So, when Ralph, now grown and working for the SIS—the Secret Intelligence Service of MI-6—as a systems analyst, learned that an obscure branch of His Majesty’s Service was looking for ways to use magic against enemies, why, Ralph (still unpopular with his peers) determined that that notion was dangerous, and that kind of madness needed to be exposed for what it was: false and ridiculous. Ralph found a way to get to Rookskill Castle, where children—children!—were learning magical skills under the auspices of the SIS, so that he could rid the world of this foolishness.

Because maybe someone would finally look at Ralph Baines with something other than disdain, and maybe, maybe, his revelations would make him a hero.

CHAPTER 16

Isaac

1942

Amelie stared at Isaac, her face showing concern. “Are you all right?”

“I think I might be hungry,” Isaac said, his voice soft. He wasn’t entirely lying.

“Right. We’ll fix you up.” She tugged him along again, saying, “I know. I talk too much. Sorry about that. My sister says I’ve gone chatty. I used to be really quiet but, well, I guess I’ve changed.” Then, out of the blue, “You’ve got an accent.”

“I am refugee. Czech.” He bit his lip. Should he say more? He added, “I have spent three weeks escaping Nazis, all the way from Prague.”

“Golly! How terrifying! You must have had quite a time,” Amelie said. She tilted her head. “Who sent you here, then?”

Isaac hesitated again but decided he wouldn’t hold back. “My mother and father sent me to Rookskill. They said I would be safe here.”

“Oh,” she said. “Hmm. I wonder how they knew about us.”

So did Isaac, but as he thought about it, his parents had to have magical gifts, too. They’d given him that mysterious casket and then disappeared into thin air. Maybe they’d seen Rookskill in a vision. Or maybe something else . . .

At that moment he and Amelie stepped through a partly closed door and into a dining hall lit by low lamplight.

It must have been quite a banquet room in its day, Isaac thought. Fireplaces at both ends. High clerestory windows, now blocked by blackout shades to keep the bombers from finding them. Stone walls hung with tapestries. Light from sconces that lined the walls. One long table running down the center, and a dais at the far end. The odors of musty age, of woodsmoke, of food—the last of which made Isaac’s mouth water.

No one sat at the dais. And only a handful of people sat at the far end of the table. It seemed a little pathetic.

Willow hovered above the table like a floating, semitransparent chandelier.

Amelie led Isaac down the long hall to the others.