The Thief of Mirrors: 4 (Enchanted Emporium)

by Pierdomenico Baccalario

  Askell laughed hoarsely, reminding me of a sick animal. Then he gripped what was left of his cloak and yanked it across his face.

  Where Semueld Askell had been, four black crows appeared, then flew toward the cliff.

  Locan Lily looked into the morning sky. He raised his right hand. With a heavy heart, he lowered it in one fell swoop.

  The seagulls all rose into the air. White wings, beaks, and claws surrounded the crows.

  Askell’s end was quicker and more terrible than I ever could have imagined.

  The shrieks of the birds suddenly disappeared. Everything grew silent and still.

  I fell to my knees and planted my sword in the ground. Someone ran over to me. I felt her presence even before she placed her hands on my face.

  They were cool on my burning skin.

  “Finley!” Aiby exclaimed on that long Sunday morning. “Finley!” Pearls of tears beaded in her eyes, and that was something I hadn’t expected.

  I smiled at her, revealing a freshly chipped tooth. “It took you a while to finish that book, huh?” I teased. She giggled and hugged me tight.

  I heard Patches racing toward me and finally let myself pass out in peace.

  Reverend Prospero loved to say that you should never waste anything in life, so we all decided to use the giant fire that was already lit for an evening barbecue.

  It turned out to be a good idea. As Doug, Aiby, and her father gradually freed all the people of Applecross out of their bookish prisons, many of the townspeople decided to stick around, talk about the day’s events, and have something to eat. Aiby brought out the leftover drinks from the Emporium’s opening and set up a few tables and chairs so people could sit.

  I stayed on the porch at the front door. The whole time Aiby set tables and talked and handed out food, my eyes never left her. It felt like I hadn’t seen her in months.

  Yeah. I’d missed her that much.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said when she bumped into something with her long, heron-like arms. That is if herons had arms — well, you know what I mean. I’d forgotten she was so long and tall. Probably ten inches taller than me, but right then I didn’t mind.

  My mother handed me a cup of elderberry juice and smiled so warmly I thought I’d melt. “Thank you,” was all she said.

  I liked her better like this, wearing an apron and a warm smile instead of snarling with a rifle at her shoulder. Still, it was nice to know she was more than just the mom I’d grown up with. I felt kind of dumb for not having figured that out long ago.

  My eg had been bandaged by Mr. Lily. Now it was stretched out in front of me on a footstool. All the other Emporium shopkeepers had come over to introduce themselves, and every one of them felt compelled to tell me how brave I’d been. I especially liked what Mr. Legba said, because it had a legendary quality to it. I won’t say what he said because it’ll sound like I’m bragging, but I can’t say I disagreed with his statement.

  At the Emporium’s grand opening, I’d spoken with Alejandro Tiago about the advice he’d given to the Lilys. Now, he told me everything had gone as he’d predicted — better, even. He was glad the Lilys had taken his advice.

  Aiby explained what he’d meant. “Alejandro is an expert at reading tarot cards,” she said. “And he gave us some useful information about what might happen at the meeting. He hadn’t gotten everything right, but it was enough so that we were prepared for what happened.”

  Have I ever mentioned Aiby’s beautiful, radiantly green eyes? Even after I’d realized those eyes had pulled me into a world where I’d risked my life in a battle with Semueld Askell, they remained my favorite sight in the world. Perhaps even more so after the fact.

  Anyway, Teobaldo Scarselli congratulated me with a touch of his fingers to his white Panama hat. The three Van de Maya sisters — April, May, and June — were every bit as beautiful as they were friendly. While they spoke with me, I saw Doug staring at them. That was when I finally figured out why Doug had insisted on going to the meeting of the families. Sure, he’d wanted to impress someone — but not Aiby like I’d assumed. After the sisters finished thanking me, he told me he hadn’t said anything about them because he was afraid he’d get rejected. But no matter how hard I pushed him, he refused to tell me which sister he had eyes for. Knowing Doug, it might’ve been all three of them.

