around the lobby. He gave a noncommittal grunt before shuffling off toward the desk where Quinn usually sat. “Wait here,” he said over his shoulder. A couple of minutes later, after digging around in a drawer behind the concierge station, he returned with a scrap of paper on which he’d scrawled some words. He handed it over.
“Fred Tithe,” she read aloud.
“His middle name was in there too, but I didn’t know if you needed it. I thought it was pretty weird.”
“It won’t hurt,” Ridley answered, flicking her hand near the arm of her chair, a pen appearing between her fingers and thumb.
Dean leaned close and whispered, “Punier.”
“Punier?” Ridley echoed. “What kind of name is Punier?”
“My thought exactly,” said Dean. He broke out into laughter, his voice crackling like static. “Puny. Punier. Puniest!” He guffawed.
“Thanks for this,” she said, backing away. “I’ll—uh… I’ll let you know how the rest of my project goes.”
Dean composed himself. He waved her closer. “I know it’s not for a research project.”
“Of course it is!” said Ridley, putting on a surprised voice.
“It’s nice to see you all together again,” he whispered.
Ridley’s face flushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your magic friends,” he said conspiratorially. “You’re all dressed up today. You’re rehearsing for another show! It’s what the twins were hinting at earlier, wasn’t it?”
Ridley felt cornered. What if Dean talked to someone? “It’s a secret,” she said quietly. “No one can know. Not yet. We’ve got some preparing to do.”
Dean pretended to lock his lips. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said, then tipped his hat and went back to his place near the door.
THIRTEEN
Have we really reached thirteen already? Ugh! An unlucky number for an unlucky chapter!
Since the Magic Misfits need all the luck they can get, let’s fill these pages with as many lucky things as we can think of.
I’ll start:
1. Pennies
2. Rainbows
3. The laughter of babies
4. Four-leaf clovers
5. The ringing of bells
6. Birthday wishes
7. Spare eyelashes lying in someone’s palm
8. Black cats (Yes, I know many might consider them unlucky. But this is utter poppycock. They are, in fact, supremely lucky.)
9. Blue birds
10. A pinch of salt over your shoulder
11. The number 11
12. Drummers drumming
13. Mr. Vernon’s ace of spades card
Oh no! I can only think of thirteen things! Even more unlucky!
Quick, come up with one more lucky thing, and then let’s turn away from this stressful section.
14.
FOURTEEN
“Fred Punier Tithe,” Leila read off the paper when Ridley handed it to her.
The group had moved into the secluded lounge that was filled with the potted plants, just off the lobby and outside the kitchen where Leila’s poppa worked.
“Fred P. Tithe doesn’t sound like a real name,” Carter added.
“My thought exactly,” said Ridley.
“Tithe,” Theo echoed. “That’s an actual word. Do any of you know what it means?”
“A tithe is a kind of tax,” said Ridley. “A payment. But that… doesn’t make sense. Does it?”
Leila offered, “Maybe Mr. Tithe’s name is supposed to be a message from Kalagan. We know he’s a crook, a con artist. Is he expecting a payment from us? Payment to make him and his mesmerized goons leave us alone?”
“Why wouldn’t he just come out and tell us?” said Carter. “If he wants a payment, it would be helpful to know what kind he wants!”
“He likes to play games,” said Leila. “To make us decipher his puzzles. To make us wonder if we actually know what we think we know.”
Theo squinted at Ridley. “You look like an idea is blooming somewhere in there.”
“Ooh!” said Izzy. “I love when Ridley’s ideas bloom. They’re so pretty.”
“We’re looking at the wrong part of the name,” Ridley responded. “Dean said it himself. What kind of name is Punier?”
“I don’t know,” said Olly, eyes wide with expectation. “What kind?” He looked like he was expecting Ridley to answer with a punch line.
Leila gasped. “An anagram.”
“Anna-who?” Olly asked, disappointed.
Izzy patted his shoulder. “They’re saying that the rude guest gave the hotel a made-up name.”
“Not only that,” said Theo. “But a made-up name whose letters can be rearranged to spell something else.”
“Like a secret message,” said Olly. “Anagram! I remember that from when the ventriloquist visited and there was that secret message in his marquee poster. Magic Misfits Crumble?”
“Ex-actly,” said Ridley.
Izzy shook her head. “But I like my eggs over easy.”
Olly looked excited to keep this going. “I like my eggs—”
Ridley held up her pen like a sword. “The sooner we start decoding, the sooner we can figure out who this guest actually was.”
They broke into groups of two,