“I’m more limited than most magicians,” Mr. Stott said. “I don’t have servants or engineered apprentices. I’m trying to keep it simple. I make delicious treats, both regular and enchanted. I tend my store. And I try to keep an eye on you kids.”
“We owe John,” Nate said. “Without him, we would never have survived Mrs. White.” He tried not to let his eyes stray to Lindy. She had heard them discuss Mrs. White before. She knew that Mrs. White had owned this store. But Lindy had no idea that she used to be Mrs. White. In her mind, she was simply Lindy Stott, an adopted orphan with no clear memories of her life before Mr. Stott took her in.
“He put everything right for us after all the craziness,” Summer said. “He and Mozag.”
“John would not want you kids involved,” Mr. Stott asserted.
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need our help,” Nate countered.
“Or that he wouldn’t be grateful,” Trevor added.
Mr. Stott sighed. “Before he disappeared, John warned me that something big was going on locally.”
“You never told us,” Pigeon accused.
“Of course not,” Mr. Stott said. “Any such information would only have tickled your curiosity.”
“What is it?” Summer asked.
“He never specified,” Mr. Stott replied. “He was investigating. He just wanted me to stay alert and to keep you kids away from Walnut Hills.”
“How were you supposed to do that?” Trevor asked. “Walnut Hills is the next town over. We live right next door.”
“If you haven’t noticed how I’ve kept you away,” Mr. Stott said, “then I’m doing my job correctly. I’ve done my best to suggest excursions here in Colson, or to the west of town, and to discourage any activities that might take you east into Walnut Hills.”
“My mom shops at the Walnut Hills Mall all the time,” Pigeon said. “Should I warn her?”
Mr. Stott shrugged. “I have no idea what the danger entails.”
“We should at least hear what the Battiatos have to say,” Nate proposed. “Partly in case we can help John, partly so we can learn more about the threat.”
“I agree,” Lindy said. “We can’t turn our backs on John. He’s like an uncle.”
Mr. Stott scratched his beard uncomfortably. “If the Battiatos contacted you, they are here to draw you in. These men are professionals. If you speak with them, you’ll end up wanting to work with them.”
“If it really means helping John, I already want to work with them,” Nate said. “Without him, I would be stuck as an old man.”
“The Battiatos are legitimate,” Mr. Stott said reluctantly. “But you could become embroiled in something very precarious. Think about it before you rush in. If somebody got the best of John, that person spells serious trouble.”
“If somebody got the best of John,” Pigeon remarked, “we’re probably already in major trouble. Lots of people in town almost had their lives ruined by Mrs. White last year, and they had no idea. I don’t want to get blindsided. I’d rather be able to put up a fight.”
“Where did they want to meet?” Mr. Stott wondered.
“Schwendiman’s All-You-Can-Eat,” Lindy said.
“That’s practically in Walnut Hills!” Mr. Stott protested.
“Lots of Colson is practically in Walnut Hills,” Summer pointed out. “That happens when you share a border.”
“I don’t like it,” Mr. Stott said. “Why can’t they come here?”
“Wouldn’t they worry about entering the lair of a magician?” Pigeon asked.
“They already set up the meeting,” Nate said. “We don’t have another way to contact them. Besides, Schwendiman’s is usually crowded. It isn’t like they’re luring us away to some remote place.”
“I’m not worried about them harming you directly,” Mr. Stott said. “I’m worried about them getting you involved in a potentially hazardous situation.”
“We don’t even know what they want yet,” Lindy observed.
“I prefer it that way,” Mr. Stott said. “I try to be open-minded. I let you kids use magical candy more than many would consider prudent. But you don’t want to get involved with magical enforcers. The best of them have poor life expectancies.”
“We get that it could be risky,” Nate insisted. “We don’t want to do this for fun. We’re worried about John. And if something fishy is going on right beside us in Walnut Hills, we’d be smart to learn whatever information the Battiatos can share.”
