This Book Is Not Good for You

by Pseudonymous Bosch

  “OK.”

  Cass could feel her ears reddening in the dark.

  A few minutes later, their waiter stepped up to the table again.

  “Hello, Cassandra. If you don’t mind, I’m going to reach over you so I can put this plate in front of you. It’s a quadruple fudge layer cake, compliments of the chef. He calls it Chocolate Death.”

  Max-Ernest coughed up the water he was drinking. “That’s exactly how I always thought I would die!”

  “Uh, thanks,” said Cass. “I think.”

  “My pleasure,” murmured the waiter, and he disappeared without another word.

  “So—what do you think they do when it’s somebody’s birthday?” asked Yo-Yoji. “No candles, right?”

  “They probably just sing,” said Max-Ernest quite sensibly.

  “Seriously, aren’t you guys curious to see what would happen if you lit a candle in here?” Yo-Yoji persisted.

  Cass giggled, then felt in her backpack. “Actually, I have one. And matches…”

  “Cool. Let’s light it, yo!” whispered Yo-Yoji, excited.

  Max-Ernest tensed. “We can’t, it’s not right—”

  “Ah, come on—don’t you just want to see for a second? The waiters will never know—they’re blind.”

  Cass turned to her right. She was certain her mother would say No. At the same time, her mother loved birthday candles. On Cass’s last birthday, she made Cass blow her candles out three times, so Cass would get three wishes.

  “Mel, what do you think?”

  There was no response.

  Was she getting the silent treatment? Cass wondered.

  “Sorry about what I said before,” she said softly. “I understand if you’re mad but… can’t you at least say something?”

  Silence.

  “Mel, are you there?” she asked more loudly. “It’s not funny.” She felt the chair next to her. It was empty. How strange.

  Had her mother been so upset that she had to leave the room?

  “Hey, you guys, where’s my mom? Did she go to the bathroom?”

  “Wouldn’t she have to ask the waiter? I mean, unless she tried to go by herself,” said Max-Ernest. “But then she probably would have bumped into something or—”

  Before he could finish his thought, Cass lit a match, her hand trembling. Suddenly illuminated, Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji looked back at her in blinking astonishment.

  “Whoa, look what a mess we made!” said Yo-Yoji.

  He pointed at Cass. “There’s sauce all over your shirt.” Then he pointed at Max-Ernest. “And your face is like totally covered.”

  “Where’s my mom?” Cass repeated.

  Her friends looked around: not only was Cass’s mother’s chair empty, so was the rest of the room.

  They were the only ones there.

  The match flickered out.

  But not before the commotion had drawn the attention of their waiter. They could hear him running toward their table.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “Yeah, where’s my mother?” Cass demanded. “And what about everybody else—?”

  The waiter said he had no more idea where Cass’s mother was than they did. He was certain she wasn’t in the bathroom; he had just finished cleaning it. As for the other customers being gone, that was no mystery; they’d finished dinner and gone home, naturally.

  “I’m sure your mother is fine—she probably needed some air. Although if a customer can’t be bothered to ask for help, we really can’t be held responsible… Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go get the check…”

  He scurried out without waiting for a response.

  “The check? How are we going to pay if your mom doesn’t come back?” asked Max-Ernest, distressed. “Do you think they’ll make us wash dishes?”

  “Forget the check—we have to find her!” Cass stood up, reaching into her backpack. “Come on—”

  Quickly, she struck another match, and with this one lit a candle.

  From what they could see, the restaurant looked much like any other. With the distinction that there were no windows. Nor were there any pictures on the walls. Nor any color or decoration whatsoever. It could almost have been the dining hall in a prison.

  “How did they clean up so fast?”

  Yo-Yoji gestured toward the tables spread out around the room. They were immaculate. Place settings gleamed. Folded napkins stood at attention. It looked as though the restaurant were just about to open. You’d never guess that minutes ago it had been full of diners.

  In contrast, their own table was covered with food and spilled drinks.