  Then Doug gave me back the key with the scorpion on the handle — the defender’s key — without ceremony or apology. “Here it is,” he said, not the least bit embarrassed. “I told you three. And three it was.”

  He had said three days, but he had meant three sisters. Regardless, it felt good to hold the scorpion key in my hand once again.

  “Hey, Doug,” I said, smiling. “What is something that those who make it sell it, those who buy it don’t use it, and those who use it fear it?”

  Doug shrugged. “Who cares,” he said. He ran over to Aiby and asked permission to use the Lilys’ rowboat. From the way Doug smiled as he headed over to the sisters to invite one (or all) of them to join him for a sunset at sea, I knew it’d be a memorable Sunday evening for my big dumb brother no matter what happened.

  The reverend and I sat together on the cool porch. He’d been showily bandaged where Askell’s sword had hit him, and a whole series of amazing ointments had been applied. Mr. Lily assured him he’d recover fully. In the evening glow, he seemed a paler than he had earlier.

  “How are you doing, Reverend?” I asked.

  He clenched his teeth and said, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your rocks. How far along are you?”

  I gave him a thumbs-up.

  McStay jumped out of a cursed edition of The Diamond as Big as the Ritz by F. Scott Fitzgerald only to find out that his inn was fully booked that evening. That was fine with him as long as someone quickly found his wife (who turned out to be hidden on page 114 of Wuthering Heights).

  Angus went to get meat for the barbecue as soon as he leapt out of Moby Dick. Seamus the TV antenna installer — fresh from his long stay in The Penultimate Truth by Philip K. Dick — was entranced by the Emporium, having never before laid eyes on it.

  “Which satellite do you have the dish pointed toward?” he asked Mr. Lily, but he never got an answer.

  My father was in an excellent mood. He checked on my health at least twenty times, as if each time he intended to say something to me but never managed to. I wondered what he wanted to say, but didn’t press him because I was preoccupied by greater mysteries …

  I asked Meb why she had sent me the copy of Through the Looking Glass. Her answer also revealed how Prospero, McBlack, and my parents had avoided falling into their own book traps: it had all been Jules’s fault. In his customary bungling, he’d delivered Prospero’s book to Meb (in addition to the one meant for her) by mistake. She became suspicious and called the reverend to her shop. The two of them sat on her sofa and Meb opened the copy of The Master and Margarita and disappeared into its pages instantly. The reverend immediately took the book with him and threw Through the Looking Glass into Meb’s suitcase (which was actually my Stay-at-Home Suitcase) and chased down Jules for an explanation.

  The reverend then forced Jules to read Meb’s book — which was how she escaped from it. Then the reverend had Jules read the book intended for the reverend, and Jules disappeared. At that point, the reverend sounded the alarm for everyone to not open their books, but by then it was too late.

  After Meb finished explaining, I had one remaining question: who had read my parents out of their books without Everett knowing? Meb didn’t know, and Prospero refused to speak on the subject. Nothing more was said about that — until two distant aunts of mine emerged from the pages of Pride and Prejudice several days later, perfectly content with their adventure in Jane Austen’s fictional world. Apparently, getting lost inside a book could be a good thing — if the books were kept safe.


  For the sake of completeness, I should mention that Mr. Lily had been trapped inside Niels Klim’s Underground Travels by Ludvig Holberg, and Aiby had spent a few hours in Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse.

  When Aiby returned, I asked her what it had been like inside her book.

  “It was sort of stuffy,” Aiby explained. “You can move, but not much. You can talk with the other characters, but they repeat the same lines over and over. And when I looked beyond the borders of the town, the horizon faded into a grayish nothingness.”

  “That sounds like a pretty good description of Applecross to me,” I said. Aiby rolled her eyes.

  The rest of the townsfolk started to head home, chatting excitedly to each other about Captain Nemo, Josephine March, and Wendy Darling as if the fictional characters were friends they’d recently made.