Mr. Stott shrugged. “I expressed my concerns. I can’t stop you kids from going. I’m directly responsible only for Lindy.”
“Can I go?” Lindy pleaded.
“Not all of you need to hear their proposal,” Mr. Stott said. He took Lindy by the hand. “Knowing what I know, I would be a poor father if I let you consort with the Battiato brothers. If your friends insist on meeting with them, they can fill us in later.”
“That’s so unfair!” Lindy fumed. “I’m the one who spotted the tiny rosebud on Ziggy!”
“What?” Mr. Stott asked.
“It’s a way to tell them apart,” Pigeon said.
Mr. Stott looked at Nate. “Will you be going?”
“I just wanted to make sure they weren’t bad guys,” Nate said. “I get that something dangerous is probably going on, but if it might help John, I’ll be at that meeting.”
Mr. Stott gave a nod. “Keep your guard up. Make no promises or commitments. Don’t answer any questions they have no business asking.”
“We’ll be careful,” Summer promised.
Mr. Stott faced Lindy. “Your friends will tell you all about it.”
“What if I go anyway?” Lindy asked defiantly.
“Then you will reap the consequences,” Mr. Stott said. “Tomorrow I want you here with me until your friends come to share what they have learned.”
*****
Pigeon checked the hour as he approached his front door. It was later than the time he had told his Aunt Rhonda to expect him. Fortunately, his parents were away on an anniversary retreat, and Aunt Rhonda was not nearly as fussy as his mother.
Hurrying through the door, Pigeon raced up to his room. He wanted to get rid of his tattered clothes before his aunt saw him.
“Is that you, Paul?” Aunt Rhonda called.
“Yes!” he replied. “Just a second. I have to use the bathroom.”
He had worn old clothes, knowing they would probably get mangled. He hurriedly changed into a more presentable outfit, then pulled a shoe box out from under his bed. It contained a modest rock collection, along with his supply of Brain Feed. He scooped some pebbles of Brain Feed into his pocket, replaced the shoe box, and hustled downstairs.
Aunt Rhonda leaned against the kitchen counter perusing a gossip magazine. She looked up as Pigeon entered. “Just because it stays light forever this time of year doesn’t mean the clocks stop ticking. Your sisters are already in bed.”
“Sorry, I was riding bikes with my friends. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
Aunt Rhonda shrugged. “I am the oldest in your mom’s family. The oldest has to deal with all sorts of extra hassles. There should be some perks.”
Pigeon grinned. “Do you mind if I go outside to see Diego?”
“Go ahead. But then get ready for bed afterward.”
“Deal.”
As Pigeon headed out the back door, his Labrador padded over to him, then paused, looking up expectantly. Mr. Stott had fiddled with his Brain Feed recipe over the past several months, trying to increase the duration of the effect. No animal had received close to the quantities Diego had consumed. Not only had the heightened intelligence and capacity for speech granted by the kibbles started lasting longer, a permanent increase in intelligence was gradually becoming evident. Even without the Brain Feed, Diego had become a better companion than ever and could now reliably respond to a wide variety of commands.
Pigeon cupped some Brain Feed in his palm and dumped the bits of food on the patio. Di
ego gobbled up all traces in no time.
“Much better,” Diego sighed. “I can tell something is off when I don’t have the Brain Feed. As soon as I eat, my memories return with sharper clarity. It’s as if I remember the dream better after awakening.”
“Mr. Stott thinks eventually the effect could become permanent,” Pigeon said.
“Wouldn’t that be nice? No more sleepwalking through most of my life. Aren’t you up a little late?”
“We had an eventful day.”
Diego sat up attentively. “Tell me about it.”
“John Dart might be in trouble. Looks like we have some new bad guys in town.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
“We might,” Pigeon admitted. “We were at Mr. Stott’s tonight. He’s worried about us getting involved. Honestly, so am I. We were in over our heads last time.”
“How did you hear about the trouble?”
“Some friends of John tracked us down. They’re magical police, like him.”
