcas’s Great-aunt Fianna stories. And for a long time, when one of the strange visions started to happen, she would whisper, “Stop it, right this minute,” put down whatever she was holding, and quickly do something to deaden her mind, like watching TV.
Now it was happening again, and as always, Abby resisted it. But even as she tried to stop it, she wasn’t able to keep herself from noticing that one of the vivid scenes flashing before her eyes had formed itself into a familiar face. The smiling face of a little pigtailed girl with a missing front tooth, looking just the way she had in the newspaper picture with the article about the kidnapped kid named Miranda Moorehead.
Seeing and recognizing that face kept Abby from throwing the locket down immediately, and in that extra second or two she couldn’t help zeroing in on some other things that were flashing before her eyes. Such as the fact that Miranda was starting to cry, crying hard now and pushing at something—or someone. Pushing at a large man, wearing sport shoes and a denim jacket, who was holding her by her arms and pulling her toward…
Toward what seemed to be a carnival ride. There was a small open vehicle, behind which a twisting metal track soared into the air. A track that was beginning to look more and more familiar. Beginning to look, in fact, exactly like the tracks of a well-known roller coaster in Disneyland. A scary roller coaster that Abby had been on more than once, and that certainly made some little kids cry when they thought about riding on it.
And then the bits and pieces that made up the roller coaster scene were blurring and fading away and a moment later reforming into… a smiling Miranda sitting on the shoulders of the same denim-jacketed man, who was now standing in a long line in front of what looked a lot like Mickey’s House in Toontown.
When Abby dropped the locket back into the envelope, the pictures faded, and she ran away to try to put the whole thing out of her mind, not thinking about it, or at least trying not to, even though she kept remembering how hard the Moorehead kid’s mother had been crying when she called Dorcas to ask her to take the case.
No one had said anything about Disneyland. Nothing at all. But Abby, who had been to Disneyland several times when she was visiting her dad in L.A., was almost sure she’d recognized some familiar Disneyland places in the scenes that had flashed before her eyes. Sitting on her bed, Abby twisted her hands together, trying to rub out the quivering, living warmth of the pink locket and at the same time wipe away the feeling that she ought to tell someone about what she’d seen—or imagined seeing.
It probably didn’t mean anything, she told herself. Not anything like the possibility of Miranda being at Disneyland right at that moment. And even if it did, that didn’t mean Abby ought to tell anyone about it. After all, the little girl didn’t seem to be in any danger. And if the man who had taken her to Disneyland was her father, maybe it was okay that the two of them were getting a chance to spend some time together. Abby could see how that might be true. Which meant she didn’t have to do something that would be as good as admitting that she, Abby O’Malley, really had inherited some weird powers from Great-aunt Fianna.
3
ABBY WAS WORKING AT keeping her mind off the whole locket episode by concentrating on the tuna sandwich she was making when she suddenly realized that she ought to call Paige and ask if they could play some games on her computer or even just watch TV together for an hour or so. She wasn’t going to say, “Or anything else that might help keep my mind off that stupid locket,” even though that was definitely what she was thinking. So she called Paige’s cell phone number and, with her mouth still full of tuna, mumbled her question about whether it was a good time for her to visit. To her immense relief,
Paige said, “Sure. Come on over.”
Abby swallowed hard and said, “Okay. Great. I’m on my way.” All that was left to do was bolt down the rest of her lunch and leave a message with Tree, in case Dorcas got back early. And borrow a little bus money. The area where the Bordens lived was within walking distance of the O’Malley Agency if you had a lot of energy and a half hour or so to spare, but a long walk with lots of time to think was exactly what Abby wasn’t interested in at the moment.
In the office Tree was at her desk finishing her lunch, some microwave-type spaghetti thing with lots of gooey tomato sauce. In spite of a mouthful of spaghetti, she managed a smile that would have looked fabulous on the cover of any fanzine. “Hi, Abbykins,” she said. (Abby wouldn’t have allowed anyone else to call her Abbykins, but she didn’t mind when Tree did it.) “What’s up?”
