The Name of This Book Is Secret (6 page)

“Yeah, so?”

“So you never had a dad?”

Cass hesitated, avoiding Max-Ernest’s eyes.

“Well, actually, I did,” she said after a moment. “He died when I was three—he was electrocuted.”

“Electrocuted? Wow!” said Max-Ernest, clearly very impressed. “Like in an electric chair? Did he kill someone?”

“No! It was from lightning, dummy. He was camping. There was a storm. And he was tying his food to a tree branch—you know, so bears couldn’t get it?—and then suddenly a lightning bolt hit the tree.”

“Oh. I guess that was bad luck, huh?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, it’s kind of a secret. I mean, not a secret secret. Just—I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Why? If he didn’t kill anybody or anything, what’s the big deal?”

“I just don’t like people feeling sorry for me and stuff. I mean, I hardly even remember him.”

“Okay, I won’t talk it about then. But—”

“No buts. We have to call to find out where the magician’s house is. C’mon—”

Without saying anything more, she headed toward the phone booth down the road, Sebastian at her heels and Max-Ernest straggling behind.

A magician’s house is impossible to find. At least that is what Cass was beginning to think.

“Are you
sure
this is the right street?” she asked.

“How could I be sure? I’ve never been here before,” Max-Ernest pointed out.

“Do you
think
it’s the right street then?”

“Well, the sign said—”

Wait! Stop! Hold on!

I just realized I was about to reveal the name of the magician’s street. That would have been a serious mistake. It’s one thing for Cass and Max-Ernest to make the ill-fated journey themselves; I could never live with myself if you placed yourself in the same danger they did.

Let me begin again. This time, I promise to pay attention:

A magician’s house is impossible to find. At least that is what Cass was beginning to think.

“Are you
sure
this is the right street?” she asked.

“How could I be sure? I’ve never been here before,” Max-Ernest pointed out.

“Do you
think
it’s the right street then?”

(Now watch this: I’ve come up with a very novel way of hiding the street name. I’m going to leave it blank.)

“Well, the sign said ____ Road,” Max-Ernest continued. “And the address that real estate lady gave us was on ____ Road. But maybe she guessed we weren’t really grown-ups when we called, and she gave us the wrong street on purpose. Or maybe somebody put the wrong street sign up. Or maybe there are two ____ Roads. Or maybe the magician moved. Before he was dead, I mean. And for some reason, they still had his old address. And they were trying to sell the wrong house. But then, I guess this would still be the right street for
that
house—”

“Forget it! Let’s just go a little farther.”

“How far is a lit—”

“Aargh! Why do I even bother talking to you?”

Cass was becoming very impatient with Max-Ernest’s strictly logical way of thinking. He reminded her of the artificial intelligence program she had tried at school; he only gave you the answer you wanted if you asked the right way. The difference was: you could turn off the artificial intelligence program. Turning off Max-Ernest was not an option.

They had been walking along a winding street of the sort that creeps upward without you quite realizing it, and by now they were high up on a heavily wooded hill. They hadn’t passed any houses for about forty minutes, and none were visible ahead.

Even Sebastian seemed tired. Like most elderly bassets, he had a bad back, and it was a long trip for him. He kept barking in a way that sounded an awful lot like the words “When are we going to get there?”

Just when Cass was on the verge of giving up, Sebastian started tugging on his leash.

“I think he smells something. Maybe the house is around that curve,” Cass said. “If it’s not, we’ll turn around.”

“You mean this curve or that—?”

She gave Max-Ernest a warning look and he stopped in the middle of his question.

As soon as they rounded the curve that Cass had indicated they ran into a big
FOR SALE
sign attached to a roadblock on the side of the street. The sign was bright yellow and decorated with balloons so you couldn’t miss it if you tried. Under the words there was a picture of Gloria smiling toothily. A big arrow pointed to a pathway that otherwise would not have been visible, it was so overgrown.

After a short but thorny walk, they reached a clearing that must have served for the magician as a front yard. Cass stared. Max-Ernest stared. (Sebastian would have stared, too, but he was blind.) They couldn’t believe they were standing in front of the right house. Was
this
what a “quirky and offbeat­­ house looked like? It looked so
normal.
Nothing about the house suggested a magician might have lived there. It was just a plain white cottage with black shutters. The only thing that distinguished the magician’s house from any other was that it was very, very small; it looked like it had all of one room.

They tried peeking in the windows but the curtains were closed. Screwing up her courage, Cass knocked on the door.

Nobody answered.

“We’re going to have to break in,” she said, doing her best to sound as if she did this kind of thing all the time.

“Really?” asked Max-Ernest, alarmed. He hadn’t considered the possibility of a break-in.

“How else are we going to get inside?” asked Cass, taking a screwdriver out of her backpack. “Anyway, it’s not really breaking in because we’re helping the magician, and it’s his house.”

