The room seemed peculiarly familiar.
It was the room from Deane’s magic book, the picture with me wearing a necklace of poodle toys.
Hastily, I took the toys out of my coat pocket and looked around for something I could string them on. The venetian blinds had an old cord to raise and lower them, so, biting off a length with my teeth, I assembled a makeshift concoction. For good measure, I added some stuff from the cigar box: my badge from Gaylin, the piece of brick with the letter P, and a couple of seashells.
The product wasn’t very pretty, yet it looked—like Deane’s altar—as if it had been designed for a purpose. It looked like The Real Thing.
I put one of the lamps on the floor on the far side of the beds. If anybody came in, they wouldn’t see me right away. Plus, I set some cards next to the cigar box. By the time anyone rounded the beds, I’d be laying out a game of solitaire.
Then I went into the bathroom and washed my face and hands and brushed my hair. I had that funny feeling between my legs, so I got a washcloth and washed that, too. Then I changed into my best flannel nightgown, the white one with tiny green flowers. I put the necklace on.
I started to sit down, but on second thought, the air was stuffy. With the window open, the after-midnight smell wafted in along with the sound of the sea, rumbling away far below.
The taste of the air and the night! A deep sense of excitement splashed up in me, a wave hitting a rock. My heart pounded like the surf, too, and I tried to sit down calmly, cross-legged, in front of the lamp. I opened the cigar box and took out Deane’s magic journal from the very bottom of the box.
Part of me thought it wouldn’t be there.
But, of course, it was. Small, red, the leather warm, as if it had been recently caressed. This time, I would see the book through. This time I was prepared, would not slam it shut in fear or horror. This time I was prepared. I would see the book through, and then I would trade it to Sammy.
I touched my necklace for security.
DANGER! TURN THE PAGE AT YOUR OWN RISK!
I turned the page.
FINAL WARNING! A CURSE ON THE PERSON WHO STEALS THIS BOOK, OR READS IT UNLAWFULLY.
Don’t farewell. Fare forward.
ANCIENT MAGICK & SECRETS, THE UNKNOWN
First there was the pen-and-ink drawing of me and Tommy. Okay. I could handle that.
I flipped the page.
Then, the picture of me riding on Sammy’s Snowland. You could see the village entering the fourth dimension behind me, the bands of light that connected the trees and the houses and the ocean glittering behind them.
I flipped the page.
There I was, wearing my necklace. Deane had gotten all the details right, down to the piece of brick with the letter P. Definitely, this was the hotel room: it had been faithfully captured in faded roses and lumpy beds.
Okay, I was anxious, my legs throbbed a little, but I was handling it.
I flipped the page. It was blank.
I flipped the next page, and the next, and the next. They were all blank!
I closed the book and tried to concentrate. This old building with shutters, which we were parked next to. Stan and Linwood were gone. The air smelled the way it did after midnight.
“You slept through all the good stuff. I must have pinched you six or seven times, but you were dead.”
“Where’d they go?”
“To check out the hotel. Linwood took her marbles and she’s furious with Stan because he’s been driving too fast. Over ten miles an hour. It was neat! We were on the edge of this really steep cliff and the road was foggy and you couldn’t see anything. Linwood kept screaming and grabbing the seat. You’d think she would have woken you up.”
Linwood must have been mad. She only took her marbles (to make sure the floors were level; she’d once had a bad dream about shifting floors) when she was really angry. “Is this Fort Bragg?”
“Yup. And there’s no Holiday Inn. Stan didn’t check on the road, so it’s his fault. He knows Linwood goes bananas over those hairpin turns.”
I was pretty glad I’d missed this episode.
Linwood opened her door and climbed in.
“How’re the floors?” June asked.
“They’re all right, but the bathroom leaves something to be desired. They’re waking up the maid to clean it now.”
You didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to realize that Linwood had been raised in a wealthy family. Nana had taken to bed for three months when Linwood eloped with Stan. Once I’d asked her why she’d married him. All I got back was a dark look and the promise that I would not be allowed to date until I was sixteen. As if I would ever date.
“What a perfect nightmare we’ve been through, Pet.” Linwood smoothed her hair back on either side, fingers as combs. “I’m so glad you were able to sleep through it. Your father drove like a maniac.”
“Even when we screamed,” June added.
“Especially when we screamed.”
Usually I was such a light sleeper. Odd. But over.
“And we never got dinner,” June continued.
“How come?” I felt a hunger-tweeze.
“Nothing was open. All the restaurants are closed this time of year.”
Stan opened his side of the car and leaned in. “Look,” he said, “the guy said he’d fix us something right now, if we go directly inside. We can put our stuff in the rooms afterwards.”
“Eat dinner without showering first? And what do you mean, ‘the guy’?”
“The owner of the hotel.”
We were all quiet, hoping Linwood would decide pro-food.
“I have to tell him right away if we’re taking him up on this.” Stan was apologetic.
“Well, good heavens!” said Linwood. “I had no idea we were in such a rush!”
Everybody sighed.
“By all means then, rush right in. Take the girls. Food, really. I prefer to shower and enjoy my drink.”
I felt piggy, opting for dinner over cleanliness and everything that civilized virtue implied. I opened my mouth to say that I, too, preferred to relax rather than stuff, then hesitated. Could you really smell steak in the air? At this late hour? Steak and a baked potato, swimming in butter and sour cream and chives. Fresh green peas. Chocolate cake and milk.
But what was niggling at the back of my mind? As if in my ear, I heard: This is your big chance to check out the book. Would you really pick food over magic?
“I’m not hungry.” Saliva was gathering in the corners of my mouth.
“Okay,” Stan said. He walked around to the trunk. By the time I was out in the cool night air, he already had the bags out. June had disappeared in the direction of the restaurant.
Ten minutes later, Stan and June were occupied, Linwood was next door showering, and I was alone in the faded glory of the antique hotel room, so odd after all the Holiday Inns. The big roses on the wall were wasn’t right—if this was all the book contained, why would Sammy be so hot to get his hands on it?
You thought the book had to be full of secrets, important stuff—who knew what?—about mysterious things.
Fingering my necklace, I tried to feel important, like I was a part of everything, entitled to the book and the necklace and the cigar box and the truth, even though the air was green and cloudy, like at Madame Miraculo’s, and you couldn’t see the luminous fibers that connected everything the way they did in Sammy’s Snowland.