by Erin Bowman
Piper turned to follow Julius and froze. Just ahead, sitting in the middle of the carpet where the hallway began, was a white Persian cat. A leather collar studded with diamonds was clasped around its neck, and its fluffy tail twitched back and forth as it blinked its yellow eyes at Piper.
She crouched down, where she could make out the name WOLFE on a gold nameplate that hung from the pet’s collar. Nothing about the animal seemed very beastlike. For starters, it was a house cat, not a wolf, and as it stretched its front legs, pawing at the carpet, Piper could see that its claws had been trimmed so short that she doubted it hunted, not even the mice that surely scampered around an estate this old. Given the style of its collar, it probably ate out of a crystal goblet.
Piper moved to scratch Wolfe behind the ears, but the cat bared its teeth and hissed viciously. She yanked her hand back.
“That’s the Persian,” Julius called from farther down the hall. “Don’t take it personally; he hates everyone. Also, he’s a spy.”
Piper stood slowly. “A spy?”
Julius nodded like he’d just made a very reasonable statement. “He stalks around the grounds, watching us, and he reports everything back to Mrs. Peavey and Mrs. Mallory.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Piper barked out a laugh. “He’s a cat.”
“That’s what we’ve always thought, but lately he’s been summoning Mrs. Peavey when we get out of line.”
“You’re kidding.” Piper scrunched her face up skeptically.
“Just wait. Next time you’re someplace you’re not supposed to be—like sneaking a peek at your mom’s chambers on the second floor—the Persian will appear. He’ll look at you, and blink his yellow eyes, and within minutes, Mrs. Peavey will show up and escort you back to your room or … wherever you should be.”
Piper regarded the cat, which had just finished grooming a section of fur and was now hacking on a hair ball. There was no way this thing was a spy.
“Go ahead and test the theory later,” Julius said with an indifferent shrug. “I’m not lying.” He turned and continued to lead the way. Piper followed.
They proceeded to the end of the hall, where Julius turned the doorknob of a gleaming oak door. “Here we are.”
Piper glanced over her shoulder. The white Persian was sitting upright now, studying her, head cocked to the side in a very humanlike manner.
She shuddered and followed Julius into the room.
Chapter Three Amplifiers and Affinities
There was a balcony. And a private bathroom. And a four-poster bed—the kind with a billowy, sheer canopy on top that Piper had only seen in movies. There was even a sitting area in one corner, in case the chairs on the balcony didn’t strike her fancy.
“Are all the bedrooms like this?” she asked, gaping.
“Mine is, and I’m right next to you. Actually, I think every room on the backside of the house has the same floor plan.” Julius opened the French doors to the balcony and stepped out. A dewy coolness hit Piper’s cheeks as she followed.
Standing on the stone balcony, she got her first view of the elaborate grounds of Mallory Estate.
The slate surface of the patio directly below them was littered with chairs and chaise longues and wrought-iron tables with glass tops. Several benches waited along the patio’s edges, resting beneath the shade of maples and cherry trees whose blossoms lay trampled at the foot of their trunks. Next to each bench, a potting barrel overflowed with flowers and greenery. To the left of the patio were tennis courts, and to the right a worn, whitewashed carriage house.
But straight ahead, where the patio ended, so did the color.
Piper stared. Two beastly statues flanked several stone steps that led down into the dead garden. Piper thought the statues might have been lions once, lounging with their hind legs tucked beneath them and their front limbs stretched out, but it was impossible to tell, because they’d lost their heads over the years. A row of massive oak trees stretched straight ahead, away from the steps, their bare, blackened limbs clawing at the overcast sky. Dead leaves swirled by their roots.
Beyond this alley of oaks, dirt pathways snaked and twisted, cutting between statues covered in moss and rot, and framing murky pools of water that were filled with algae and other growth. What remained of the garden’s flower beds were a tangle of dead weeds and brambles, and the hedges that separated sections of the sprawling garden appeared to be no more than a knotted wall of dead brush. Even the rock wall that made up the outer perimeter of the garden was crumbling. A latticework of shriveled ivy covered the stones.