  “My father said that the effects of the stories will fade from their memories after a couple of nights,” Aiby said. “And then all of us will just think we read the books instead of having lived inside them.”

  I told Aiby all about my trip and the trials I had overcome, but I skipped the part about the figures I’d seen in the mirrors. I wasn’t ready to talk about that yet.

  Darkness soon fell. Even though Doug hadn’t returned from his boat trip yet, my parents decided to head home anyway. It wasn’t clear to me if I should stay overnight at the Enchanted Emporium, or if the Lilys would take me back home, but I didn’t care.

  Because, finally, only Aiby and I were left.

  When the breeze over the sea gave me the right inspiration, I said, “Listen, Aiby, I …”

  She slipped her hand in mine and all my sweet words crumbled like sand beneath a wave.

  “I know,” she said. “And I’m still very sorry. None of us guessed that Askell would dare to go as far as he did.”

  I didn’t want to tell her about Imagami and how much I’d heard when I was hidden behind the screen. Nor did I like the idea of talking about the reflections I’d seen in the mirrors. It wasn’t the right time. Maybe it never would be.

  “Have the families decided what to do?” I asked.

  “We’ll find someone to take the Askell family’s place among the seven families,” she said. “Maybe.”

  At night, Aiby’s lips seemed to sparkle. I sighed. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you —”

  She placed a finger on her lips. “I know,” she said.

  “— about Angelica,” I finished.

  Yeah, I panicked. Sue me.

  Aiby tilted her head. “What about Angelica?”

  My face turned red. “I think I left her in the boat, on Skyle Island,” I muttered. “And, um, I may have bitten her … and Patches buried her twice.”

  Aiby laughed. “Finley, Finley,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. You were terrific.” Her eyes shone in the moonlight. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else ever has.”

  I felt like a teddy bear in a clothes dryer.

  The space between us was smaller than a box of cookies, yet it also seemed as infinite as the entire universe. Philosophers probably have some fancy name for that sensation. We thirteen-year-olds just call it panic.

  Aiby lowered her face a little but kept her eyes locked on mine. “But there is, however, one thing you still haven’t done,” she whispered, leaning in closer.

  She wants me to kiss her she wants me to kiss her she wants me to kiss her! kept repeating in my head. But I decided to play it cool. “And that would be?” I whispered.

  “I told you to burn the letter I had Doug deliver to you,” she said.

  “Oh, right, I said, flustered beyond belief. “Yes, about that … I forgot.”

  I leaned in closer. For the second time, our noses touched. Aiby closed her eyes …

  And right at that moment, Mr. Lily walked out the door and ruined everything. “Did you turn on Mom’s computer again?” he asked. Then he saw us inches apart and his eyes went wide. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize …” Mr. Lily trailed off, turned, and went back inside.

  Aiby and I burst out laughing.

  “I’m so sorry about my dad,” Aiby whispered.

  “It’s no big deal,” I whispered back.

  Aiby rolled a little snow globe back and forth in her hands. I knew it had to be a magical object, but I wasn’t sure what purpose it served.

  “Will you tell me what that thing does?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” she said. “But not before I thank you the way I should, Finley McPhee.”

  And she kissed me.

  Oh, how she kissed me. Aiby Lily didn’t just brush her lips against mine and pull away. No, she kissed me deeply with her eyes closed. At least I think her eyes were closed, because mine were. Then she placed her hands around my back and hugged me.

  So I hugged her too, squeezing her tightly.

  It was perfect.

  When Aiby’s lips finally left mine, I kept my eyes closed for a moment longer. I heard the snow globe turn in Aiby’s hands, so I opened my eyes. The snow inside the globe began to fall softly on the small town below. Aiby giggled.

  A moment later, I found myself back at the farm.

  I was breathless. Dang it, I thought. I didn’t even get to ask if the seven voices in my head were real or not. Or how long the other families would stay in Applecross. Or what we should do now, if there was something to do at all.

