The Magic Misfits - Neil Patrick Harris Page 0,53
Safety in numbers.”
Ridley thought of Presto the parrot flying around over Mineral Wells, screeching out Mr. Vernon’s secret message far and wide about where to meet.
Speaking of Mr. Vernon, he suddenly looked a bit more energized, welcoming everyone, shaking hands, introducing his husband and the rest of the Misfits to whoever was standing closest.
Suddenly, there arose a different kind of knocking on the auditorium door. It came not only from the lobby area but also from backstage, near the service entrance where workers could load in theatrical sets.
The knocking became a pounding. The doors shook on their hinges. Worried, the Misfits looked to one another.
Soon, Ridley realized that this pounding was not coming from members of Vernon’s Magic Circle asking to be let in.
Kalagan’s mesmerized army had arrived.
TWENTY-THREE
A great booming sound rang out as the wood of the lobby doors split. Hands reached through the cracks like monsters in a scary movie. They pulled away the debris and tossed it aside.
Ridley backed up against the front edge of the stage near the orchestra pit. When her friends joined her, the guardians formed a barrier between them and the people who were clamoring through the now open doorway. Ridley recognized many citizens of Mineral Wells, whose eyes seemed glazed over, who were mouthing the words What have I done? The few faces that leapt out in particular were the librarian who had smashed her project the previous weekend, the cashier who Carter and Leila had confronted in the grocery store, and the two burly goons who had been Kalagan’s guards in the ice cave that morning.
The crowd rushed down the aisle, leaping over rows of chairs, their chanting rising higher and higher. A cracking noise exploded from the back of the stage. Ridley saw that the doors there had been knocked down too, metal slabs lying crumpled on the floor. More of Kalagan’s mesmerized followers came through, crowding onto the stage.
Ridley felt such panic, she didn’t even think to prepare her chair’s defenses. She reached out to Theo and to Leila.
“What’s happening?” Leila asked. “What do they want?”
“This was always going to be Kalagan’s endgame,” Theo answered. “He wants to destroy everything Mr. Vernon holds dear. And he wants the Circle for himself.”
“I’m scared,” Izzy whimpered.
“Hi, Scared,” Olly answered. “I’m Olly.” Izzy snickered and then clutched him tightly.
Mr. Vernon held a wand over his head. He let out a whoop and then called out his favorite magic words, “SIM SALA BIM!” When the mesmerized goons did not stop coming, he flicked his wrist, and a flurry of white sparks blossomed from the tip of the wand, pouring forth like fireworks on the Fourth of July. He leapt jauntily forward, bending one knee like a sword fighter, spewing sparks at the faces of the closest attackers.
The other members of the Circle responded with their own cry. “SIM SALA BIM!”
Ridley knew the call was merely misdirection, but still, the words felt powerful, as if they could release the mesmerized townspeople from their supposed spell.
The group of six guardians tightened around the Misfits, each of them raising fists or handbags or strings of costume jewelry as potential weapons. The rest of the Circle rushed at the citizens of Mineral Wells, igniting flash paper, dropping smoke pellets, swinging glowing-string lassos over their heads, blowing glitter bombs from palms, spraying water from bow ties, vanishing underneath cloaks, pulling billy clubs from out of wide top hats, revealing bunches of paper flowers, tying knots in shoelaces and necklaces, levitating, changing outfits with the snapping of fingers. It was all distraction, Ridley knew, to keep the intruders at bay and allow the rest of the group to get out of the line of attack.
Mr. Vernon appeared in front of the Misfits with the Other Mr. Vernon. “Follow us,” he said. The six kids and six guardians raced around the orchestra pit to the side of the stage where a ramp curled up to the darkened wings.
The sounds of fighting echoed all around. As the group dashed out into the center of the stage toward the ghost light stand, Ridley managed to grab a microphone from the proscenium, dragging the cord behind her.
“This way,” said the Other Mr. Vernon, turning toward the stage doors. But that direction was blocked by several of the mesmerized townspeople, who were chanting. “What have I done? What have I done?”
There was no way out—not from up here, not unless they were willing to plow through these people, risking injury or worse.
Ridley thought again