“She thinks you adopted her,” Pigeon said.

Mr. Stott held up a finger. “Which is not a lie. I have adopted her. She also believes her parents are long dead, which is probably true. I told her she had an accident and lost her memory, which is generally true, although I’ve concealed some key details. I told her that John placed her with me because, as a magician, I was better suited to handle a unique case like hers than most parents would be. Also true.”

“Does she keep asking about the details?” Pigeon asked.

“I try not to lie outright,” Mr. Stott said. “I told her that even John knew little about her origin. I told her I’m not sure if she’ll ever regain her lost memories. I maintain that I know virtually nothing about her past—which is mostly accurate, by the way. I knew little about the magician Belinda White. But I do know that she became our Lindy, which information I withhold.”

Pigeon scraped the last of the chocolate sludge from his mug. “Everything is so complicated.”

Mr. Stott harrumphed. “Life gets that way.”

“You think we should go undercover and try to take these guys down?” Pigeon asked.

“That would be the noble and brave thing to do,” Mr. Stott said. “It might even be the wisest thing to do, considering all the trouble that might come unless this magician is stopped. But don’t forget that being noble and brave is one of the most proven ways to die young.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Pigeon replied.

*****

Pigeon lay in bed trying to remember how to fall asleep. Sometimes it was so easy—you just closed your eyes and relaxed, and the rest took care of itself. That was not the case tonight. No position seemed comfortable. No trick could stop his mind from worrying about what new dangers the morning would bring.

Nate had called earlier. Apparently they had caused quite a stir by using Peak Performance to dominate the arcade games. Nate and the others had stopped by the candy shop after Pigeon had left, and Mr. Stott had essentially given his blessing for them to keep trying to infiltrate the arcade by winning tickets.

Pigeon rolled to his other side, curling his knees and bundling his covers, hoping to find a perfect position that would finally let him slip off to sleep and leave his stresses behind. He was supposed to go to Arcadeland tomorrow with the others and keep winning tickets. Nate had basically been thrown out today for that very thing! How did he expect tomorrow to be any different?

The door to his bedroom nudged open. Was Aunt Rhonda checking on him? No, it was Diego.

“Hey, boy,” Pigeon said softly. “What are you doing in here?” The Labrador normally slept in his own house out back. Maybe Aunt Rhonda had left a door ajar.

“Lindy opened a window,” the dog replied.

“You’re talking,” Pigeon said.

“Lindy brought Brain Feed. She’s waiting on the back patio.”

“She wants to talk?” Pigeon asked.

“She seems a little upset,” Diego replied.

Suddenly Pigeon wished he had played possum when Diego entered. The uncomfortable exchange between Lindy and Mr. Stott had been bad enough. He didn’t want to try to manage her curiosity on his own.

“Can you tell her I’m sleeping?” Pigeon asked halfheartedly.

“She ordered me to wake you,” Diego said.

“All right,” Pigeon relented. He got out of bed and put on some slippers. His plaid pajamas looked sort of goofy, so he grabbed a robe from his closet and slid his arms into the loose sleeves. “Do I look okay?”

“I’m a bad judge,” Diego said. “Dogs don’t require artificial coverings.”

“That didn’t stop Mom from dressing you as a cowboy for Halloween.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Pigeon led Diego to the back door.

“Stupid hat,” Diego muttered.

“Sorry I brought it up,” Pigeon said.

“And that bandanna! Cruel and unusual.”

They crept out to the patio.

Lindy stepped out of the shadows. “Hi, Pidge.”

“You’re out late,” Pigeon said.

“I snuck away,” Lindy replied. “I needed to talk to somebody.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Where did I come from, Pigeon?” Lindy asked. “Who am I really?”

“How should I know?”

Lindy wrung her hands. “Somebody must know something! Everyone acts like my origin is some big mystery. I have a feeling there’s more to it than people are telling me.”

Pigeon tried to collect his thoughts. She was wasting no time in taking the conversation exactly to the subject he most wanted to avoid. “We didn’t meet you until after we defeated Mrs. White.” At least that was true in a sense. She looked like she expected him to elaborate. “None of us knew much about your past. One of the guys who worked for Mrs. White made it clear that you had no family. John picked Mr. Stott to watch over you because he thought he would take good care of you and could accept your mysterious background. We all care about you, Lindy.”

“I know you care,” Lindy said. “I don’t doubt that. Dad is just so protective lately. He has let me do some crazy things with you guys, but he seems extra worried about me trying to help John. Maybe he’s just being cautious, but it started me thinking. It makes me wonder if he knows more than he’s telling me.”

Pigeon licked his lips. His fingers felt fidgety. “I don’t know anything.”

“I’m sure you’re not supposed to spill any secrets,” Lindy said. “But we’re friends, right?”

“Of course.”

Her voice became more sincere. It sounded like she might cry. “I’m having a hard time, Pidge. A really hard time. Can you imagine having no memories of yourself? Of the person you call Dad? Of any friends or family? I can’t shake the suspicion that you all know more than you’re saying. It’s there in certain looks you give each other. I know you guys think you’re protecting me from something, but it’s making me crazy. I need somebody to be straight with me.”

Pigeon felt unsure how to respond. He had no right to give her the information she wanted. Knowledge of her past could end up harming her. It could harm everyone.

“Everybody clams up when I talk like this,” Lindy said. “I don’t push the issue too often. At first I felt too off balance to really worry about it. I just wanted to fit in. But lately it has been gnawing at me. When Dad banned me from helping you guys, he forced me to really confront the issue. Let me tell you my guess. I’m worried . . .” She put her hands up to her face, as if hesitant to utter the next words. She finally whispered them: “I’m worried that my parents were bad guys. Evil magicians, maybe, working with Mrs. White. And John Dart had to lock them away. Or maybe they got killed? I was devastated, so somebody erased my memory. Then John felt guilty and brought me to live with Mr. Stott.”