He thought back to the day he’d received the guidebook. He remembered the way his imagination had run rampant with the possibilities of wielding a magic wand. But the accident had changed all that. “What do you want me to do with it?” he asked.

“There is something inside that belongs to you.” Coralis opened the compartment that held Henry’s first wand. “Once a Wandmaker has infused a wand with his power, he must never allow it to leave his possession. This wand is now as much a part of you as your left foot.”

Henry carefully extracted the simple, purple-stained wand and felt the familiar tingle in his fingertips. “Thanks, but—” He was about to ask what good the wand would be to them now, but he was distracted by a leather-bound tome on the floor. “Coralis, what is this? It looks like it’s been burned.”

Coralis took the book from his hands and sniffed it. “Hmmm … not good.” He mumbled something softly and ran his thumb over the brown edge. Tiny fingers of sparks spat and popped on the page. “Not burned. Scorched. And not from a match. You saw the sparks. They are a reaction due to residue from elemental energy.” He saw the puzzled looks on their faces. “Someone was looking for something. And not just any someone. Only someone with the skills of a Wand Master could do this. Whoever it was used a Conscindo Wand. It is designed to destroy—the Latin definition literally means to tear apart. As you can see, it works.”

“But who would do this?” Henry asked.

“And why couldn’t they look without making such a mess?” added Brianna.

“To answer your question”—he addressed Brianna—“I believe the intensity of this mayhem was intentional. It is entirely possible that whoever did this found what they were looking for and created this mess to throw us off. But it is also possible that he could not find it and threw what you might call a temper tantrum.”

“You said ‘he.’ ” Henry moved to face Coralis. “Why did you say ‘he’? You know who did this, don’t you?”

“Allow me to answer a question with a question, Henry. The last time you saw your father, was there anything odd about his behavior?”

“Yes,” Henry answered. “It was right here in this room, too.”

“Describe in as much detail as possible everything you can remember about the night you spoke to him in this room.”

Henry closed his eyes and forced himself to recall that frightening night. It should have been so easy. He thought he would never forget the look on his father’s face, but his recollection failed him. It was all fuzzy around the edges—like looking at a 3-D photo without wearing the special glasses that would bring it into focus.