The Thief of Mirrors

By Pierdomenico Baccalario and Iacopo Bruno

Aiby Lily is in danger! A special reunion of the Enchanted Emporium’s shopkeeper families turned out to be a deadly trap — and Lily’s talented father is powerless to stop it. Now Finley McPhee needs to rescue his friend and find out where the meeting of the seven families is being held, all while fending off the evil Semueld Askell. But along the way, Finley will finally come face to face with a part of himself that he never wanted to meet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Capstone Young Readers
• Release date: Aug 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781623705671

Book preview

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One:

ANTS, LEADERS, & COFFEE GROUNDS

Chapter Two:

A STANDOFF, LOST PUDDING, & A PUDDLE

Chapter Three:

MAN TO MAN, THINGS UNSAID, & THE DARK

Chapter Four:

STONES, BONES, & SECRETS

Chapter Five:

BRAINS, BRAWN, & INTUITION

Chapter Six:

SIGNS, SUITCASES, & PHOTOS

Chapter Seven:

LOCKS, A DIARY, & TALKING FURNITURE

Chapter Eight:

DIARIES, SECRETS, & DOLLS

Chapter Nine:

ADVICE, THE STARS, & A TICKET

Chapter Ten:

A BUS, TIM, & SMALL TALK

Chapter Eleven:

MR. TOMMY, THE HERO’S JOURNEY, & A COADJUTOR

Chapter Twelve:

JIM, HORSES, & MORE RIDDLES

Chapter Thirteen:

PATCHES, PAWS, & A LATE-NIGHT SWIM

Chapter Fourteen:

TRANSFORMATION, DETERIORATION, & REFLECTION

Chapter Fifteen:

ME, HIM, & US

Chapter Sixteen:

SOLITUDE, HEAD GAMES, & THINKING SMALL

Chapter Seventeen:

TINY, NAKED, & ALONE

Chapter Eighteen:

AN OLD BOOK, THE SUBCONSCIOUS, & DIGGING

Chapter Nineteen:

INTERROGATION, INFILTRATION, & EAVESDROPPING

Chapter Twenty:

EVERETT, ASKELL, & IMAGAMI

Chapter Twenty-One:

THE SWAP, THE DRIVE, & AN OPEN BOOK

Chapter Twenty-Two:

FEAR, FOLLY, & FREEDOM

Chapter Twenty-Three:

ASKELL, THE PROFESSOR, & THE EMPORIUM

Chapter Twenty-Four:

RUST, LIGHTNING, & CLAWS

Chapter Twenty-Five:

FAMILIES, TOWNSFOLK, & FRIENDS

Chapter Twenty-Six:

EPILOGUE

About the Author

About the Illustrator

Copyright

Back Cover

The ants crept across the walls. They moved in single-file lines parallel to each other. It was like they knew exactly where they wanted to go, and why.

That’s why I admired them. Well, I admired them for more reasons than that, but I have never been someone who understands things clearly. More often than not, I know them intuitively. Unfortunately, most people don’t put much stock in my gut feelings. Maybe that’s the reason I’ll have to repeat my previous school year. To be fair, the seventy-one days I spent fishing at the stream instead of attending class might have contributed to that outcome. But I never liked books very much — that is, until the Lilys arrived in town. But then gain, things were never easy for me.

There are many things we all believe to be true that actually aren’t. Even things written in books. But now isn’t the right time to talk about them.

About books, I mean. And soon you’ll see why.

I was having one of the best summers of my life. Or at least it had been until my brother, Doug, ruined everything.

In Applecross, the town in northern Scotland where I lived, no one could remember such weather. We had eight consecutive days of sun without the slightest drizzle. Even the mosquitoes seemed stunned, arriving at nightfall and buzzing softly only at sea level. The ants, however, seemed completely indifferent to the weird weather. Their job was to stock up for winter, and they shuffled in single file along the cracks in the floor. They seemed to know where they were going, but how?

I still hadn’t figured it out, but I was conducting a scientific experiment. I’d already tried crushing the first ant in the line twice. I figured that eliminating the leader of their mysterious campaign would throw them into chaos. But after a moment of understandable confusion, the unfortunate leader’s second-in-command stepped up and took its place at the front of the line. And the others marched onward as if nothing had happened.

See, Patches? I told my trusty dog. They can all be leaders. And when one leads, the rest follow.

He wagged his tail and tried to lick my face with his usual enthusiasm. He was a strong, stubborn mutt with furry ears and a rocket-shaped tail. He belonged to a mongrel breed that nonetheless kept the same distinct features across generations. Patches was actually the fourth dog named Patches to live at the McPhee home.

Speaking of which, perhaps I should mention that the person writing the story of that summer — which now seems so long ago — is still me, Finley McPhee. And yes, it’s still Finley with an F.

Anyway, I was furious that evening. You may think it’s creepy to stay shut up in your room killing ants, but I had a good reason for doing so: better the ants than my brother.

My mom must have entered my room quietly, or maybe I’d been concentrating so hard that I didn’t hear her come in. When she spoke, I was so startled that I scampered back against the wall and almost swallowed my tongue.

Good heavens! Mom exclaimed, recoiling. The two of us broke into laughter. I just came in to ask you what you want for dinner, she added.

I’ve got ants in my room, I said, figuring I should explain why I was lying on the ground.

It’s a sign, she said. I squinted at her. Ants go where there’s something to eat. I’d say there’s some leftover food under your bed.

