Olivia pulled the mirror out of her pocket with a flourish. "There!"
"Heavens!" exclaimed her mother. "It's utterly, utterly beautiful."
"Awesome." Lysander peered into the glass. "But it's not a mirror. I can't see anything."
"What a relief," said Olivia. "I thought I was a vampire."
"Can I?" Charlie held out his hand.
Olivia gave him the mirror. "What are you going to do with it, Charlie?"
"I hadn't really thought about it, I just wanted to get it away from the count. But now . . . Charlie looked at the mist that clouded the surface of the glass. "I'd like to be alone with it, for a while."
"Of course, Charlie." Olivia led Charlie up to her bedroom. She left him sitting on her bed and whispered, "Good luck," before she closed the door on him.
For several seconds Charlie was almost too afraid to look at the mirror again. He closed his eyes and the words from Bartholomew's diary came back to him. "Look into the mirror and the person you wish to see will appear. If you want to find that person, look again, and the mirror will take you to them, wherever they are."
"But I can't remember his face," sighed Charlie. "Help me, someone."
He felt something lightly brush his wrist, and the white moth crawled out of his sleeve. She flew onto the mirror's gold frame and gently beat her silvery wings. The mist on the glassy surface began to clear.
"How am I to remember?" Charlie silently asked the moth.
Remember what you can, came the answer.
Charlie thought back to a time before he had lived in the house on Filbert Street. He remembered a bright kitchen; he was very small because the swirling hem of his mother's skirt came very close to his face. She was humming to the music that came from another room.
Charlie left the kitchen and walked across a hallway. He pushed open a door and moved toward the elegant legs of a grand piano. White curtains billowed in a breeze from the window. The man sitting at the piano had his back to Charlie. He wore a brown jacket and his thick, black hair touched the top of his collar. His fingers flew over the piano keys, but when Charlie walked around the piano stool, the man stopped playing and looked down. "Hello, Charlie!" he said.
The shock of recognition almost made Charlie lose consciousness. He had seen the man before. Many times. He'd spoken to him only a week ago, never knowing that he was his father. Clinging even tighter to the mirror, Charlie stared into the dark, smiling eyes until he felt himself drifting closer. When his father's face began to recede, Charlie cried, "Take me to him!" And the mirror obeyed. Now he was in another room: It was the music room at Bloor's Academy. But here the piano was silent. For the pianist had folded his arms over the keys and laid his head on them.
"Dad!" Charlie tapped the man's shoulder. "It's me, Charlie!"
The dark eyes were no longer smiling. They looked blank and heavy.
"Are you still asleep? You must remember me. I've never stopped thinking of you. Never. Please try to remember. Please say something. Please . . ." Charlie shook his father's shoulder, this time with some vigor.
Without moving, the man said faintly, "There's nothing left. Go away."
A cry escaped Charlie. A cry that was like no sound he had ever heard. And then he was being dragged away. His father's face began to fade and Charlie spun through the air, now twisting upside-down, now floating on his back. He began to see the mirror again, glinting out of a fog, but the glass was empty. The face that had looked out at Charlie was gone.
With a sudden bump, Charlie landed on a bed. Olivia was standing in front of him, holding the mirror.
"Charlie, you made a dreadful sound." She peered into his face. "I thought the mirror had frightened you so I took it out of your hands."
Charlie blinked. "I wasn't frightened exactly."
"Did you see your father?"
"Yes. Liv, I think he's almost dead."
Charlie's voice was so weak Olivia couldn't be sure that she'd heard him. "Dead?" she asked. "Did you say dead?"
"Almost."
At that moment a deafening roar caused the whole house to shudder.
"He's here!" Suddenly alert, Charlie rushed to the window.
Tancred was not alone. On the other side of the garden stood a tall stranger in a shimmering green robe. The man's abundant hair was touched with gold and his nose curved like the beak of a hawk.
"He doesn't look like a shadow," Olivia remarked, "but certainly an enchanter."