  I didn’t even get to ask … well, tons of other things. I shrugged. What’s the rush? I thought. I closed my eyes and relived that last moment with Aiby, then went inside. I went up to my room. No one else was home yet, so I lit the little pieces of Aiby’s letter with a lighter as I’d promised I would. As they burned, spirals of smoke swirled out the window, up into the sky, and dispersed among the stars. Then, suddenly, the stars that dotted the sky began to form lines, as if someone was connecting the dots between them.

  It looked like writing. I rubbed my eyes, but the words remained. I read a sentence that made me blush from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. Aiby had written me a love note in the stars.

  “Jeez,” I murmured. “If I’d read this note first, I would’ve avoided lots of worrying.”

  I sat there, staring out my window at the celestial note left just for me.

  I sighed contentedly. Just then, I felt a heavy hand rest upon my shoulder. I turned to see my father looking down at me.

  “I don’t think I’ll bother to ask how you managed to beat us home, Finley,” he said. “But there is one thing I want to tell you, son.”

  My father looked at me a long time, squeezing my shoulder so hard it almost hurt. “You can keep the thirty bucks you borrowed from me,” he said finally.

  He left my room without another word. That’s how it works between men like us: the important stuff is understood, not spoken. I love you too, Dad, I thought.

  My mom, however, lingered in my room a little longer. “We’re very proud of you, Finley,” she said. I didn’t look at her. “We’re afraid, proud, and happy — all at the same time. When I was there today, I saw my two sons just as I’d always hoped they’d be.”

  We hugged each other. I kept my eyes on the stars in the sky until we pulled apart. “Did you see them too?” I asked, pointing at the words written in the stars.

  My mom glanced at the sky. “Of course,” she said. “They’re priceless, don’t you think?” Then she ruffled my hair and left my room.

  She can’t read the words, I realized. They’re just for me. All for me.

  I loved looking up at that huge, infinite sky and pondering the great mysteries of life. There was something magical in it, something that made sense only when wonder still remained. Something that couldn’t be explained in the words of any language in the entire world — not even Incantevole.

  And these words were mine, and mine alone … but no way would they stay trapped
within the pages of a book.

  I was born on March 6, 1974, in Acqui Terme, a small and beautiful town of Piedmont, Italy. I grew up with my three dogs, my black bicycle, and Andrea, a special girl who lived five miles uphill from my house.

  During my boring high school classes, I often pretended to take notes while I actually wrote stories. Around that time, I also met a group of friends who were fans of role-playing games. Together, we invented and explored dozens of fantastic worlds. I was always a curious but quiet explorer.

  While attending law school, I won an award for my novel, The Road Warrior. It was one of the most beautiful days of my entire life. From that moment on, I wrote and published my novels. After graduating, I worked in museums and regaled visitors with interesting stories about all the dusty, old objects housed within.

  Soon after, I started traveling. I visited Celle Ligure, Pisa, Rome, Verona, London, and many other places. I’ve always loved seeing new places and discovering new cultures, even if I always end up back where I started.

  There is one particular place that I love to visit: in the Susa Valley, there’s a tree you can climb that will let you see the most magnificent landscape on the entire planet. If you don’t mind long walks, I will gladly tell you how to get there … as long as you promise to keep it a secret.

  I once had a very special friend who had everything he could possibly want. You see, ever since we were kids, he owned a magical pencil with two perfectly sharp ends. Whenever my friend wanted something, he drew it — and it came to life!

  Once, he drew a spaceship — and we boarded it and went on a nice little tour around the galaxy.

  Another time, he drew a sparkling red plane that was very similar to the Red Baron’s, only a little smaller. He piloted us inside a giant volcano that had erupted only an hour earlier.

  Whenever my friend was tired, he drew a big bed. We dreamed through the night until the morning light shone through the drawn shades.

  This great friend of mine eventually moved to China … but he left his magic pencil with me!