Prince of Air Page 2

  Samuel Dormitorio, his bedroom in Elm Medona, especially exhausted him. Named for Samuel Santiago, a Spanish duke and childhood friend of Great-Uncle Thorne’s, the room had swords and old guns hanging everywhere, a terrifying bull’s head with giant horns on it staring at him from the wall directly across from the bed, and an oil painting by some famous artist of Saint Sebastian with his body pierced by a million swords above the headboard. Anywhere that Felix looked, he saw weapons or something dead.

  The creepy clock beside the bed, an ornate gold thing with miniature swords for hands, reminded Felix that he had exactly one hour before dinner. He missed his mother’s spaghetti carbonara. Or even good old mac and cheese. Now they had to eat in the Dining Room, where the chairs were so heavy it took two people to move one, and Felix spent all his time worrying that he might break a piece of the stupid Pickworth china. Cook, as they called the woman who made all the food downstairs in the giant Kitchen, came from France, and dinner had names that Felix couldn’t pronounce. A ham sandwich with white sauce on it was a croque-monsieur. A big stew with every disgusting thing Felix could imagine in it all at once was called cassoulet. Even worse, he had to dress up just to eat in there. Great-Uncle Thorne had dug up a tuxedo that almost fit Felix. The jacket sleeves and pant legs were too long, but a seamstress arrived one morning with a mouthful of pins and managed to hem everything by dinner that night.

  Why would people want to live like this? Felix thought, not for the first time. He worried that Maisie actually liked all this nonsense.

  Last night she’d shown up at dinner wearing an old dress of Great-Aunt Maisie’s, a ridiculous gold thing with a matching headband that had a big feather sticking out from it and a strand of pearls that hung all the way to her knees.

  “Look!” Maisie had said happily, “I’m a flapper!”

  “Whatever,” Felix had mumbled, yanking miserably on his bow tie.

  His mother explained it away by reminding him how old Great-Aunt Maisie and Great-Uncle Thorne were.

  “Who knows how long they have left, sweetie,” she’d said. “It’s wonderful to let them have a little bit of their old lives back.”

  One thing Felix knew for certain—he would not go back into The Treasure Chest. Felix had figured out that every time he and Maisie time traveled, Great-Aunt Maisie got healthier and younger. If they kept going back and she kept getting better, Felix would never return to his normal life as a regular twelve-year-old.

  Reluctantly, he got off the bed to start to get ready for another awful dinner. Standing in the middle of the room, he glanced upward at the strangely painted ceiling. Most of the time, Felix averted his eyes to avoid scaring himself with thoughts of war and death, so he hadn’t really studied the weird stuff up there. But now the giant eye painted in the very center of the ceiling caught his attention. It seemed to be looking right at him. Felix stepped back to see it better. One eye in the middle of a fist, the wrist and arm stretching across the dark ceiling.

  Weird, Felix thought, shuddering.

  An owl swooped from one corner, its wings opened and painted so realistically they practically fluttered. Around the edges of the ceiling, geometric symbols in black and white lined the room.

  “It’s magic,” a voice boomed from the doorway.

  Felix jumped, startled.

  Great-Uncle Thorne laughed his booming laugh as he strode into the room.

  “Joy of life, mercy, transformation,” he said, pointing with his walking stick. Today it had a jaguar’s head at the tip and the jaguar had emeralds for eyes.

  “Magic symbols,” Great-Uncle Thorne explained. “Clarity, truth, beauty.” He paused, and his eyes grew misty. “Samuel Santiago was a magician. From the time he was a lad, he practiced magic tricks.”

  Suddenly energized, Great-Uncle Thorne’s whole face lit up. “Why, some of his tricks are right here in this room!”

  He went to the large ebony-and-ivory chest of drawers and began opening them, rifling through their contents, then slamming them shut. When he didn’t find what he wanted there, he walked over to the heavy rolltop desk. With a grunt, he tried to roll the top back, but only managed to lift it a crack.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Great-Uncle Thorne roared. “Help me open the thing.”