Before Charlie could reply, Tancred swung his arm forward and an arc of lightning flew from his hand toward the man in green. The enchanter caught the band of light and, in a flash, sent it back across the few yards that separated him from the weather-monger. But Tancred had already produced a sheet of pure white light that enveloped the enchanter like a shroud.
Olivia and Charlie watched, helpless, as the count stepped out of his shroud and sent a ribbon of fire snaking over the grass. It began to wind itself around Tancred's body, and he fell to his knees, unable to move his hands or defend himself.
The enchanter advanced, smiling. Charlie turned away from the window, crying, "I can't let this happen!"
But Olivia held him back. "Look! Look out there!" she commanded.
A figure had darted between Tancred and the enchanter. He stood shielding Tancred as the enchanter strode toward them.
"It's Gabriel," said Charlie in disbelief.
"What's he wearing?" Olivia pressed her head against the windowpane. "Some old cloak."
"The Red King's cloak," breathed Charlie. "It belongs to his family, the Salutatis."
"The enchanter can't touch him. Look at the fire, Charlie."
Every streak of lightning, every ribbon of fire that the enchanter hurled at Gabriel, slid around the cloak and then burned out.
With a roar of fury the count rushed at Gabriel, only to be stopped by an invisible wall, his mouth agape, his hands reaching for the cloak, but unable to touch it.
"He's beaten," Olivia cheered, a little prematurely.
The enchanter glared up at her and, abandoning his attack on Gabriel, rushed at the house. The crash of broken glass sent Charlie and Olivia tearing downstairs. They burst into the living room, where Mrs. Vertigo stood in a trance before the shattered window. From the other side, the enchanter gazed at her with treacherous green eyes.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Vertigo," said Lysander, swinging her away from the window. Giving her no time to protest, he swept her off her feet and carried her, bodily, into the kitchen. "It's better you stay here." He lowered her to the ground with a bashful smile. "And lock the door, perhaps."
"I've no intention of locking myself away from the action," Mrs. Vertigo protested breathlessly.
There came a second, even louder crash from the living room.
"Then please keep the door closed." Lysander seized Olivia's wrist and thrust her in with her mother.
"Hey. Do you mind?" Olivia cried indignantly.
"You'll be safer in here, Liv," said Charlie. "Safer still without that mirror." He grabbed the mirror as footsteps advanced, crunching over the broken glass.
Charlie could already feel the enchanter's green glare on his back, and the hand that held the mirror trembled violently. "I'm not afraid," he told himself. "I won't let go."
You are afraid. You will let go. It felt as though the awful voice was deep inside Charlie's head.
"I won't." He turned to face the enchanter.
A dark figure stood at the end of the long tiled hallway. Charlie squinted into the gloom. Was it him? Or had he turned into a shadow again?
"Give it to me and there's no harm done." This was a different voice, gentle and persuasive. "You have no need of it, Charlie. You can travel whenever you wish."
Charlie took a step toward the shadowy figure.
"Don't," hissed Lysander. "It's a trick." He leaped into the center of the hall and began to spin, faster and faster, while he chanted in a strange, musical language. When he came to rest, Charlie could hear a d
istant drumming that grew louder every second.
"My spirit ancestors," said Lysander.
I don't need help, thought Charlie. I'm strong. I can send this feeble ghost away.
As Charlie stepped closer to the shadow, the drums grew louder until the hall was filled with the sound.
"What's this?" said the enchanter. "A merry tune to make me dance. You fools!"
A brilliant flash showed Charlie that it was no feeble shadow he was facing. Every detail of the enchanter was thrown into sharp relief: the green robe patterned in gold, the studded leather belt, the sword in its jeweled scabbard, and the mantle of deeper green, edged in pearls.
"Give me the mirror," the enchanter commanded, "before it's too late."
"Never." Charlie held the mirror behind his back.
The drums stopped all at once, and in the sudden silence a troop of dark-skinned men appeared. They wore white robes and carried gleaming weapons: swords, knives, and axes.