  Cass’s face turned angry in the candlelight. “I know where my mom is—the kitchen!”

  She pointed to the double doors at the far end of the room.

  “I’ll bet she went to talk to Hugo. She’s so in love, she couldn’t wait to tell him how good dinner was…”

  The double doors turned out to be double-double; that is, behind them was another pair of double doors.

  As soon as Cass pushed through this second pair of doors, they were blinded by light. Compared to the darkness of the dining room, the kitchen seemed as bright as a hospital.

  As their eyes adjusted our three friends turned pale:

  A man in a chef’s coat held a cleaver high in the air.

  As they watched, he brought it down and chopped—

  a carrot.

  The three kids exhaled in relief.

  “Who’s there?” he asked spinning around, knife in hand.

  It wasn’t Hugo; it was his sous-chef. * But evidently, he too was blind.

  “We’re customers,” said Cass. “Have you seen my mom? I mean—did anybody else come in here?”

  The sous-chef shook his head sternly. “No. And this room is strictly off limits,” he growled.

  “What about Hugo? Where is he?” Cass persisted.

  “Gone for the night. As you should be.” He chopped another carrot for emphasis.

  Yo-Yoji silently motioned to his friends: Let’s get out of here.

  “Why do you think the kitchen is so lit up if all the chefs are blind?” whispered Max-Ernest as they headed back into the dining room.

  “Beats me—the whole place is creepy,” said Yo-Yoji.

  Cass didn’t say anything—just hurried forward holding the candle in front of her.

  They found the entry room deserted. Even the scent bouquets were gone.

  “Do you think she left with him?” asked Yo-Yoji. “Would your mom do that?”

  “I dunno,” said Cass, growing increasingly distressed. “It’s so weird.”

  The waiter came out of the hallway looking harried.

  “Cassandra? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, we’re right here. Did you find my mom?”

  “I just spoke to Señor Hugo. He said not to worry about the bill—it’s on the house. And he left you this—”

  The waiter held out an envelope, which Cass anxiously accepted.

  “Good-bye, we have to close up now,” he said, ushering them toward the front door. “I hope you enjoyed your dinner.”

  The blind waiter bowed and walked quickly back in the direction of the main dining room.

  As soon as they got outside, Cass tore open the envelope. There was a handwritten note inside.

  “What does it say?” asked Max-Ernest.

  “Is it from your mom?” asked Yo-Yoji.

  “Not really,” said Cass after a moment, shoving the note in her pocket. “I mean, yeah, it’s from her, but she says the dark was making her too nervous and she went home.”

  “Really? Without saying good-bye?” asked Max-Ernest, surprised. “How are we supposed to get back?”

  “Uh, bus. She said to take the bus.…”

  Max-Ernest looked at his friend. “Why are you acting so weird?”

  “I just… realized I don’t have any bus money,” Cass stammered.

  “Well, I do. So we’re cool,” said Yo-Yoji. “But
you sure everything’s OK?”

  “Totally,” said Cass, forcing a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  But it wasn’t OK. It was the opposite of OK.

  Although Cass didn’t share the note in her pocket with her friends, I will share it with you here. I believe it’s too late now for it to make any difference. The penmanship, I think you’ll agree, is remarkably neat for somebody who couldn’t see:

  Cassandra—

  If you value your mother’s life, bring me the Tuning Fork in two days’ time. Tell no one—not even those two boys with you. If I learn that you have shared this note with anyone, the deal is off and you will never see your mother again.

  H.

  By the time Cass got home, it was very late.

  After bidding a hasty good night to her friends, she lingered on her doorstep, reluctant to face her empty house. If she never entered, she could maintain hope that her mother was inside.

  You’re not my real mom anyway.

  Those were virtually the last words she’d said to her mother. What if she never had a chance to unsay them?

  What if she never saw her mother again?

  Quietly, she started to cry, shedding the tears she’d had to hold back in front of Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji.

