ALSO BY D. J. MACHALE
The Library series
Surrender the Key
Black Moon Rising
Voyagers: Project Alpha
The SYLO Chronicles
Morpheus Road series
Pendragon series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by D. J. MacHale
Cover art copyright © 2018 by Vivienne To
Cover concept copyright © 2018 by Vincent Chong
Key art copyright © 2017 by Bob Bianchini
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Name: MacHale, D. J., author.
Title: Oracle of Doom / by D.J. MacHale
Description: New York : Random House, [2018] | Series: The Library. Oracle of Doom ; book 3 | Summary: As Theo’s fourteenth birthday approaches, he and Marcus go back in time to meet a fortune teller in hopes of stopping what has been predicted to happen.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017037279 | ISBN 978-1-101-93261-2 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-101-93262-9 (lib. bdg.) | ISBN 978-1-101-93263-6 (ebook)
Subjects: Supernatural—Fiction. | Libraries—Fiction. | Fortune telling—Fiction. | Amusement parks—Fiction. | Mystery and detective stories.
Classification: LCC PZ7.M177535 Or 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9781101932636
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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Contents
Cover
Also by D. J. MacHale
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
For the Mitchell kids: Allie, Claire, and Teddy, who aren’t really kids anymore but will always be kids to me
The greatest adventure is what lies ahead.
Today and tomorrow are yet to be said.
The chances, the changes are all yours to make.
The mold of your life is in your hands to break.
—J. R. R. TOLKIEN, THE HOBBIT
Eenie meenie, chili beanie. The spirits are about to speak.
—BULLWINKLE J. MOOSE
I’ve written a million stories about middle school kids. (Okay, that’s an exaggeration. The truth lies somewhere between a hundred and a million. Closer to a hundred. But, hey, that’s still a boatload of stories!) The question is, why? What is it about middle school kids that I find so fascinating?
That’s easy. Middle school kids are ready to explode. (Not literally. Though I can think of a few who should probably be detonated.) What I mean is, at that age you’re old enough to start getting around on your own. You’re no longer joined at the hip to your parents and can actually go out and do things without having an adult watching your every move. That’s a big responsibility. It means you could choose to do things your parents might not necessarily approve of, like physically entering books of unfinished supernatural stories and thereby setting yourself up for an untimely and gruesome death. Most parents probably wouldn’t go along with that. Mine would have, but that’s a whole ’nother story.
When an author is writing about characters who are enjoying this newfound freedom, there are countless options for unique adventures. So why do I write about kids, when anybody can have an adventure?
That’s the other half of the equation. Middle school kids are just starting to figure things out. About life, I mean. The real world is opening up and reality is coming on fast. It’s not always pretty, but it’s definitely exciting. Many kids think they’ve got it all wired. They’re sure they know exactly how life works. And they might, from the perspective of a little kid. Trouble is, they aren’t so little anymore. When they hit middle school, they suddenly realize there’s a whole new set of challenges to grapple with. In other words, their simple lives get complicated very quickly.
And that’s the sweet spot. The place where reality meets fantasy.
Reality is having to face the challenges that come with everyday life.
Fantasy is what you find in a place like the Library.
That’s where I live, lying in wait, ready to take unsuspecting kids who are dealing with their normal lives and callously throw them into a roiling cauldron of confusion where logical rules don’t apply. Does that make me evil? Maybe. A little. But I have to admit, it’s kind of fun.
Oracle of Doom is the third book in The Library series. Hopefully, you’ve read the first two, but if you haven’t, don’t worry. You’ll get up to speed quickly. (Of course, after reading this book, I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t want to run right out and catch up on the other two. That’s okay. I won’t hold it against you for being late to the party.)
Many people helped bring these books to you: Diane Landolf, Michelle Nagler, Mallory Loehr, and all the good folks at Random House Books for Young Readers; my team of Richard Curtis and Peter Nelson; my blondie girls, who I love for all sorts of reasons, but one is that they accept the fact that my job is all about imagining how to put young people through a myriad of torturous trials; the many librarians and booksellers who support my books; and, of course, you: someone who enjoys reading about how I put young people through a myriad of torturous trials. Does that make you evil? Maybe. A little.
A great big thanks to you all.