"SO!" The enchanter lifted his sword and brought it whistling down onto the tiles. The whole floor shivered, and from between the tiles, razor-sharp spikes appeared. Lysander and Charlie tried in vain to grip the walls, but the floor heaved so violently they were forced onto their knees. Charlie clung to the mirror, though he longed to let it go, if only for a second, so that he could pull himself upright.
"Hold on, Charlie," croaked Lysander.
The white-robed warriors were now swinging their weapons across the ground. The floor stopped heaving and the dreadful spikes wilted like dead flowers. Charlie and Lysander got to their feet and steadied themselves against the wall.
The enchanter's second scream was so painful, Charlie had to cover his ears. The mirror slipped out of his hand but Lysander caught it, just in time. And then the battle began in earnest.
The enchanter flung fire and ice at the advancing spirits. He conjured up a storm of scorpions, a cloud of snakes, a monstrous giant, a saber-toothed tiger, and a dragon with two heads, but the spirit ancestors brushed them away as though they were made of paper.
Olivia and her mother couldn't resist opening the kitchen door a crack. The unbelievable battle scene made Mrs. Vertigo wonder if her hall would ever be the same again.
At length, with a final cry of defiance the enchanter retreated. By the time he vanished, he had become a weak and shivering version of his former self.
"Don't be fooled, Charlie," Lysander warned. "I don't think he's finished."
Their work done, Lysander's ancestors began to fade. The occasional flash of silver was the only hint that, moments ago, the hallway had been bristling with weapons.
When Tancred and Gabriel came in through the broken windows, Mrs. Vertigo decided they should all have spaghetti. Muffins not being quite substantial enough for such a special celebration.
After the meal, the four boys helped to clean up the broken glass. Mrs. Vertigo said she would get a man in to fix the window, though it might be a good idea to tell the police about the violent intruder.
"No point, Mom," said Olivia. "The police wouldn't know how to deal with him. Enchanters aren't on their list."
Charlie was eager to get the mirror home, though what he would do with it, he wasn't sure. Perhaps he could take it to Skarpo. As long as the count didn't have it, his mother couldn't be taken out of the world.
Charlie thought the mirror was safe, at least for a while. A furious battle had been won, and his elation made him careless. As he left the Vertigos' house the last person he expected to see was Joshua Tilpin.
One minute Charlie was holding the mirror in both hands, the next a magnetic force was dragging it away.
"NO!" cried Charlie, losing his grip.
The other boys ran up behind him but the mirror had flown into the road. There was a loud crack, and Joshua Tilpin bent to retrieve it. Charlie leaped toward him but Miss Chrystal, stepping out of nowhere, barred his way. Fixing him with her cold blue eyes, she hissed, "The Mirror of Amoret will never be yours."
Tancred and Lysander were already chasing Joshua down the road.
"They'll get him," Charlie cried furiously.
Miss Chrystal shook her head. "I don't think so," she said airily. Then she ambled away with a smile, as though it was all just a silly game.
"You're a witch!" Charlie called after her. "The worst kind."
Miss Chrystal had turned a corner, and now Charlie had lost sight of his friends. "I'm stupid, stupid, stupid!" He stamped his foot on the step.
"You couldn't have known," said Olivia. "Who would have thought that little beast would turn up?"
"I should have been on my guard." Charlie banged his fist against his forehead. "They saw you at Kingdom's. They were bound to follow. What am I going to do?"
"Tancred and Lysander are big boys," Mrs. Vertigo said soothingly. "Nice long legs. They're bound to catch the puny one."
They waited. Waited and waited, never moving from the step. Twenty minutes later, Charlie saw Lysander and Tancred tramping back up the road.
They looked exhausted. Charlie knew immediately that they had lost Joshua.
"We didn't lose him," panted Tancred. "We chased him to the park, but before we could catch him, a green figure slipped out of the trees, grabbed the mirror, and vanished."
"I felt like teaching the little squirt a lesson," muttered Lysander. "But what good would it have done?"
"The count will use it as soon as he can now," Charlie said wretchedly. "My mom could be waiting for him. She doesn't know what she's doing. By the time I get home she could be gone."