  Stop that! she chided herself. Crying isn’t going to help anything. You are not a little kid. You are a survivalist. You are trained to tackle emergencies. Treat this situation as you would any other disaster. A kidnapping is nothing compared to a tsunami or a tornado.

  With tremendous effort, she wiped her eyes and made herself focus on the task at hand: finding the Tuning Fork.

  She knew what her first step should be: reading the Tuning Fork file in the Terces Society archives. But should she go now or wait for daylight?

  She held her key in the door lock, debating the question.

  On the one hand, she had very little time to save her mother. What had the note said? Two days?

  On the other hand, Cass had to admit, she was very sleepy. And she knew from all of her survivalist training that she would not be very effective in her mission without sufficient rest. Serious sleep deprivation could impair her mental functions as well as her ability to handle stress. It could also affect her emotions and her immune system. If she went for too many days without sleep, she might even start to hallucinate.

  Not to mention: if she got caught by Pietro or Mr. Wallace, how would she explain being in the archives in the middle of the night?

  Perhaps she should go to bed after all, she thought, turning the key.

  It was the first time Cass had spent the entire night alone in an empty house, and she checked and rechecked every room, making sure all her alarm systems were in place:

  the glass vase situated so it would crash to the floor if the front door opened

  the crunchy pile of cereal in the hallway leading to her bedroom so she would hear footsteps before they reached her

  the rubber bands wrapped around her bedroom window locks so they would snap if the windows opened

  and a few other smaller and more secretive security measures.

  Unfortunately, under the circumstances, she still did not feel very secure.

  She lay on her bed with her shoes on, afraid even to get under the covers; her blankets might slow her jumping out of bed. Unable to sleep, her mind racing, she counted the minutes until—finally—it was morning.

  Cass was almost out the door and on the way to the Terces Society archives before she realized that she hadn’t brushed her teeth and that she was wearing her T-shirt inside out. Her teeth could wait. But she decided she had to put on her shirt properly. If Mr. Wallace or Pietro saw her looking so untidy they might wonder whether something was wrong.

  By the time she was ready to leave again, there was a knock on the front door.

  She got a lump in her throat: could it be her mother? Had Señor Hugo had a change of heart? Or was the evil chef here to collect the Tuning Fork ahead of schedule?

  As she tried to decide whether or not to open the door, the knocking grew louder and more insistent:

  “Cass, open up!” “Time for homework, yo.”

  Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji. She’d forgotten that they’d rescheduled their “homework” session for that morning.

  For a second, Cass’s heart lifted. Her friends were here! They would help her through this awful time. Together, the three of them would save her mother just as they’d accomplished so many dangerous feats before.

  Then Cass remembered Hugo’s note and her heart sank. She couldn’t tell them what was happening. Hugo had made that clear. Cass knew her silence was a betrayal of sorts. Max-Ernest especially considered himself her partner. As far as he was concerned, he and Cass shared everything; they had no secrets from each other. But, Cass told herself, as hard it was, this mission was hers and hers alone.

  How was she going to get rid of them?

  Trying to look normal—but was it more normal for her to smile or look annoyed?—she opened the door.

  “Surprise!” said Max-Ernest. “I mean, not really, but—”

  “Hey, guys,” said Cass carefully, not moving from the doorway. “Sorry, you can’t stay. My mom, um, had to leave early for work. And now I’m supposed to… go to my grandfathers’.”

  “But it’s Sunday,” said Max-Ernest. “Why’s she going to work?”

  “I dunno, she… had a meeting.”

  Max-Ernest studied Cass. “Did you guys have a fight—’cause of what you said to her? You know, about her not being your real mom. Is that why she left last night?”

  Cass looked back at him, trying not to let her alarm show. Or even to blink. Max-Ernest’s astuteness had caught her off guard.

  “Um…”

  As painful as it was to think about, she had to admit his story was more plausible than hers. She decided to go with it.