  Felix stood beside him, grabbed the edge, and on Great-Uncle Thorne’s count of three, tried to lift it.

  It moved another fraction of an inch, then stuck.

  “This colossal abomination hasn’t been opened since the Roaring Twenties, my lad. We need to put more muscle into our efforts.”

  Again, Great-Uncle Thorne counted to three.

  Again, he and Felix tried to lift the rolltop upward.

  Again, it moved a tiny bit. Then stuck.

  “Damnation!” Great-Uncle Thorne shouted.

  Felix cleared his throat. “What is it we’re looking for again?” he asked.

  “How am I supposed to know, you pudding head!”

  “Um . . . pudding head?” Felix asked.

  Great-Uncle Thorne raised both hands, swinging his walking stick around wildly.

  “How did I end up with such idiots for relatives?” he shouted.

  “If you don’t mind, sir,” Felix said, inching toward the door that led from Samuel Dormitorio to the bathroom, “I need to wash up before dinner.”

  “Fine! Go, you dolt!” Great-Uncle Thorne said.

  Felix saw him put his walking stick into the gap where they’d managed to open the rolltop just before he slipped into the bathroom, relieved to be away from the wrath and exuberance of Great-Uncle Thorne.

  If Felix had to pick one good thing about moving into Elm Medona, it was the bathtub as big as the entire bathroom in the servants’ quarters upstairs. He needed a small step stool to climb into it. The tub was so deep that it felt more like being in a swimming pool than a bathtub. It was made of mosaics that depicted ocean life against a blue-and-green background. Starfish, crabs, an octopus, sea anemones, and all kinds of fish swam and leaped across it. Real gold glittered for scales. Real jewels twinkled as their eyes, and an oyster shell held a real pearl.

  The gold faucets sent hot water, cold water, or saltwater from the ocean just beyond Elm Medona. Another set of gold spigots offered lavender, lemon, or licorice oil to scent the bathwater, and a third produced bubbles.

  Felix filled the bath with hot, licorice-scented bubbles, then lowered himself into the giant bath. A compartment carved into the wall held real sponges and loofahs from the Dead Sea, and Felix chose an especially large, porous one to rub off all his baseball field dirt. Although he thought he could sit in these bubbles all night, Felix reluctantly got out so he could dress for the dinner he dreaded. What will tonight’s be? he wondered. Fish eyes? Some kind of meat he didn’t want to eat, like rabbit or venison?

  Just when he slipped into the ridiculous silk robe that he’d found in the closet, in walked a triumphant Great-Uncle Thorne.

  “Shuffle!” Great-Uncle Thorne ordered Felix.

  He held out a deck of cards with an intricate burgundy pattern trimmed in gold leaf.

  “Don’t you believe in knocking?” Felix said grumpily.

  “Why would I knock to enter a room in my own home?” Great-Uncle Thorne boomed. “Now shuffle!”

  Felix reached his hands out. They were all pruney from the long bath.

  Great-Uncle Thorne wiped them with his own silk handkerchief, then thrust the deck of cards into them.

  Dutifully, Felix shuffled.

  “I will now put the cards into my pocket where they cannot be touched by man or beast,” Great-Uncle Thorne announced, taking the deck from Felix.

  “Please observe,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, “that the pocket is empty.”

  He leaned forward, and Felix agreed that the pocket was indeed empty.
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br />   “Now, lad, how many suits do you believe are in a deck of cards?”

  Felix rolled his eyes. “I believe there are four,” he said, wishing Great-Uncle Thorne would leave him alone.

  “And what are those four suits?”

  “Great-Uncle Thorne—”

  “WHAT ARE THOSE FOUR SUITS?” he shouted.

  Felix took a deep breath. “Spades. Hearts. Diamonds. And clubs.”

  “Clubs?”

  “Yeah. You know, the little shamrock-shaped things?”

  “Puppy toes!” Great-Uncle Thorne said. “Those are puppy toes!”

  “Fine. Puppy toes.”