“It’s hideous,” Piper said, shivering.
“Is it?” Julius passed her his spyglass. It felt ridiculous in her hands. They were on a balcony, not the high seas. “Go on, look through it,” he urged.
Reluctantly, Piper brought the spyglass to her eye and gasped.
“Not so dead after all, huh?”
Through the spyglass, the garden had transformed.
Brilliant ivy climbed the surrounding rock walls, and the row of oaks was in full bloom. Green leaves sprang from each of the trees’ ancient branches, leaving the dirt path beneath sheltered in shadow. The grass was clipped short and even. The hedges trimmed and sculpted. Each flower bed was a rainbow of color. Each statue impeccably clean. The pools of water held nothing but a few flowering lily pads, their surfaces otherwise gleaming and clear. Some pools doubled as fountains, their surfaces rippling from the moving water. And it wasn’t lions guarding the entry, as Piper had first theorized, but two stags, their golden antlers scraping at the sky.
Everything was so well maintained. Looking it over again, she noticed a new detail: the paths that wove through the garden didn’t meander pointlessly. They formed a shape: the outline of a butterfly, just like the door knocker she’d rapped on the estate’s front steps.
Piper lowered the spyglass and the dead, decaying garden stretched before her. She brought the spyglass up and the garden was again teeming with life.
“Is this some sort of trick?” she asked, examining the spyglass. Was there a picture taped over the end? It had to be a prank. She turned the instrument over, finding nothing suspicious.
“It’s an amplifier,” Julius said matter-of-factly.
“An amplifier?”
“Yeah. To amplify, intensify, make stronger.”
“I know what ‘amplify’ means. But a spyglass should show you things close up, like a pair of binoculars. This changed the garden.” She shook the spyglass vigorously. “It looked alive. Tended to. Perfect.”
“It is perfect. The spyglass shows the truth.”
Piper scanned the grounds with her bare eyes. The garden was definitely dead. Either she was missing something, or Julius was messing with her.
“It strengthens my affinity,” he went on, taking the spyglass from her. “What’s yours?”
“What the heck is an affinity?”
Julius frowned. “Your ability. My affinity is sight, or more specifically, being able to see the anomalies left behind after a spell has been performed. Without the spyglass, I can only see traces of these anomalies, pockets. They look fuzzy around the edges. Sometimes they even vibrate. But when I look through the spyglass, the amplifier shows me the truth. It reveals what was before. A long time ago, someone hid this garden, locked it away. Mrs. Mallory wants us to get inside. There’s something valuable in there that she—”
“Hold on. Back up. Spells?” Piper gaped. “Like hocus-pocus, abracadabra, presto?”
Julius laughed. As if she were the one being ridiculous.
“No, that’s fake stuff, like when you hire a magician to put on a show at a birthday party. I’m talking about the magi. Mrs. Mallory and Mrs. Peavey have spent the last decade trying to get into that garden. They started taking in kids like me recently—children with affinities—teaching us to strengthen our abilities with the use of an amplifier. That’s why you were invited to live here. You’re a magi too.”
“No way,” Pip
er said firmly. “I’m here because my father is … busy this summer. I’ve never heard of amplifiers or affinities before in my life!” She staggered off the balcony and collapsed on the bed. Suddenly all she could think about was what her own mother had grown obsessed with; her dad called it “metaphysical anomalies.”
Julius had used that same word.
Anomalies.
Magic.
It was too much.
It wasn’t possible.
This was the real world, which was logical and boring and had rules.
Rule #1: Cancer is treated with radiation therapy and chemotherapy.
Rule #2: The treatment might kill the cancer, but it will definitely kill all your father’s hair and make him weak, fatigued, and nauseous in the process.