  “Yeah,” she said with unfeigned discomfort. “That’s pretty much what happened. We had a fight this morning and she went to go shopping or something.”

  “Well, can’t we come in anyway?” asked Yo-Yoji. “Now we don’t even have to pretend we’re doing homework for school. And we have to start researching the Tuning Fork sometime…”

  Cass debated in her head again:

  On the one hand, Hugo’s note had been very clear about not telling them what was happening.

  On the other hand, how would it hurt for them to know where she was going? After all, they were supposed to be looking for the Tuning Fork. They didn’t have to know she was looking for it for Hugo, rather than for Pietro.

  “Actually, I was on my way to the circus,” she said finally. “To read about the Tuning Fork in the archives.”

  “Without us?” asked Max-Ernest. “You weren’t going to wait?”

  “I know it’s kind of silly, but I thought maybe I would find out something first, then surprise you guys with it.”

  “Oh,” said Max-Ernest, who didn’t look quite satisfied with her answer.

  “Well, now that the surprise is ruined, we’ll come with you!” said Yo-Yoji.

  “Um, OK…,” Cass said hesitantly, unable to think of a good reason to say No.

  “Here, your mom forgot this—” said Max-Ernest, picking up a newspaper off the front stoop. “You know, you’re not supposed to leave stuff outside because then burglars think nobody’s home—”

  Annoyed with herself for the oversight, Cass took the paper from Max-Ernest. She was really going to have to think ahead, she realized, if she didn’t want anybody to figure out that her mom was missing.

  “Hey, what’s that on the paper?” asked Yo-Yoji.

  Cass eyed the newspaper in her hand: “Ugh—!”

  Apparently, a dog had relieved himself on top of it.

  Max-Ernest laughed. “Don’t worry—it’s plastic. I got it from the clowns.”

  Cass forced a smile. “Ha! That’s really funny!”

  Max-Ernest looked at her strangely. “Now I know something is wrong! You neve
r think I’m funny. Least not when I’m trying to be…”

  Cass hid her face as she locked the door behind her.

  Having friends who knew you well was supposed to be comforting, but right now it only made her more uneasy.

  Clearly, carnies were not morning people. When Cass and her friends arrived, the circus was so quiet it could have been the middle of the night.

  Through a trailer window they saw Mickey and Morrie playing checkers with some locals—no doubt the clowns were cheating the “rubes” out of their hard-earned money—but from the looks of it, the clowns hadn’t woken up; they’d never gone to sleep.

  The only noise came from the Big Top. As they approached, they heard a man shouting inside. “Come on, you big stubborn cat—are you a lion or a mule? You think you don’t want to jump now—what are you going to do when this hoop is on fire?!”

  “I didn’t know there were still lions in this circus,” said Max-Ernest nervously. “I thought they were all gone.”

  When they peeked inside they saw an old man in a tattered satin suit holding a long tent rope in his hand. The kids recognized him as the “The Amazing Alfred, King of the King of Beasts.”

  “Welcome, children. Don’t be frightened—I promise you, this fierce animal is totally under my control!”

  He waved his rope in the air, attempting to crack it like a whip.

  Years ago, they’d been told, Alfred had been a great lion tamer. Rather than a lion, however, the only beast in the tent this morning was a bored house cat, currently licking his paws and not paying Alfred the least bit of attention.

  A bright pink hula hoop was positioned in the center of the ring, but the cat wouldn’t even look at it.

  “Of course, there’s a simple rule about what to do if you run into a lion—whether you’re at the circus or in the African savanna,” Alfred continued. “Would you like to hear it?”

  “Sure, Alfred—sorry, I mean, Mr. Amazing,” said Max-Ernest, who was feeling it was just as well they weren’t facing a real lion at the moment. Or a real whip.

  “First of all, never run—that triggers their predatory instincts. Instead, spread your arms out so you look like a big animal who’s too much trouble to kill.” Alfred demonstrated—tearing his old suit as he did so.