Abby sighed. A wishful sigh that meant Why can’t I look that good? which was what most females thought when they looked at Tree Torrelli’s naturally curly hair, enormous dark eyes, inch-long eyelashes, and figure that Paige said was “absolutely insane.” Which, when Paige said it, meant like fabulous, only even better.
It was obvious that Tree hadn’t combed her hair since her windy walk to the store, and strands of crispy black curls straggled around her face, besides which there was a glob of tomato sauce in the middle of her chin. Not at her best, maybe, but probably good enough to get discovered as the next Hollywood superstar if a movie scout happened to walk in. But Abby didn’t say so. She’d found out a long time before that Tree didn’t like people to mention her good looks, which Abby didn’t understand at all until Dorcas explained it.
Dorcas said that Tree was from a large Italian family in which most of the kids got sent to college, but not Tree. Not Tree, because her family’s attitude was that any girl who looked like her didn’t need a career because she could just marry for money.
“Tree really resented her family’s attitude,” Dorcas had explained. “So she left home and worked her way through college. So if you want to compliment Tree, don’t tell her she’s gorgeous. I found out that if I told her she was a quick learner, or a whiz at the computer, she was absolutely thrilled. But believe me, as far as Tree Torrelli is concerned, the word gorgeous is a put-down.”
So all Abby did was grin at Tree and say, “Hey, I called Paige and she wants to see me, so could the agency loan me some bus money?”
Tree wiped the spaghetti sauce off her big beautiful mouth, grinned back, and said, “Good idea. It’s too nice a day to sit around home. I’ll tell your mom when she gets in.” As soon as Tree got some bus money out of petty cash, Abby was on her way to the Bordens’.
Abby always enjoyed looking at the Bordens’ mansion as she walked up the hill from the bus stop. She particularly liked the grand balcony right over the front door, and the spiraling columns that held it up. A balcony that always made Abby think of the ones on which English kings and queens stood to wave to admiring crowds below.
Abby had heard Dorcas telling Tree that the Bordens’ house was ostentatious, which, according to the dictionary, meant something like “overly elaborate and ornate.” But Abby didn’t agree at all. She couldn’t see what was wrong with any of it, including the modern computer-controlled appliances and all the interior decorator-styled rooms. Particularly Paige’s big beautiful bedroom with its velvet swag drapes and matching bedspread that you could barely see under all the matching velvety pillows.
As Abby walked up the broad staircase that led to the double doors under the “royal balcony,” she was remembering and resenting Dorcas’s “ostentatious” remark and thinking that there were a lot of good things about the Bordens besides their house—their houses if you counted the one in Squaw Valley. Of course the best thing about the Bordens was Paige.
As Abby pushed the doorbell and waited for someone to let her in, she thought about how Paige had been her friend ever since second grade. Her best friend, even though in some ways they weren’t that much alike. In size, for instance. Although they were almost exactly the same age, Paige was quite a bit bigger. She was taller and blond. Abby was small for her age with dark hair and eyes.
There were other differences too, such as Paige’s crazy imagination, and the headlong, fearless way she did everything, which could be a little scary at times except that she always had a kind of confidence that made Abby feel she’d be able to deal with whatever mess she might get herself, and Abby, into. Abby tended to be more cautious and to worry too much about things that might happen, or might not happen the way they were supposed to. Except when they were skiing, of course. The only place where Abby was the fearless one was on the slopes.
Abby had often wished she could be more like Paige, but Paige said she envied things about Abby. “Like how you get good grades without even trying,” Paige had said. “And the way you move, like a dancer or a champion athlete.”
And when Abby had protested, saying she was lousy at badminton and not too great at soccer, Paige had interrupted to say, “Well, a champion skier anyway. You know you are. Everybody says so. Or even a champion figure skater, if you’d had a chance to work at it a little more when you were young.”