Rule #3: Adults will try to shield you from what’s happening because “you’re only twelve,” ignoring the fact that this is your father, and at the very least, you deserve to know what’s going on.
Rule #4: Friends won’t know how to act around you anymore. They’ll get awkward and quiet, or smother you with pity and questions, or simply pull away because it’s too much for them. As if it isn’t a lot for you!
Rule #5: Worst of all, even if your father does everything right, the cancer might still win.
Piper hated all these rules, but they were the way of things. She wished they weren’t. She longed for things like magic to be real, because then she could turn back time, make sure the doctors caught the cancer at such an early stage that her father stood a chance. No, she would cast a spell and eliminate the cancer altogether.
But that was fantasy. What Julius was talking about was fantasy.
“So where’s your dad this summer?” Julius asked, joining her on the bed.
She considered telling him, but she just couldn’t bear it. It was always the same when people learned about her father’s situation. The awkward silence, followed by questions, then pity. (See Rule #4.)
“He’s … traveling for work,” she said.
“Oh.” A pause. “Are you okay? You look kinda pale.”
Piper snorted. “You just told me my mom and grandma are running a foster home for magically gifted children.”
“Exactly.” Julius looked pleased that she’d followed.
“Ugh, this isn’t happening,” she groaned, rolling face-first into a pillow. “I fell asleep in my aunt’s car. We’re still driving here and I’m dreaming in the back seat.”
“Nope. This is very much real. Also: you definitely have an affinity.”
“I think if I had magical abilities, I would know about them,” Piper said.
“They could be dormant. Some of us knew our affinities before coming to Mallory Estate, but I didn’t. Mrs. Mallory brought me in and helped me unlock it. Maybe you’re the same.” Piper raised her brows, skeptical. Julius exhaled. “After I’ve used my spyglass to find the true form of something, I can loan the amplifier to other magi and they’ll be able to see what I did. The fact that you could see the garden—the hidden version—proves you’re not a hollow.”
“A hollow?” Piper asked.
“Someone empty. Without an affinity. Non-magi.”
“Non-magi are empty? That sounds kinda elitist,” Piper pointed out.
“I didn’t come up with the term,” Julius said defensively.
Piper touched her locket through her shirt and took a deep breath. “Okay, so let’s say I have some affinity, but it’s dormant or whatever. Would there be any signs?”
“I thought something was wrong with my eyesight,” Julius admitted. “There was always this fuzziness; certain things blurred. I figured I needed glasses, but eye doctors would always say my vision was perfect. I was so excited when the state placed me here—a rich foster parent meant I might finally be able to see a specialist, figure out what was wrong. Then Mrs. Mallory told me about affinities. She gave me the spyglass and showed me how to use it and explained everything about magi. We’re very rare.”
“I need to talk to my grandma,” Piper said. So I can put an end to this absurd prank, she added mentally.
“She’s not here right now, remember?”
“My mother, then.”
“You’ll see her at dinner. And don’t you dare go searching her out before then. I’ll get basement duty for letting someone disturb her.” Julius clacked the spyglass shut, looking worried. “I have to go help the others in the kitchen now. But I’ll see you later.” He ran off without a backward glance.
Piper rolled onto her back and stared at the bed’s canopy. Was this why her mother left? Not because the bungalow couldn’t live up to Mallory Estate, but because Piper and her father were hollows? Had she chosen magic over family?
No, that was ridiculous. Magic wasn’t real. Julius was telling her some elaborate story for kicks. He probably did this to every new kid who came to the estate, but she wouldn’t fall for it. As soon as she talked to her mother, she’d be able to confirm that everything he’d said about amplifiers and affinities was bogus.
Movement by the door caught her eye.
The Persian sat on the threshold, its head tilted in that uncomfortably human manner.
How long had it been there? Had it overheard her conversation with Julius?
It’s just a cat, she reminded herself. Even if it heard the conversation, it wouldn’t understand any of it.