“I’m not sure that makes any sense—”

“C’mon. Let’s see if we can get any of these windows open.”

Trying not to let him see how nervous she was, Cass started pulling on the windows, looking for the loosest one.

Max-Ernest hesitated at the door. On a whim, he tried the doorknob. It turned.

“Hey, it’s open!” he said.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” asked Cass, relieved but also a little frustrated that she wouldn’t have the chance to practice her window-prying technique.

As soon as they stepped inside, they realized the house wasn’t quite as normal as it had seemed. Instead of a living room, or even an entry hall, they were standing in a tiny, wood-paneled room about the size and shape of a coat closet. There were no windows, or even any doors, other than the one they had come through.

“You think there’s some kind of secret door?” asked Cass, examining the wood paneling. There didn’t seem to be any hidden knobs or hinges.

“It doesn’t look like it,” said Max-Ernest. “Hey—”

Without warning, a breeze had shut the door behind them. And now another door was sliding shut in front of it. They were trapped.

“Now what?” said Max-Ernest.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been stuck like this,” Cass reluctantly admitted.

Then she noticed the two buttons sticking out of a panel in the corner of the room. “Look, it’s an elevator!”

Cass pressed one button, then the other. Nothing happened. “How do you think we start it?” she asked.

Max-Ernest pointed to a small sign above a speaker. It said,
What’s the magic word?

“Abracadabra!” said Cass.

Nothing happened.

“Open sesame!” said Max-Ernest.

Nothing happened.

“Hocus pocus!” said Cass.

Nothing happened.

“Simon says, go down!” said Max-Ernest.

Nothing happened.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” said Cass. “I know the magic word.” She looked directly at the speaker and very carefully pronounced the word “Please.”

As if it heard her, the elevator groaned, and started to descend. Silently, Cass thanked Mrs. Johnson for being such a stickler.

“I hate manners,” said Max-Ernest.

“I think it’s supposed to be funny,” said Cass. “You know like people always say ‘What’s the magic word?’ But this time it’s really magic.”

“It’s not really magic, it’s electronic. It’s voice-activated.”

“I know! It’s just a joke.”

“Oh, right. Ha!” said Max-Ernest, not really getting it.

When they got out of the elevator they found themselves in a typical, average, everyday sort of house. It had a living room and a dining room. It had a bedroom and a bathroom. It had a laundry room and a kitchen. It had all the things most houses have. With one small but critical difference: the magician’s house was entirely underground.

It was also empty.

“Gloria must have gotten rid of everything. She’s that real estate agent,” whispered Cass.

“Why are you whispering?” whispered Max-Ernest.

“I don’t know....Hello? Anyone here?” Cass asked, still not very loud. No answer. She repeated her question, forcing herself to shout. But all she got in response was a louder echo.

There wasn’t a single book or picture or piece of furniture or anything personal of any sort left in the house. Nonetheless, as they walked around, Cass could feel the personality of the dead magician. The floorboards were worn in the places he had walked over and over. The closets showed his handprints. And the wood-paneled walls seemed to have a special sheen where his shoulders had rubbed against them.

“I think he was a nice man,” said Cass.

“How can you tell?” asked Max-Ernest.

“I just can.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

The only place that didn’t show any sign of the magician was the kitchen, where everything was either brand-new or newly painted. You would never know that anyone had used the kitchen before, let alone that there had been a fire. Sebastian, however, seemed to find the kitchen particularly interesting. He kept raising his head and sniffing, as if the room was haunted by aromas of the past.

Cass tried to sniff in the same direction. “I think I smell it—do you?”

“What? The paint?” asked Max-Ernest.

“The sulfur smell!”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe. Well, not really. But my nose is kind of stuffy. I have a deviated septum.”

“Is there anything you don’t have?” asked Cass sarcastically. “C’mon. There’s nothing in here. Maybe there’s a clue somewhere else in the house.”

“What kind of clue are we looking for again?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

As they reentered the living room, the dog broke loose from Cass’s grip and lumbered over to a corner bookshelf.

“What’s he growling at?” Max-Ernest asked nervously.

“Probably just a bug.”

“You think it’s one of those magic bookcases and there’s a secret room behind it?”

“Those are just in movies,” said Cass confidently.

They looked under the shelf but they couldn’t see anything.

When they stood up, Cass looked curiously at Max-Ernest. He was bouncing on his feet and clenching his hands.

“I think I...I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” he stammered.

“Well, then go.”

“You think it’s okay?”

“Yeah, why not? You know, if there’s a nuclear war and we’re all living in an underground bunker, you can’t be so embarrassed about it. Everybody’s got to go sometimes.”

Cass waited as Max-Ernest shut himself into the bathroom. She tried not to listen, but every sound in the magician’s house was magnified. Besides, boys always peed loudly.

Finally, she heard the toilet flush.

Then she heard two screams. One sounded like Max-Ernest. The other sounded like no one—no one human, that is—at all.