This was one important fact Dai She was not aware of. The last Wandmaker to wear the map died long ago, and that vital piece of information died with her.

And so it was that just after Henry had seen his father in the car mirror, a 9.0 earthquake struck the coast of Japan. And Dai She made the mistake of scratching.

“Aieee!” he suddenly screamed, squirming violently in his seat. “Stop the car! Stop the car, you idiot!”

Markhor slammed on the brakes, surprised by the outburst, hoping neither Dai She nor his moronic vulture had seen the image of Henry in the mirror. “What’s wrong now, oh great Wand Master?” Markhor knew he needed to tone down the sarcasm. He could not afford to reveal too much. But playing the servant to Dai She was grating on his nerves.

“My back! It’s burning!” Dai She threw open the door and tore off his jacket, flailing desperately at his back with arms too short to reach their destination. “Don’t just stand there like an oaf. Do something!”

Unaware of what lay hidden beneath the shirt, Markhor ran his fingertips across Dai She’s back. “Aieee!” Dai She screamed as if he had been branded with red-hot iron.

Markhor barely noticed. His hand had been thrown violently backward, repelled by an unseen force of incredible power.

“What did you do to me, you fool?” Dai She screamed.

“You need to remove your shirt.” Markhor remained calm. His tone was commanding.

Dai She’s reaction was swift. “No! Never!” Then an 8.0 aftershock hit. He screamed again. “All right! All right!” Pink buttons flew in every direction, lost to the Mexican desert.

Markhor smiled behind Dai She’s back. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It doesn’t matter what you think, fool, help me get it off!” He twitched and squirmed in fits of pain.

Markhor could not take his eyes off it. The legendary Corsini Mappaemundi covered the entire flabby white surface of Dai She’s back. He was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed—and very curious. He knew precisely what the map was, and even felt a sudden burst of pride that Dai She had managed to liberate it. But he decided that playing dumb was in his best interest. “How do I remove it?”

“And you call yourself a Wand Master.” He bent at the waist and rolled up his trousers, frantically removing something taped to his calf. “Use this!” He thrust the Corsini Wand at Markhor. “Touch this to the edges of the map. Gently!”

Markhor relished the familiar warmth of the wand, which pulsed as if begging to be used. The color of leathered skin, it was bent slightly at the tip—like an old man’s finger. The second the wand touched the surface, a small edge peeled away from the skin.

“Faster, you idiot!”

But Markhor had had enough of Dai She’s attitude. “No.”