The Wizard Of Dark Street Part 18

There came a loud popping sound, and Oona whirled around to see her uncle lying on the ground, once again filling his Wizard's robes and fully restored to his human form.

He sat up, his eyes round and toadlike, but they were his eyes, Oona could tell, and relief flooded through her like a river.

"Well, well," the Wizard said after Samuligan had helped him to his feet. He poked his finger through the hole in his robe where the dagger had sliced through. "That was certainly interesting."

Oona ran to him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him around the middle, feeling immensely grateful that he had actually used words and had not croaked like a toad.

"There, I did it!" Ravensmith cried through the portrait. "Now, someone please get me out of here. There is dust everywhere. And I have to go to the bathroom!"

They stood at the gate to Pendulum House: the Wizard, Samuligan, Deacon, and Oona, who felt as if her legs were about to give out on her.

Several clock towers tolled in the distance.

"Well, it's midnight," Oona said.

"He didn't show," Deacon said. "He may be a crook, but he's a smart man, that Red Martin."

The Wizard grinned. "Word spread rather quickly when Ravensmith was hauled off to jail, cursing Red Martin all the way to the police station for making no attempt to rescue him. Considering that the house was planned for demolition, I'm surprised Ravensmith remained silent in there so long. He put too much faith in Red Martin to save him. Clearly they were working together on the whole thing. Unfortunately, this is mostly my fault. When I began to run low on money several years ago, it was Ravensmith who suggested that I borrow from a private moneylender. I did not like the idea, but Ravensmith told me it was my only option, since the banks would not loan me any money ... and I suppose I trusted the lawyer far more than he deserved. I sort of closed my eyes to it and just let it happen. I never read a single word of the legal contracts myself. I simply signed them blindly. All I knew was that it was through a company called Dupington. Ravensmith took care of the details. But I should have seen that he was a complete hypocrite. It was Ravensmith who encouraged me to take the loans ... and then he would criticize me for spending the money as I wished. Of course he knew how much I disliked the subject of money. He set me up perfectly."

"What will happen now?" Deacon asked.

"Well, there will be a trial, of course," the Wizard said, "and Miss Sanora Crone will have to testify that Red Martin blackmailed the witches into stealing the daggers from the museum. Trials are tricky things, and Red Martin is clearly a clever man. How it will all turn out is anyone's guess."

"What about Red Martin's confession that he had my father killed?" Oona asked. She felt a sharp twinge of anger at the memory. "The witches were all there. They all heard him say it."

"Let's hope that they all remember as clearly as you do," the Wizard said. "As I said, Red Martin is quite a tricky man. As you learned for yourself, Oona, he has the resources and know-how to slip through the Gla.s.s Gates to the Land of Faerie. No one else has ever managed to do that. I have a feeling he will be quite a difficult man to capture." The wrinkles about the Wizard's eyes sagged, and his face drew out in an expression of deep regret. "Had I known that I was borrowing money from the very scoundrel behind my brother's death, I would never have allowed myself to be convinced to borrow the money in the first place; no matter how much I trusted Ravensmith. I hope you know that, Oona dear."

Oona nodded. She could not blame her uncle for being duped. He was a trusting sort of person, and that was one of the things about him she loved. But she could not help herself from saying: "Perhaps you should be more careful about what you sign, Uncle."

The Wizard gave her a knowing grin. "Oh, I will. I hope you will be careful as well, Oona dear."

Oona smiled back, remembering the doc.u.ment on the table and how her hand had tingled when she'd placed the pen to the bottom of the page.

Samuligan said: "But now that the Wizard has returned, Red Martin certainly won't be able to get his hands on Pendulum House. At least I won't be needing to polish that scoundrel's boots."

"That is definitely a relief," Deacon said rather dryly. Samuligan gave him a wicked smile, and Deacon s.h.i.+vered on Oona's shoulder.

The Wizard clapped his hands together. "What would you all say to joining the festivities at the park? It is only midnight, and the masquerade is just getting started. I believe a little frivolity is in order."

Oona's heart fumbled at the mention of the park. She wasn't so sure she was ready for that. She was just about to tell her uncle how she felt when a boy stepped into the light of the nearby streetlamp, removing his masquerade mask as he did so.

"I came to see if there's anything I could do," said Adler Iree. Dressed in a fine, formal tuxedo, he stood beside the streetlamp, the multicolored tattoos on his face glinting in the light.

Oona smiled at him, her heart quickening in her chest. The boy cleaned up nicely, and even with his insistence on wearing that ratty old top hat, Oona felt sure that the contrast made him all the more handsome.

She considered him for a moment before saying: "There is something you can do, Mr. Iree."

Adler smiled, the tattoos crinkling above his cheeks.

"And what would that be, Miss Crate?" he asked.

Oona frowned, though the frown did not reach her eyes. "Why ... Adler ... I should think it quite obvious."

When Adler's eyebrows pinched together, betraying his confusion, Oona shook her head and was quite surprised by her own words.

"You may escort me to the masquerade, silly," she said. "You really must work on your powers of deduction."