That’s all from me. Off we go. There’s a new book sitting on the shelf of the Library that’s gathering dust, waiting for you to discover it. If you recall (or even if you don’t, because you haven’t read the first two books, you slacker), from the very beginning Theo and Lu have had extra incentive to help Marcus navigate the stories they find in the Library. Of course they want to help their friend and the people trapped in the unfinished stories, but they also fear that they may be going through strange disruptions of their own. One of the unfinished volumes in the Library might very well be about them. They’ve tried not to stress over it because so much has been happening with the other stories. But they can’t ignore the truth any longer.
Unlock the door, crack open the book, and start reading.
This is their story.
Hobey-ho!
—D. J. MacHale
Opening day.
Two words that
herald the start of something fantastic, whether it’s the beginning of baseball season, the grand opening of a new store…
…or the first day of operation for a spectacular new amusement park.
Saturday, May 1, 1937. The gates opened to Playland Amusement Park, a colossal fun park in Connecticut on the shore of the Long Island Sound. The line of eager customers was already hundreds deep by the time the steel gates were rolled back to reveal the wonderland of brand-spanking-new attractions. The excited guests were greeted by the monstrous Tornado roller coaster; the high-speed Derby Racer; a fun house with a three-story indoor slide; the Laughing in the Dark spook house; the Magic Castle of thrills; Ye Olde Gold Mine tunnel of love; the Whip; a carousel; and, of course, a midway packed with concession stands that offered tasty snacks, as well as game booths that beckoned the daring to step up and test their skills.
The enthusiastic crowds were also treated to a variety of exhibitions meant to dazzle and amaze. A lady high-diver made the hundred-foot plunge from a tiny platform into a shallow pool of water; a troupe of Broadway performers demonstrated energetic dances called the Lindy Hop and the jitterbug; a big-band orchestra played popular swing tunes; and a cast of cavorting clowns kept the littlest visitors laughing (and in some cases, crying in fear).
The most intriguing attraction by far was in an orange-and-white-striped circus tent that stood in a remote area of the park. It had its own special spot beneath a towering oak tree, far from the clang and clatter of the rides. The relative quiet was critical to set the stage for the wonders and magic to be found within. When curious spectators entered the secluded tent, it was like stepping into another world. Another domain. Another dimension.
It was the world of the Oracle Baz.
“Welcome!” a deep, disembodied voice boomed from crackling speakers as visitors filed in for the next show. “Make no sudden moves. Keep young ones close. There’s no telling what peculiar perils may be unleashed should the aura of the spirits be disturbed.”
The visitors mostly snickered at the ominous warning, but they lowered their voices in reverence just in case, while young kids stuck close to their parents.
Colorful tapestries hung everywhere, accented by a jungle of tropical palms. It made the tent feel as though it were nestled in an exotic oasis instead of an unremarkable suburban town. The stage was a raised platform decorated with artifacts that could have come from Ali Baba’s cave or King Tut’s tomb. There were brass goblets resting on ornate wooden tables, colorful hand fans, a large gong, and bowls of succulent fruit. A golden birdcage held a beautiful white dove, surrounded by several lethal-looking curved swords that seemed to float in the air.
Sitting prominently at center stage was an ornate throne-like chair with a large letter B carved into its back.
Eerie flute music completed the air of mystery for the wide-eyed visitors who filed in and crammed together on long benches, having left the raucous excitement of the park behind to enter this strange inner sanctum.
The lights dimmed. The music died. There was a long moment of silent anticipation and…boom! An explosion of smoke erupted from beneath the throne, making everyone recoil in surprise. The stage was enveloped by a white cloud that quickly blew away to reveal that the seat was no longer empty. Sitting tall on his throne and looking every bit like a regal king was the star:
The Oracle Baz.
His chin was held high as he arrogantly surveyed the assembled gallery. He wore a flowing, deep purple robe with golden trim and a scarlet turban adorned with an exquisite green emerald the size of a golf ball. Most of his fingers sported rings with equally stunning gems. As impressive as his costume was, it was hard not to be drawn to his face. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, along with penetrating dark eyes that seemed to be gazing directly into the minds of all those who dared to enter his domain.
Most of the spectators let out an awe-inspired gasp at the sight of him.
Baz didn’t react, as if it was beneath him to acknowledge their existence. He raised his hand, and the flute music returned. He stood and flicked his other hand, and a long, curved sword appeared from nowhere. He grasped it expertly and swept it back and forth, slicing the air between him and his audience.
The people in the crowd laughed nervously and then applauded.
Baz didn’t acknowledge their approval as he moved to the golden birdcage that held the white dove. In his free hand appeared a black cloth, which he deftly draped over the cage. He swung the lethal-looking blade back and forth, raised it high, and, with a sudden violent thrust, drove it into the cage.