She strode to the door and shut it in the animal’s face.
Chapter Four Anomalies of the Past
Shortly after her parents divorced, when Piper was exactly four and a half years old, Atticus Peavey had taken her to the aquarium.
Piper had said she wanted to go fishing for her half birthday, but it was early December, and snowing, so the aquarium was the next best thing. Atticus packed a lunch, buckled Piper into her car seat, and, like any sensible parent, drove two hours south to the Mystic Aquarium in the middle of a snowstorm. (This was not sensible at all when it came to safety. It was, however, quite sensible when it came to placating a young girl whose parents had just gotten divorced.) It helped that Atticus Peavey, who ran a construction business most of the year, plowed roads for the town during the winter. He was quite used to driving in sloppy, wintery conditions.
The drive took a bit longer than the expected two hours, because most people on the road did not have the same confidence that Atticus did driving in snow. Piper remembered her father grumbling in the front seat, saying things like, “It’s just a dusting, people,” and “Truly, the plow just went by. You can go faster than that.” But every time he smiled at her in the rearview mirror, not an ounce of annoyance graced his features.
Atticus Peavey had a beautiful smile. At least until his diagnosis five years later. But that day at the aquarium, he smiled plenty. As they stared at penguins and ogled jellyfish. As they explored the touch tank and watched beluga whales feeding. Atticus didn’t see the strange pair of security guards lurking just a few paces behind him and Piper, always just a step in the shadows, or he’d have been smiling less frequently.
Piper noticed them, but only in a those men are interested in all the animals we are! way. Not in a those men have aquarium uniforms but no name badges way. She was four and a half, after all. She didn’t have reason to distrust anyone, except maybe her mother.
When they’d seen every last exhibit, Atticus brought Piper to the gift shop and told her she could pick out one stuffed animal to take home. “Just don’t wander,” he warned.
Piper nodded, but soon she was at the end of the stuffed animals display and the start of a wall of books—picture books about all the animals they’d just seen. Surely it would be okay if she looked at the books.
That was when she heard talking.
“Yeah, she’s the one. See the aura around her?”
Piper looked over her shoulder. Across the small gift shop, behind a display of beach toys, she could make out the two odd security guards. The skinnier one was looking at her through a pair of binoculars. Strange, she thought. T
hey liked all the animals we did, and now they like these books, too?
“Let’s do it now,” the skinny guard said. “Quickly.” He walked one way around the display of sand toys while his friend walked the other. He reached for a pair of handcuffs dangling from his belt, which Piper found odd. She thought only police officers carried handcuffs.
Suddenly Piper remembered conversations she’d had with her father about bad people—strangers who lured kids into cars with candy or puppies or sometimes even by force. “Dad?” she called, turning in circles. But she couldn’t see him anymore. She’d wandered too far. The guards were halfway to her now, and moving quickly.
She ran, panicked, and collided with the display of stuffed animals. They rained down in an avalanche of plushness—dolphins and belugas and sea turtles and penguins—burying her there in the middle of the store.
Through a crack in the animals, Piper could see the men closing in. She clamped her eyes shut and squeezed her knees, trying to become as small as possible.
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know. She was right here!”
“Piper?” Atticus called out.
“We gotta go,” the first guard mumbled.
Footsteps leaving. Others coming.
Piper cracked open an eye. The guards were gone and now she could make out a pair of familiar work boots drawing nearer. The person wearing them bent down, and Atticus’s face peeked through a crack in the stuffed animals.
“Piper,” he said disappointedly.
She shoved to her feet, stuffed animals toppling aside. “It was an accident.”
“I know. Did you pick one?”
She grabbed the nearest—a penguin.
“Okay. Help me clean this up and then we can buy …” Atticus looked at the penguin.
“Carl,” Piper said matter-of-factly.
“Nice to meet you, Carl. Now let’s get your penguin family back in their bin.”