Samuligan tipped his hat back on his head and examined Oona with his sharp faerie eyes. "Surely you cannot attend the ball in that dress."

Oona looked down at the green dress she had changed into earlier. The color matched her eyes perfectly, yet truth be told, Samuligan was right. It was a rather simple dress for the likes of a masquerade.

Samuligan grabbed hold of the skirt in his long fingers. For half a moment she thought he was going to tear it, but instead, the faerie servant clucked his tongue against the side of his mouth and clicked his teeth. An instant later Samuligan stepped back, and Oona's dress seemed to glow. It was still the same shade of green, but now the color of the dress seemed somehow alive, pulsing and moving, glittering hypnotically at the simplest movement.

Adler Iree gasped when he looked at her.

"You've enchanted the dress, Samuligan," Oona said, running her hand along the silky fabric. She whirled around, and the feeling against her skin was like that of falling rain. "Glinting cloth," she said.

"You may want this as well," the Wizard said, and produced from his robes a mask that perfectly matched the dress.

Oona held the mask for a long moment as if lost.

"What's the matter?" the Wizard asked. "Don't you like it?"

Oona sighed. It wasn't that she didn't like it. It was just that, now, more than ever, she wondered if she had made the right decision to give up the apprentices.h.i.+p. She wished she could just let it go, which, after all, seemed the sensible thing to do, but ever since using the magic again, she'd begun to feel quite doubtful that she would ever be able to do so. Never before had she understood what a significant part of her the magic was. It was dangerous, true, but it was also extraordinary and could, in the end, prove quite helpful.

The Wizard seemed to know precisely what she was thinking. He placed a hand on her shoulder and said: "You know ... if you want to give the apprentices.h.i.+p one more go around, the position is still available."

Oona swallowed a stone-size lump in her throat. She remembered her uncle's words from the day before: You have backbone, my dear. A spirit I can only admire. It is a spirit that would serve this seat well. The things you could do.

She thought she understood better what he had meant. There was much she could do that no one else could. Perhaps it would be different now that she understood herself a little better. And yet, another part of her was just not interested in that old life. That other part of her had its own plans. She bit at her lip, wondering why she could not simply make up her mind. It was entirely illogical.

Finally, she asked: "Could I start my detective business and be the apprentice at the same time?"

The Wizard scratched thoughtfully at his beard and then grinned wider than Oona had seen him do in years. "I don't see why not. It could all be worked out, I'm sure ... but perhaps you should think on it for a while. You don't have to make a decision this instant."

Oona nodded. "I think I already have." She peered up at Pendulum House and the sign that had been erected there in the front yard.

FUTURE SITE OF INDULGENCE ISLAND HOTEL AND CASINO.

She removed her magnifying gla.s.s from her pocket and aimed it at the sign. "Deleo!" she said.

A line of mist shot from the lens, swooping across the front of the sign and wiping it clean of letters and image. Deacon ruffled his feathers on her shoulder.

"That's going to take some getting used to," he said. "The whole magic thing."

But Oona appeared not to have heard him. She stood silently, considering the sign for a long moment. Finally, her eyes brightened, and once again she aimed the magnifying gla.s.s, and uttered: "Advertisum correcto!" A second burst of mist sprayed the sign, and when it had cleared, she stood back to appraise her work.

"Very good," said Adler.

"Yes," agreed Samuligan. He tipped back his cowboy hat so that he might take the sign in better.

The Wizard beamed, and read aloud: PENDULUM HOUSE.

HOME OF THE WIZARD OF DARK STREET.

AND.

THE DARK STREET DETECTIVE AGENCY.

OPEN FOR BUSINESS.

"I still think it's a rather plain name," said Deacon. "Perhaps something with a bit more pizzazz?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Deacon," Oona said. "It's perfectly sensible."

She placed her arm in the crook of Adler Iree's, and the five of them began to make their way down the street in the direction of Oswald Park and the festivities of the masquerade. Oona's pulse quickened at the thought of setting foot inside the park. She wondered if she was making a mistake. Perhaps they would get there and she would be unable to enter the gates. Perhaps she would turn and run back up the street to Pendulum House and hide in her room. Or maybe, just maybe, she would enter the park ... and enjoy herself.

It was a mystery worth solving.

It takes a lot of people to make something like this happen. Firstly, I would like to thank my editor, Greg Ferguson, whose exceptional insight and guidance were key in helping this mysterious book come fully to life, and Nico Medina, for his marvelous attention to detail. Thank you to all of the amazing folks at Egmont USA-from Elizabeth Law and Doug Poc.o.c.k to Regina Griffin, Alison Weiss, Rob Guzman, Mary Albi, and all the editing staff and sales and marketing team-for helping me put Oona's story into book form. Thank you to my wonderful agent, Catherine Drayton, for her marvelous perspectives and unfailing support. Also, much thanks and love to my mother, who is nearly always my first reader, and the first to tell me if it works or not. Thanks to all of the early readers for their invaluable feedback, and last, but certainly not least, I thank my wife, Shari, who has taken such good care of me. It is because of that love and care that this story is where it is today. I know that. I feel truly blessed.

end.