Under my bed was the box with the false bottom, where I kept my most precious things that I didn’t want my brother to see. It contained two messages I had found in bottles that came from the sea, a Borderpassing coin I’d found in my pocket, two weird pieces of iron, and five or six oddly shaped rocks. They were all cataloged with their own detailed labels. In short: nothing ants would want to eat.

My mom knelt down next to me and patted my hand. Patches wagged his tail in front of her face and circled a few times before climbing into her lap.

Mom pointed at the column of ants on the wood floor. If you don’t want them to go under your bed, you should get some coffee, she said.

Why will the ants go away if I get some coffee? I asked.

My mom smiled. You have to build a barrier of mint, cinnamon, or coffee grounds on the floor, she explained. And to be extra safe, you should make a second one with lemon juice.

I looked at her, considering it. Really?

She nodded. Really. They don’t like strong odors.

We sat there a little longer, watching them without speaking. It was a nice moment — one of those times when you want to say lots of things but don’t for fear of ruining it.

Is everything okay, Finley? she asked me. It seems like you’re in a morose mood.

Everything’s fine, I said

Well, lots of things were fine. But not all of them.

Hi, there, Viper," my big brother greeted me upon his return.

I thought Doug looked like an overgrown doll, but I didn’t say anything. He pulled his boots out of the mosquito netting and entered barefoot. He peeked into the kitchen to see what mom was cooking.

Do I have time to take a shower? he asked, chipper as a squirrel.

I kept staring at him while he whistled and generally acted as if nothing had happened. He climbed up the stairs and stopped when I blocked his path.

What’s that in your hands? he asked me, continuing his infuriating nice-guy act. I had a fistful of mint leaves, cinnamon, and coffee beans in my hands. I barely stopped myself from rubbing them in his face.

We have to talk, I hissed.

Doug snorted. Go ahead. I’m listening, Viper.

Don’t call me that, I said.

Doug shrugged his shoulders. As you wish. Sorry about this whole business. I know you’re still upset.

I’m not upset, I said. I’m furious. And I want my key back.

It’s my key now, Doug said.

Only because I gave it to you, I said.

If it was so important, you should have held onto it, Doug said.

We had an agreement, Doug! I snarled. I only lent it to you. And you kept it!

His face took on the expression of a deer in headlights. Then he crossed his arms. How could I get that colossal empty head of his to understand?

Doug tried to move around, but I stayed in his face.

Oh, cut it out, he said. If you want that key, you can take it back whenever you wish.

No, I can’t! I said.

And that right there was the whole point. If Doug didn’t give me back the key voluntarily, it would return to him even if I stole it back. It was a magical object, with its own rules and stipulations — just like everything else that was sold or repaired at the Enchanted Emporium.

Doug’s empty smile seemed downright evil. I would have punched him right then and there, but Mom checked in on us.

Everything okay, boys? Mom intervened from downstairs.

Sure, everything’s fine! Doug answered for both of us. He stuck his hands under my armpits and easily lifted me off the ground. There’s just this insect on the stairs, he added, staring me right in the eyes.

He deflected my kick and tossed me onto the stairs. Relying on my agility, I landed mostly gracefully in a crouched position. I petted Patches and sighed. Good guys always lose because they refuse to break the rules, I told him.

* * *

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At dinner, my father was in an exceptionally good mood. Apparently things had improved at the farm after a period when the sheep had been making life difficult for him. He told us about a livestock show he wanted to participate in, and asked Doug and me if we wanted to go with him. (I replied with a grunt.) He added that there was also a dog breeding competition. My mom laughed, joking that we should sign up Patches.

I didn’t find anything funny. All the laughter just managed to irritate me even more. No one in the house seemed to realize how much I was suffering.

But in reality, I think they were forcing themselves to be more cheerful than usual in the hopes that it’d make me feel better. It was well intentioned but completely useless. I asked to be excused before dinner was over.

I walked out the front door and jumped on my bicycle with the invisible seat. As a surprise, my mom had made tapioca pudding with blueberries for dessert, which is my favorite. Assuming I’d already left, she spoke to my dad in a way that sounded worried and sad. He’s not going to the Lily’s house again, is he? she asked. I leaned against the wall next to the kitchen window to listen.

I don’t know, Dad said, shaking his head. I’ll talk to Reverend Prospero tomorrow, he added, as if that was the obvious solution to all my problems.

They kept talking. My mom said she was convinced I was angry because of the family that had recently come to town, the Lilys. Locan, an odd shopkeeper of ancient items, and Aiby, his young daughter. Together they ran the strange, red-walled Enchanted Emporium. My father, however, had gotten it into his head that my discontent was due to the jobs the reverend of Applecross was assigning me that summer.

They were both wrong.

I’ll go speak to him myself, Doug said before our parents could ask him if he knew anything. Then he ate his dessert as well as mine.

I pedaled like mad to get to my beach. Not that it was really mine, but I felt like it was. It was a cove just below a bend in the coastal road. You could see all the houses of Applecross lined up in rows from there. It was a steep pebble beach where sea currents often brought in long bundles of dark algae. And it was secluded due to the swarms of mosquitoes that made it unappealing to tourists and summer campers.

That beach was where I had found my first message in a bottle. And from that beach, in the purple evening light, you could see the little reef with the wooden tower where I kissed Aiby the first time.

And maybe the last time, too.

I left my bicycle on the side of the road and raced up to the highest point along the cliff. The wind seized me with its mysterious force. My shirt flapped at my ribs. I spread my arms and vented all the rage I’d been nursing in one furious roar.

I screamed at the wind, the