“I was hoping he’d give us another hint on how to come up with the magic words. This isn’t a clue.” Tick waved the paper in the air, then dropped it on the desk next to his journal. “It’s just a warning. No different from the stuff he said in the very first letter.”

“But remember,” his dad pointed out, “he said everything you receive is a clue.”

“Yeah, well right now I’m kind of sick of it.” Tick flopped onto his bed and rolled over toward the wall.

After a long pause, his dad spoke quietly. “Sleep on it, Professor. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

The floor creaked as his dad walked toward the hallway; then the light went off and he heard the soft thump of his dad gently closing the door.

Despite the tornado of thoughts churning inside his mind, Tick fell asleep.

~

Tick knows he’s dreaming, but it’s still creepy.

He’s in the forest, moonlight breaking the darkness just enough to make the trees look like twisted old trolls, their limbs reaching out to grab him, choke him.

Leaves and snow swirl around his body like fairies on too much pixie dust. A huge tree looms at his back. Tick watches the leaves spinning in the air, mesmerized.

He jumps to catch one, and some unseen force holds him in the air . . .

And then the leaves turn into letters.

One by one the letters pass in front of Tick, glowing briefly, teasing him with their riddles, reminding him that he can’t solve the biggest one of all. The first letter.

The first letter.

The first letter . . .

Chapter

33

~

The Final Clue

The last yellow envelope from Master George came on the third of May, only three days before the Big Day. Tick came home from school on a warm and rainy afternoon to find it on his pillow, addressed to him and postmarked from Brisbane, Spain.

Until then, he’d been in a foul mood, with good reason.

Two days earlier, Sofia had announced she was pretty sure she’d solved the riddle of the magic words. Positive, in fact. Tick knew he should be happy for her, but instead felt jealous and angry. Especially since he knew she couldn’t tell him; in his mind it was like Paul and Sofia had this secret about Tick and kept giggling about it behind his back.

With each passing day May sixth grew closer and closer and Tick became more dejected, moping around like an old man searching for his lost soul in an Edgar Allan Poe story. He just didn’t get it—he was smart. He’d always thought he was way smarter than anyone his own age, and many who were older. Yet for some reason he couldn’t figure out those stupid magic words! Paul and Sofia did it, why couldn’t he?