Several people yelped in surprise and horror.
Baz let them suffer, but only for a moment. He whipped the cloth away from the cage to reveal that the dove was no longer there. A moment later, the white bird flew from the back of the tent and came to rest on his outstretched palm. The crowd erupted with applause as Baz casually pulled the sword from the cage and returned the bird, unharmed, to its perch.
The sword magically disappeared, only to be replaced by a glass ball the size of an orange. He rolled the orb back and forth from hand to hand, creating the illusion that it was weightless. It was an impressive trick, until the ball actually went weightless. It floated up from his palm and hung in the air like a soap bubble.
The crowd tittered and whispered.
A second glass orb appeared, joining the first in midair. They spun around one another as Baz waved his hands above and below them to prove there were no invisible strings.
Everyone cheered with delight.
The moment they erupted, Baz scowled and dropped his hands to his sides. Instantly, both orbs fell to the floor and shattered, spewing shards of glass across the stage.
The audience fell into stunned silence. Baz stared out over the crowd with a raised eyebrow as if blaming them for having broken the spell.
“The aura of the spirit is not to be taken lightly,” Baz scolded in a deep, commanding voice. “Nor is it to be applauded like a cheap parlor trick.”
Nobody reacted. Nobody so much as breathed.
“I know why you have come,” Baz declared. “And it is not to be amused by trivial feats of magic. You are here to catch a glimpse of the future.”
He spun around and returned to sit on his throne. In front of him was a low table with a black cloth draped over it.
“I am but a conduit,” he announced. “I do not choose what will be revealed. That will come from you, but only if the spirit aura chooses to display your truth. I do not know if these revelations will bring comfort or warn of great misfortune. If any here today have reservations about what you may see or hear, now would be the time to leave.” Nobody did.
With one quick move, Baz yanked away the cloth to reveal a clear crystal the size and shape of a bowling ball. Multiple spotlights hit the orb, giving it a sparkling, otherworldly glow. With a dramatic flourish, Baz waved his hands over the glass sphere and gazed into its depths.
A light appeared from within that reflected in Baz’s dark eyes. He focused on it, as if he could actually see something inside the orb. The spectators leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of what it might be.
“Landolf,” Baz announced. “Diane Landolf. Rise.”
A teenage girl near the front of the room squealed with delight and jumped to her feet.
“This is an important moment for you, miss,” Baz declared. “On this day you will meet your true love.”
The young girl giggled and clapped while her father grabbed her by the sweater and yanked her back down into her seat. He wasn’t as thrilled about the news as his daughter was.
The crowd chuckled and buzzed with nervous energy, then quickly fell silent, waiting for the next prophecy.
“Daniel Cook,” Baz called out.
A man in the second row tentatively got to his feet. He looked nervous, as if afraid
of what might be coming.
“Congratulations,” Baz announced. “Your wife, Michelle, is with child.”
The woman sitting next to Cook let out a surprised yelp. The man looked down at her, questioning. She gazed up at him with wide eyes and nodded an enthusiastic yes.
“Ye-ow!” Cook exclaimed, and hugged his wife with joy.
The crowd burst out in spontaneous applause. Baz glared at them. Just as quickly, they fell silent.
Baz returned his gaze to the crystal ball and instantly frowned. Whatever he was seeing, it wasn’t good.
“I…I…This is quite indistinct,” Baz said, finally showing emotion. Whatever he was seeing disturbed him. “I will not lie; I sense the coming of an enormous tragedy. I see a colossal explosion and flames. It will be sudden and violent. Someone here today…someone among us…will be deeply affected by this. Fear not, though. This person will be unharmed. I cannot say the same for many others.”
A deep rumbling of concern went through the crowd. Up until then everything had been in fun. Hearing predictions of a violent, deadly accident yet to happen put a definite damper on the show.
Baz threw up his hand for quiet.
“Charlie Simmons!” he called out.
A man no older than twenty was standing at the end of one bench. He wore work clothes, which set him apart from most of the adult men, who wore suits and ties.
“Yeah?” Simmons called out.
Baz stared deep into the crystal and scowled. “You are employed here at the park?” he asked.
“I’m on break,” Simmons replied. “It’s allowed.”
“Go home,” Baz snapped. “Do not return to your duties today.”
“I said, it’s allowed,” Simmons said, annoyed. “I can come to the shows.”
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