“Who are the bad guys? What do they want?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Pigeon replied. “We’ll get details tomorrow.”
“Do you want details?”
Pigeon sat down, placing his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. “I’m not sure. What if we end up trying to deal with another Mrs. White?”
Diego shook his coat. “Not a cheerful thought. Speaking of our former archenemy, how is Lindy?”
Pigeon gave a neutral shrug. “She’s sad that Mr. Stott doesn’t want her meeting with the magical police.”
“They know about her,” Diego said.
“Probably. Mozag and John Dart know, so I expect these guys do as well. I just think Mr. Stott is worried what bad magicians might do if they find out about her.”
“Like try to bring her memory back?”
“I don’t know,” Pigeon said. “Mr. Stott examined the recipe for the Clean Slate. He says making one is really difficult. He doesn’t think he could do it. But he assured us that the effects of the Clean Slate should be permanent. He was worried for a while that mixing the Clean Slate with water from the Fountain of Youth could have weakened the magic. Different types of magic don’t always blend well. But after studying the issue, he determined that the effects of the Clean Slate would actually be strengthened by the changes induced by the fountain.”
“So nobody can bring her memory back,” Diego verified.
“As far as we can tell,” Pigeon said. “Of course, the other worry is that deep down Lindy is naturally evil. It might only be a matter of time before she heads down a dark path again.”
“The old nature-versus-nurture argument,” Diego said. “Hopefully Belinda turned evil because of the way she was raised. Her behavior might have been influenced by bad examples or difficult circumstances.”
“Mr. Stott has searched,” Pigeon said, “but he hasn’t learned much about her younger days.”
“You’re worried about her,” Diego said. “You like her.”
“I like her a lot. Am I nuts? She’s cute and really fun to hang out with. Most kids don’t think a lot before they speak. She’s different. She listens and she’s smart. She might not have her memories, but she has a quick mind and an adult vocabulary. That can be hard to find.”
“You have an unusual mind yourself,” Diego said. “In some ways, you’re older than your years. It must make you lonely sometimes.”
“None of my friends are dumb,” Pigeon hurriedly clarified. “But kids like Lindy are pretty impossible to find. It’s just weird to like her so much when she used to be a dangerous, magical old lady. She could have killed us! Part of me is always nervous she’s going to turn psychotic.”
“Considering who she used to be, that is probably a healthy concern.”
Pigeon rubbed Diego’s head, then scratched behind his neck. “I’m glad I have you to talk with.”
“I’m not called man’s best friend for nothing,” Diego replied. “That feels wonderful. Can you scratch a little lower? Mmmm, that’s the spot.”
“What should I do about the meeting tomorrow?”
“With the magical cops?”
Pigeon nodded.
“You’re already involved,” Diego said. “You might as well go learn the specifics.”
“I was afraid you might say that.”
Chapter Three
The Battiato Brothers
Schwendiman’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet stood in the parking lot of a strip mall near a pet shop, a frozen yogurt franchise, and a grocery store. Nate, Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon stashed their bikes before walking around to the front. Nate found the Battiato twins waiting just beyond the door, dressed in suits, their expressions neutral.
One of the brothers consulted a heavy wristwatch. “Right on time. If anything, thirty seconds early.”
“Ziggy appreciates punctuality,” Victor said.
Ziggy straightened his suit coat. “It’s considerate.”
“We’re all here,” Victor told the hostess, a young brunette with some purple in her hair.
The restaurant was fairly busy. Diners milled about, selecting food from counters protected by sneeze guards. Much of the food was kept warm in steam trays. The waitress guided the Battiatos to a padded booth that curved two-thirds of the way around a table. It looked just the right size for a party of six.
Knowing he would head to the buffet later, Nate had eaten a small breakfast. The sight of all the food had his stomach rumbling.
Ziggy motioned for the kids to scoot in. Victor sat at one end of the curved bench, Ziggy at the other.
“Have you eaten here before?” the hostess asked.
“Not this particular establishment,” Victor said. “But believe me, we know the drill.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “Enjoy your meal.”