"Hold on, Charlie," said Gabriel. "The mirror cracked when it fell onto the road. I heard it. Maybe it won't work."
"I heard it, too." Olivia grabbed Charlie's arm. "Don't give up, Charlie. If the mirror's broken, the shadow can't travel."
"Maybe," Charlie said gloomily.
They agreed to meet later at the Pets' Cafe.
Animals would have to be collected, parents contacted, and another plan devised.
As the four boys walked down the road, Charlie noticed the large plastic bag Gabriel was carrying. In all the excitement the red cloak had been forgotten.
"Gabriel!" Charlie stopped dead. "That cloak you were wearing . . . was it . . .?"
The others came to a halt and Tancred said, "You didn't have time to tell Charlie, Gabe."
"Dad gave it to me," Gabriel said with an awkward smile. "He said I might find it useful. It's been in the family for ages, apparently."
"But, Gabe, did the cloak tell you anything?" Charlie demanded.
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact." Gabriel glanced at his watch. "Look, I've got to dash, Mom's waiting for me at the library."
"You're not going anywhere without us," said Tancred.
"Not with that cloak," Lysander added.
Charlie watched his three friends cross the road, still talking. When they got to the other side, they called, "See you later!"
Charlie raised his hand and ran home.
Number nine was eerily quiet. Charlie went upstairs and knocked on his uncle's door.
"Come in, Charlie!"
Uncle Paton looked over his glasses as Charlie leaped into the room. "Did you get it?"
Charlie stumbled over to his uncle's saggy armchair and dropped into it. "We got it," he said, "and then we lost it."
"What!" Paton tore off his glasses and swiveled around from his desk. "Please explain."
As clearly and steadily as he could, Charlie recounted every detail of the sensational events, but when it came to the most important detail of all, he couldn't hide his fear, and his voice shook with emotion.
"You saw your father." Paton leaped to his feet. "And you say that, all this time, he's been in Bloor's Academy? A piano teacher called Mr. Pilgrim? Whose depraved idea can it have been to keep him almost under our very noses?"
"Manfred's, I expect," said Charlie dismally. "Or Ezekiel's. Imagine, I talked to my very own father without knowing who he was. I bet they got a kick out of that."
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"Don't worry, Charlie. It's all over now," Paton said briskly. "We'll have him out of there in no time."
"You don't seem to understand, Uncle Paton. He still doesn't know who he is. He's so weak, nearly dead. If he gets out and finds Mom gone, then what's the use?" Charlie gave a terrible sigh. "It's Mom we have to save first."
Paton clapped a hand to his pocket. "The spell!" he declared. "Idiot that I am. I forgot it." He pulled a ragged scrap of parchment from his pocket.
"Spell?" said Charlie dubiously.
"Read it." His uncle thrust the parchment into his hands.
Charlie looked at Skarpo's sweeping black script.
He read the words once, twice, and then, to help him make sense of it, he read the spell aloud.
"Look to the forest, if ye seek the Kinge, for he is hidden there,
His robes are now but autumn leaves, his teares like ripened fruit,
Bloodred they fall and ne'er shall cease
Untille his children, ten of them, with lesse than twenty yeare,
Shalle meete in harmonic
And thrice they must walke, their fingers twined,
Around the Kinge, around, around, untille his teares are clear again,
Teares to wake the wandering souls
To keep them safe and bring them home.”
Charlie continued to stare at the spell as he said, "It sounds as if the king is a tree."
"There's no doubt of it," his uncle agreed.
"Skarpo found this in Bartholomew's diary, but where did it come from?" said Charlie.
"From the descendants of someone who helped the king become what he is now," said Paton.
"I think it was meant for the children who had to leave the castle, because the others were so evil." Charlie looked up at his uncle.
"It was also meant for their descendants," said Uncle Paton.
"And do you really think it could help my father?"
"It's all we have. And look at the words: Teares towake the wandering souls, To keep them safe and bring them home."
"There are only seven of us. It says here ten children must meet."
"I've been thinking about that," said his uncle. "There's your new little friend, for a start."