“Are you dangerous too?” Pigeon asked.

Mr. Stott shifted in his chair. “I can be, I suppose. No magician is really safe, to himself or to others. Many of us are hermits, who mostly want to be left alone as we pursue our studies. Some have altruistic intentions; others are entirely selfish. We all generally try to maintain a low profile. A few of us take on the responsibility of policing those who attempt to blatantly use magic for sinister ends, or who operate too openly and risk revealing the long-guarded secret of our existence.”

“Are you one of the policemen?” Nate asked.

“In a limited capacity, yes,” Mr. Stott said. “However, I am not one of those who dedicate all their time to such matters. Belinda concerns me. I am aware of the treasure she is seeking—it is part of the reason I took up residence in this town years ago.”

“What is the treasure?” Summer asked.

Mr. Stott stroked the furry length of his beard. “None know for certain. We have only rumors. Supposedly it is a talisman of significant magical power, worthy of remaining concealed these long centuries. I came here as a guardian rather than a treasure seeker. I did not want Belinda or others of her mind-set to lay hands on an item of such terrible power. But now I fear the only way to stop her and those like her may be to locate the treasure myself.”

“And what would stop you from using it for bad purposes?” Summer asked. “Mrs. White makes the same claims about you as you make about her.”

“No magician would trust another with a talisman such as this,” Mr. Stott acknowledged. “Least of all Belinda White. But I have lived quietly for hundreds of years. In bygone days, I have inhabited seats of power and prestige, and such honor long ago lost its savor. I have lived in Colson for years, not searching for the treasure, but delivering ice cream to schoolchildren in a rundown truck. I would gladly leave the treasure hidden away if Belinda were not hot on the trail. If I gained the treasure, I would store it and protect it from others who might abuse it.”

“I don’t get why Mrs. White involved us,” Pigeon said.

“That has as much to do with the nature of the magic we practice as it does with her greed,” Mr. Stott said. “You see, magic functions much more potently on the young. Part of the paradox of becoming a magician is that by the time you know enough to manipulate magic, you are too old to use it to your full advantage. Mrs. White can engineer sweets that grant great power to the young, but those same miraculous confections would have little effect were she to use them herself.”

“Why not use magic to make yourselves younger?” Pigeon asked.

Mr. Stott spread his hands. “We do what we can. Taking away years from a person is nearly impossible. Adding them is much easier. As magicians, about the best we can do is try to maintain our current age. We can’t quite stop the aging process, but we can slow it considerably. That is how magicians like Belinda and myself survive for so many years.”

“So Mrs. White just wanted us for our youth, because her candy would work well on us?” Nate restated.

“Basically, yes,” Mr. Stott said. “Undoubtedly she believed that you four were especially bright and capable. She must have been monitoring your achievements—she would not have entrusted you with an assignment like erasing my memory unless she truly believed in your abilities. But make no mistake about it, you were being used.”

“What should we do now?” Trevor asked.

Mr. Stott rose and began pacing. “That is the question of the hour. By coming to me and disclosing your assignment, you have placed yourselves in extreme jeopardy. If Belinda learns you have betrayed her, your very lives could be in peril. As I see it, you have three options. You could pretend that your attempt to erase my memory failed and continue working for her. You could resign from her service immediately, never speak of any of this to anyone, and hope for the best. Or you could try to beat her at her own game and get to the treasure ahead of her. Any of those choices is risky.”

“Pigeon and I resigned yesterday when she started explaining this assignment,” Summer said.

“We’re mainly here for moral support,” Pigeon added.

“Trevor and I were only staying with her in order to figure out what she was up to,” Nate said. “We don’t want to keep helping her.”

“I want to beat her to the treasure,” Trevor said.

“Is that realistic?” Summer asked.

“Depends,” Mr. Stott said, pacing with his hands behind his back. “How much do you know?”

“We helped her steal a pocket watch that belonged to her ancestor Hanaver Mills,” Nate said.

One side of Mr. Stott’s mouth curved up into half a smile. “She said Hanaver Mills was her ancestor? Belinda White was making magical candy when Hanaver Mills was in diapers.”

“Supposedly the watch contained a clue revealing that an important object was buried with Hanaver Mills,” Pigeon said. “The clue indicated that Hanaver Mills was actually buried under a grave marker for Margaret Spencer, who died the same year. We dug up the grave and found a teleidoscope.”

Mr. Stott stopped pacing and faced Pigeon. “A teleidoscope? Where is it now?”

“She has it,” Summer said.

Mr. Stott shook his head slowly, wearing his lopsided grin again. He fingered the telescope on top of one of the pedestals. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

“A teleidoscope?” Nate ventured.

“I collect them,” Mr. Stott said. “Artisans create high-end teleidoscopes that sell for thousands of dollars. Those in this room function almost like kaleidoscopes, in that the teleidoscope is locked into a fixed position aimed at a certain target. This teleidoscope points at a stone ball with water trickling over it. The ball slowly turns, and the flowing water ensures that the pattern the teleidoscope observes is never quite the same twice. Feel free to look.”

As the kids took turns gazing into the eyepiece and turning the wheel to rearrange the pattern, Mr. Stott crossed to a different teleidoscope, switching on a light behind it. “For this teleidoscope, you dip this hoop into this soapy solution.” He pulled a lever that immersed a circle of wire into a shallow reservoir. When he raised it, the hoop had a glossy film stretched across it, as if for blowing a huge bubble. “Take a look,” he offered.

Nate peered into the teleidoscope and beheld a brightly animated pattern. Twisting the end of the teleidoscope, he made the pattern dance. “It looks like a cartoon,” he said.