Sofia snorted and shook her head. “He can track people all over the world using nanolocators, but he still sends messages in crumpled old envelopes.” She measured a teaspoon of something orange and dropped it in the pot. “You’d think the old man could figure out how to use e-mail.”

“Chill, Miss Italy,” Paul said, holding up a long strand of dough and swinging it back and forth, grinning like it was the grandest form of entertainment in the world. “It’s so he can’t be tracked down by all the bad guys. Don’t you ever watch TV?”

Tick spoke up before Sofia could reply—he was hungry and didn’t want any more delays from his friends’ bickering. “I just hope he’s figured out how we winked out of the Thirteenth with a broken Barrier Wand.”

“How?” Paul asked. “I’ll tell you how. You’re a regular Houdini—all you need is a cape and one of those funky black hats.”

“And a wand,” Sofia said as she began stirring her cauldron of blood-red sauce.

“He had a wand,” Paul said. “It was just broken.”

Tick’s spirits dampened a bit, his heart heavy at remembering the terror of that moment when the Barrier Wand hadn’t worked, when he’d pushed the button over and over again as hordes of screaming, sharp-toothed fangen rushed at them. Any reminder that such monsters existed in the world—or worlds—was enough to make a spaghetti feast not quite as appealing.

“He made it work somehow,” Sofia said, nodding at Tick as she stirred. “Magic Boy himself.”

Tick did his best to smile, but it didn’t last.

~

Two hours later, the homemade meal passed Sofia’s inspection—barely. She kept insisting the sauce needed to simmer the rest of the day to taste perfect, but finally gave in to the impatient hunger groans of Paul and Tick. It was worth every minute, Tick thought as he shoveled in the food, not caring that he’d already spilled sauce on his scarf once and his shirt twice. He felt much better about things now that he wasn’t starving.

“I’m not gonna lie to ya,” Paul said through a huge bite, a vampire-like drip of red sauce streaked on his chin. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in my entire life.”

Sofia sat back in her chair, pressing a hand to her heart. “Did you, Paul Rogers from Florida—King Smarty Pants himself—just say something nice to me?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did. And I meant every word of it. Dee-lish.”

“It’s really good,” Tick chimed in. “I’ll never doubt you again about your family’s claim to fame.”