Food first?” Ziggy asked generally.
“Sure,” Trevor seconded.
“I could eat,” Nate said.
Victor and Ziggy stood up in unison. Ziggy rolled his head in a slow circle, making his neck pop. Victor noisily cracked his knuckles, surveying the restaurant stoically.
Ziggy nodded at Victor. “It’s showtime.”
Nate bit his lip to stifle a laugh.
Nate and the others followed Victor and Ziggy over to the food counters. Pigeon collected a chilled plate and began putting lettuce onto it.
“What are you doing?” Nate asked him.
“I’ve come here before,” Pigeon said. “I guess salad first is a habit.”
“No parents today,” Nate reminded his friend. “You can get anything.”
Shrugging, Pigeon added croutons and some ranch dressing, then grabbed a roll and a couple of squares of butter. “I don’t mind salad. I’ll get other stuff later.”
Nate filled his first plate with fries and tater tots, putting plenty of ketchup and ranch on the side. He had to look around for a moment to find the forks and napkins. Then he returned to the table.
Ziggy stood beside the table, his pair of plates heaped with hot wings, thinly sliced prime rib, and lamb skewers. He chuckled as Nate slid down the bench next to Pigeon. “Rookie mistake.”
“What?” Nate asked, glancing over at the husky man.
“You’re loading up on fries,” Ziggy said. “Your friend has salad and bread. That’s all filler. Like soda. You have to save room for the good stuff.”
Victor approached the table, his plates heavy with meat. He stood aside so Pigeon could enter the booth next to Summer. Once the four kids were seated, Ziggy and Victor took their places at the ends.
Ziggy stared across at Victor’s plates. “I missed the bacon-wrapped turkey.”
“Which is why I brought enough for both of us,” Victor replied, giving some to his brother. “I told you not to rush. A good general surveys his battlefield.”
“I found good grub,” Ziggy said, trading plates with his brother.
“You guys take this pretty seriously,” Nate commented.
“This is our domain,” Ziggy said, indicating the room with his fork. “We were made for this.”
“Welcome to the big show,” Victor said, taking a large bite of prime rib.
“Not bad,” Ziggy said, licking his lips.
“Why don’t you get started so I can find out?” Victor complained.
“Wait,” Trevor asked, brow furrowed, “why does he have to start for you to find out?”
“And why did you guys switch plates?” Summer wondered.
“That’s an observant question,” Ziggy said, stabbing a chunk of bacon-wrapped turkey with his fork. He deposited the greasy morsel into his mouth.
Victor nodded appreciatively, then dabbed his lips with a napkin. “Our enemies know, so you can as well. Ziggy and I share an unusual connection. I taste only what he tastes and I smell only what he smells. The food I eat nourishes me, but he gets all the sensations.”
“Vice versa for me,” Ziggy said. “If I want to try the wings, Victor has to eat them.”
“Weird,” Pigeon said. “What about sight and hearing?”
“Thankfully we see and hear for ourselves,” Victor said. “Otherwise it would be complicated. We sometimes get brief glimpses of what the other sees or hears. Flashes.”
“But you can’t smell or taste for yourselves,” Pigeon said.
“Not a bit,” Ziggy said.
“It’s no picnic when he uses the restroom,” Victor confided.
“Hey,” Ziggy complained, waving his hands. “We’re trying to eat here!”
Nate had a tough time resisting the urge to laugh. He tried not to make eye contact with Summer, Trevor, or Pigeon; based on their muffled giggles, he figured it would only make him erupt.
Pigeon was the first to recover. “What about touch?” he asked.
“We feel pressure for ourselves,” Victor said, “but pain is like odors. The other guy senses it.”
“If I get injured,” Ziggy said, “my body suffers the damage, but he feels the pain.”
“Takes most of the fun out of punching him,” Victor remarked.
“We can also share certain physical attributes,” Ziggy said. “It’s hard to explain, easier to demonstrate. You’ll catch on.”