So that was Paige, and as for the rest of the Borden family… Well, Daphne, Paige’s mom, had been the one who’d persuaded Dorcas to start letting Abby go with the Bordens to their Squaw Valley cabin. And she told everyone how much Paige’s skiing had improved since she’d had someone her own age to ski with.
When it came to Sherwood Dandrige Borden II, Paige’s father (Sher for short, pronounced like sure), Abby didn’t have as much to go on, since he usually wasn’t home when she was there. But at Squaw he’d always been nice enough, as long as everybody obeyed the rules.
Of course Paige griped about both of her parents a lot. Especially about how her dad never listened to her when she complained about her brothers. But she did seem proud of some things about her mom and dad. Things such as knowing what was the best stuff to buy and, of course, being such expert skiers.
Abby pushed the doorbell again and went on thinking about how much she liked the Bordens. All of them, even Sky and Woody, despite the fact that she was, at that very moment, standing in the very spot where she’d been hit by an egg that Sky had dropped from the balcony. Abby glanced up and was moving out of egg range when the door opened and there they were, both of them.
Six-year-old Skyler Hardison Borden, known as Sky, was pointing his favorite toy, a water gun shaped like an Uzi, at Abby’s midsection. Behind him was eight-year-old Woody, whose full name was Sherwood Dandrige Borden III. Woody the Third wasn’t carrying a gun, but with the fiendish grin on his face, karate outfit, and kickboxer pose, he really didn’t need a weapon.
Abby grinned, which as usual seemed to take both of them by surprise. “Hi, guys,” she said, getting ready to duck back out of reach in case Sky started to pull the trigger. “Where’s Paige?”
Skyler turned to look at Woody, who slashed the air with both hands and then struck a different karate pose before demanding, “Who wants to know?”
Narrowing her eyes and cupping her hands around her mouth, Abby whispered, “The FBI.” As Woody thought that over she pushed past him just as Paige came running down the stairs. Ignoring her warlike siblings, Paige grabbed Abby’s arm and pulled her away. “Come on in,” she said. “Sky, if you shoot that thing off on Mom’s Persian carpet you’re going to get killed.”
As Abby and Paige ran up the stairs, Skyler shouted after them, “No, I’m not. You are. You’re going to get killed.” But Paige only laughed and went on running.
4
ONCE INSIDE PAIGE’S INTERIOR-DECORATED room, Abby and Paige flopped down on the ankle-deep champagne-colored throw rug and talked. For a while they talked about clubs. Lately there had been a fad at school of making up secret clubs that no one except the club members were allowed to be in, or even know about.
“We ought to have one,” Paige said. “We could call it the P and A Club, for
Paige and Abby. And we’ll have more secrets than anyone.”
“Okay,” Abby said. “What kinds of secrets shall we have?”
Paige thought for a minute before suggesting that they could have secrets about the fact that they were both adopted and their real parents had been wizards. Paige had been reading Harry Potter recently.
After they’d decided a lot of stuff about what had happened to their real parents and how they’d ended up living with Muggles, they switched to making up secret clubs for some of their classmates. They decided, for instance, that Margot and Heather should start a secret club called the Barnett Pets, which you couldn’t join unless you were the teacher’s pet in most of your classes.
In between making up clubs, they played a new computer game that Paige said was really insane (fabulous, that is), even though it seemed to be a lot like most of the other games they’d played recently. And then, wouldn’t you know it, Paige brought up the one subject Abby didn’t want to think about.
“Does your mother have any new clues about what happened to Miranda? You know, my mom says what probably happened was that she got into a car with a stranger. My mom says that’s usually how people get kidnapped. They get into a car with a stranger and that’s the last they’re ever heard of.” Paige’s blue-green eyes tipped mournfully. “I’ve just been worried to death about that poor little girl. It’s so much worse when something like that happens to someone you know.” Paige liked to make it sound as if the Mooreheads were old friends of the family instead of some people she’d possibly seen once in a grocery store check-out line.
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