  Satisfied, Great-Uncle Thorne told him to choose any two of the four suits. “Announce your two choices in a nice loud voice so we can all hear you.”

  Felix glanced around. “All?” he said.

  Great-Uncle Thorne glared at him.

  “Hearts,” Felix said. “And diamonds.”

  “Hearts and diamonds, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Right,” Felix said.

  “Choose one,” Great-Uncle Thorne continued. “Hearts or diamonds.”

  “Diamonds,” Felix said quickly, hoping to hurry this along.

  “He has chosen diamonds, ladies and gentlemen. Which leaves hearts. Every suit moves from a two all the way to a nine. I call these the low cards of the suit. Agreed? And then it moves from a ten all the way to an ace. I call these the high cards. Agreed?”

  “Sure,” Felix said.

  “Please choose: High? Or low?”

  “Low.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this young man has chosen low. Or the two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine of hearts. Of these low cards, please tell all of us which three you choose.”

  Felix shivered in the silk robe.

  “Two, three, and four,” he said.

  “Two, three, and four of hearts? Wonderful. Now choose two of those.”

  “Two and three,” Felix said, growing more and more miserable.

  “Please choose one now, Felix. Of the two and three of hearts.”

  “The two,” Felix said.

  “Fantastic, dear boy! That leaves us the three of hearts. You have chosen the three of hearts! And voilà! If you remove the cards from my pocket, I believe your card, the three of hearts, is on the bottom of the deck.”

  Sighing, and certain that there was no way Great-Uncle Thorne could know this, Felix removed the deck from his pocket, turned it over, and saw . . . the three of hearts!

  “How did you—”

  “Aha! Now I have your attention!”

  Cook made steak frites for dinner that night, which was just a fancy name for sliced steak with french fries. For once, Felix thought dinner tasted delicious. Maisie was dressed in the chocolate-brown skirt she’d worn for the VIP Christmas party, so she looked more like herself than last night when she’d worn that ridiculous flapper outfit. Their mother didn’t have to work late for a change, and she seemed more calm and relaxed than usual because she didn’t have to race back to the office.

  Felix looked around the table. In the flickering candlelight, his family’s faces glowed. Even Great-Aunt Maisie and Great-Uncle Thorne, seated at opposite ends and still not speaking to each other, looked younger and kinder. Best of all, Great-Uncle Thorne had shown him what he’d found in that rolltop desk: all of Samuel Santiago’s magic tricks. Silk handkerchiefs, a top hat with a false bottom, a fake thumb, a magic wand, several decks of cards, and handwritten notes on dozens of tricks. Before they’d come downstairs for dinner, Great-Uncle Thorne had taught him the card trick he’d shown him in the bathroom.

  “That’s so easy!” Felix had said.

  “Young man, all magic is easy. It requires practice, sleight of hand, and a willing audience.”

  Felix waited until the dinner dishes had been cleared away and everyone had finished their chocolate mousse before he stood and produced the cards Great-Uncle Thorne had given him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Felix said, imitating Thorne’s authoritative tone of voice, “may I have your attention, please?”

  “What in the world?” Great-Aunt Maisie muttered.

  But Maisie beamed up at her brother, and their mother smiled at him, amused.

  “Here I have an ordinary deck of cards,” he began, holding it out for them to see. “Agreed?”

  Maisie clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh! A card trick? I love card tricks.”

  Felix thought he saw Great-Aunt Maisie’s eyes cloud in anger. But why would she be mad? It was only a card trick.

  “Young lady,” he said to Maisie, “would you be so kind as to shuffle the cards for me?”

  “My pleasure,” Maisie said eagerly as she took the deck. She shuffled, showing off the bridge several times.

  “Thorne,” Great-Aunt Maisie said in a warning tone.

  Felix looked at Great-Uncle Thorne, but he was ignoring her, so Felix did, too.

  “I am going to place this deck of cards in my pocket,” Felix said, taking the deck from his sister. “But first, please examine the pocket to be certain it is empty.”

  Great-Aunt Maisie got to her feet. She clutched the edge of the dining room table.

