Nate looked over at the Flatman. A fleshy pancake with a disfigured face was about the last pet he would ever choose, but he supposed he could get used to it. “Okay. But let’s try to avoid the need. You take care.”

“Count on it,” Mr. Stott said. “I simply prefer to cover my bases. If ever you require access to the house when I am not around, there is a way to bypass the defensive spells. Swear to me you will keep it private.”

“I promise,” Nate said.

“Ring the doorbell twice. Say, ‘Archmus, I am a friend indeed.’ Then ring the doorbell again. You should hear the locks in the door unfasten themselves. At that point, the house is yours. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Do it only if your need is dire and I am not answering the door.”

“Okay,” Nate said.

“You had better run along. If you can get the ship tonight, do it. The sooner we find the map, the sooner we can free Trevor. I’ll continue narrowing down Haag family candidates.”

“All right. See you later, Mr. Stott. See you, Flatman.”

One of the fragile fins seemed to wave good-bye.

*****

Summer counted her Flame Outs, ending up with a pile of fourteen. She knew how many she had, but wanted to conduct a careful inventory in preparation for breaking into the mayor’s house. Summer, Pigeon, Nate, and Trevor each maintained a personal stash of candy. In addition to her Flame Outs, Summer had three doses of Shock Bits, eight Moon Rocks, six sticks of Peak Performance gum, and the extra Sun Stone.

Since she had so many, she frequently considered sharing her Flame Outs with the others, but worried that Mrs. White may have been right not to trust the boys with such potentially destructive candy. She could envision Nate and Pigeon burning down the entire town.

The telephone rang, and Summer picked it up. Her dad was not home yet, so she reached for a pen to take a message. “Atler residence.”

“Summer, it’s Pigeon.”

“Wow, you’re already done! Any luck?”

“I just got back from the town library.”

“The library?” She started doodling a sailboat on the notepad by the phone.

“Mrs. Colson donated the ship to the library. And she wrote me a recommendation asking the head librarian to help me find it. I caught the librarian as she was leaving. She was really nice, maybe because the Sweet Tooth was helping, and we spent almost half an hour searching through three storage rooms. In the end, we found the Stargazer.”

“Yes! Great job. Do you have it?”

“I tried to talk her into letting me take it home for the night, but she resisted the idea. I used a few different approaches, but quit when she started getting angry. In the end, she said I could come take videos or pictures of it whenever I want. It’s pretty big, more like a ship in a jug than in a bottle. But I know right where it is. The only problem is, I’m going to look pretty guilty after we steal it tonight.”

“Have you talked to Nate?” Summer asked.

“Not yet. I just got home. I’ll call him. Let’s meet on the path at one. Bring your bike.”

“Okay. If I don’t hear back, I’ll assume that’s the plan.”

“Right. Oh, and Summer, the Brain Feed is amazing. I had this really coherent conversation with a cat. You won’t believe it.”

“That’s cool.”

“See you tonight.”

“ ’Bye.”

*****

Nate sat on the edge of his bed winding a yo-yo. He was trying to get the yo-yo to sleep, but it refused to hang and spin at the bottom of the string, and kept getting tangled instead. He tried again, throwing the yo-yo down, popping his wrist just before it finished unwinding. He timed it wrong. Not only did the yo-yo fail to sleep, it wound back up only halfway.

The failure was not too upsetting. Larger issues loomed in his mind. He and his friends were about to undertake another mission. This time they were invading a library. Each new mission felt more dangerous. Once Trevor had gotten trapped in the mirror, any semblance of fun had vanished. Magic candy was now only a tool to hopefully help undo the trouble they were in.

On prior occasions when Nate had felt overwhelmed by anxiety, he had always eventually ended up talking it over with his parents. They tended to be understanding and helpful. Sometimes they could make major worries fade away with simple reassurances or advice.

But he couldn’t get help from his parents on this one. He had tried to broach the subject of Trevor in the mirror with his mom twice already, but she became instantly distracted. The white fudge created a daunting communication barrier.

Nate wondered what would happen if he pressed as hard as he could, doggedly compelling his parents to recognize what was happening. In a way, he was afraid to try. He did not want to learn that no matter how blunt he was or how hard he pushed, he was cut off from parental support when he needed it most. At the same time, if there was a chance of getting any help from them, the hour had arrived. He had never yearned more for his parents to intervene and bail him out of a predicament.

Setting the yo-yo down, Nate walked resolutely out of his room and down the stairs. He entered the family room, where his dad sat watching sports news.

“Dad, can we talk?”

Nate’s dad snapped out of his television trance. “Sure, son, what’s on your mind?”

“I’ve gotten involved in something really dangerous,” Nate said. “I’m in way over my head. I need your help.”

“Tell me about it,” his dad said, eyes wandering toward the television screen.

“It has to do with the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe,” Nate said.

“Love that fudge.”

“Dad, the white fudge is addictive. Not just because it tastes good. The fudge makes the people who eat it lose their focus and blinds them to what is going on around them.”

“I gave some to my boss,” his dad said. “He wants me to pick him up ten boxes of the stuff.”

“Which you shouldn’t do,” Nate urged. “The lady who runs the candy shop, Mrs. White, is some kind of magician. The white fudge is unsafe. Dad, I think she might try to hurt me.”

“Nothing wrong with eating fudge,” his dad said. “Just don’t go overboard. A little goes a long way.”

Nate frowned. His dad had switched his attention to the baseball scores flickering across the screen. “Dad, Mrs. White is trying to kill me. I’m not talking about eating too many sweets and having a heart attack. I’m talking about murder.”