  “Thorne!” she said again.

  Nervously, Felix continued. “Empty,” he said. “Agreed?”

  But no one was listening. All eyes were on Great-Aunt Maisie now.

  “Thorne Pickworth,” she said, her eyes steely and staring across the long distance of the enormous table, straight at her brother.

  “You know,” she said, her voice rising with every syllable, “that there is no magic allowed in Elm Medona as long as I am here!”

  “Maisie,” Thorne began.

  “No magic!” she shouted.

  With that, she walked over to Felix and knocked the cards from his hand. They scattered everywhere—across the table and onto the floor.

  Great-Aunt Maisie stormed out of the room, pausing only at the door leading out to point at Great-Uncle Thorne and shout again:

  “No magic!”

  “Pssssst.”

  Maisie and Felix both looked up from their homework, but neither of them saw anyone. Maisie was writing sentences using this week’s twenty spelling words. She liked to make up ridiculous sentences to annoy her teacher Mrs. Witherspoon.

  “Listen to this one,” she said. “The optimist eluded the pessimist through positive thinking.” She tapped her pen happily on her paper. “Bingo,” she said. “Three words in one sentence.”

  “Pssssst,” they heard again.

  This time Maisie jumped up and went to peer out the door. They did their homework in the Library now, an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling with the Muses painted on it and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were so high ladders leaned across them to help reach the books.

  Felix peeked over the top of the bloodred leather chair where he sat.

  But Maisie just shrugged and sat back down in the matching chair across from him.

  “Back to figuring out what x is,” Felix said, chewing the tip of his pencil. He always chewed on his pencils when he did math, which he hated.

  “Let’s switch,” Maisie said. “You write my sentences, and I’ll do your math.”

  “Pssssst!”

  From behind the enormous sofa that Phinneas Pickworth had brought back from Morocco, Great-Aunt Maisie poked out her head.

  “What are you doing?” Maisie demanded.

  “I don’t want that cur to see me,” she hissed.

  Maisie grinned. “That was one of my vocabulary words last week. It’s a dated insult.”

  “It is not dated,” Great-Aunt Maisie said, insulted. “It’s an unpleasant person, and it fits Thorne to a tee.”
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  “Do you really need to hide from him?” Felix said.

  “I’m not exactly hiding,” Great-Aunt Maisie said. “I just don’t want him to come with us.”

  Maisie and Felix looked at each other and then back at their great-great-aunt.

  “Us?” Maisie said.

  “I have to finish my homework,” Felix said. Unlike his sister, Felix loved his teacher Miss Landers. He would never make up ridiculous sentences or not do his homework or disappoint her in any way.

  Great-Aunt Maisie disappeared behind the sofa again.

  “Meet me in The Treasure Chest at nine thirty,” she whispered.

  The ship’s clock that Phinneas Pickworth had acquired from the SS Lorraine read 9:15. The SS Lorraine had sunk off the coast of Prince Edward Island in 1892 during a hurricane, and Phinneas Pickworth had spent a fortune finding it and having it recovered—all because the ship’s figurehead had been carved to look like his wife, Ariane. That figurehead stood in one corner of the Library, a wooden face made pale by years under the ocean with faded, yellow waves of hair spilling down her back. Felix thought the figurehead was creepy, but Maisie liked it. “Who wouldn’t like to be on the bow of a ship?” Maisie had said. To which Felix replied easily, “Me.”

  “There is no way I’ll find x in all these problems in fifteen minutes,” Felix said.

  “But aren’t you curious about what she wants?”

  Felix shook his head. “Not in the least.”

  “Well I am,” Maisie said.

  She got up and paced up and down the floor, which had a herringbone pattern called parquet.

  “If I can use predicament, exaggerate, and loathe in one sentence, I’ll be done,” she said.

  “Shhh,” Felix said.

  He began to read his next problem: The sixth grade collected four more than twice the soup labels that the fifth grade collected—

  “Aha!” Maisie said, stopping right in front of Felix.