Magic's Most Wanted Read online

  Dedication

  To Mrs. Foster

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Tyler Whitesides

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  NOVEMBER 28

  6:56 P.M.

  INSIDE THE MORRISON MAILBOX

  The man watched the house from his hiding spot inside the mailbox. The little door was dangling open, flapping slightly as a winter storm blew in with the sunset. The mailbox was sheltering him for now, but he wouldn’t be able to stay much longer.

  The man wasn’t always this small, of course. The pair of magical glasses he was wearing shrank him to just under an inch tall. These glasses weren’t his, but the Mastermind had let him use them for surveillance today.

  The garage door trundled upward, catching his attention. The man checked his watch: 6:56 p.m. The Morrisons were trying to make it to a movie at 7:05, but at this rate, they were going to be a few minutes late.

  He watched the car back down the driveway. Mr. Morrison was driving, his wife in the passenger seat. Through the tinted window, the man couldn’t see Mason, but he knew the boy would be seated on the passenger side where he always was—easier to climb in with his bad leg.

  The car rolled onto the street, neither parent seeming to notice that the mailbox door was hanging open. The family sped away through the cold night, unaware that anyone was watching them. Unaware that the man had been watching them for weeks now.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

  “This message is for the Mastermind,” he began. He didn’t expect a reply. This was just a recording to be given to his boss at a later time.

  “This will be my final report on Mason Mortimer Morrison,” the man said. “Tomorrow I’ll be heading back to Magix Headquarters to resume my work there. I think my time here has been very worthwhile. I’ve placed several surveillance boons in and around the house to continue monitoring the boy until we are ready to make our move.”

  The man paused, stepping up to the edge of the mailbox. The cold wind howled, and he ducked back inside to finish his report.

  “You were right about Mason,” the man said. “The boy is exactly who we need, although it might take some time for us to set him up. His limp will probably fade with time, but it has only been six months since the accident. Mason has no brothers or sisters, but he has a good relationship with his parents. We will probably have to do something about that. He is a good student. Does well on tests. Gets his homework done. That will probably need to change, too.”

  The man looked at the house, wondering if he should add anything else.

  “I believe your plan will work, Mastermind,” he finally said. “It won’t be easy, but it’s the right thing. By the time we’re done with him, Magix will be eager to arrest him. And we’ll make sure all the evidence is in place so they have to find him guilty. Then he’ll be ours, and we can use him to do what needs to be done.” He drew in a deep breath. “To destroy all magic forever.”

  It felt good to say that. And the man was excited to finally see the pieces of Mastermind’s plan coming together.

  “I’ve rented a place in New York City so I can keep an eye on Lawden,” said the man. “In the meantime, I’ve got Talbot and Vanderbeek taking shifts outside the Morrison house. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It could take years, but we won’t let it get away from us.”

  The man ended the recording and slipped the phone into his pocket. Then he ran forward and jumped out of the mailbox. As he fell, he reached up and pulled off the glasses. Instantly, he returned to his regular size, feet striking the sidewalk. The man glanced once more at the house, tugged at the collar of his coat, and strode off down the dark street.

  TWO AND A HALF YEARS LATER

  Chapter 1

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 13

  2:05 P.M.

  EAGLE FIELDS CHARTER SCHOOL, INDIANA

  I was definitely not ready for this book report. But that wasn’t a surprise. Reading and homework were for kids who didn’t have better things to do. Things like . . . video games.

  But I found myself rethinking my choices as I stood in front of my whole class, filled with dread as Mrs. Dunlow circled closer like a vulture in the desert, just waiting for the helpless critter—me—to finally die.

  “I’m just . . . ,” I stammered. “I’m not sure where to begin.” Speaking to my classmates was always terrifying. Especially when I was supposed to be talking about a book I hadn’t even read . . .

  “You could start by telling us the title,” my teacher said.

  That seemed like a good idea. Why hadn’t I thought of that on my own?

  “Right,” I said, holding up the book in my right hand. “It’s called The Music in the Box.”

  Honestly, I was feeling a little embarrassed about it. The librarian had actually made it sound pretty cool, but once I got home, the book had looked totally boring. I had tossed it on my dresser and forgotten all about it (and the report) until last night.

  “And what was the book about?” my teacher asked.

  “Umm . . . music,” I said. “In a box.”

  A few kids snickered, and that made me feel pretty good. But I didn’t want Mrs. Dunlow to call my mom again. Then I’d get another lecture about being a smart aleck, and by the end, my mom would somehow find a way to blame my behavior on my dad. Because, if he were still around . . .

  “Okay, Mason,” Mrs. Dunlow said. “I think you’re done.”

  I felt my A+ quickly turning into a daydream.

  “Wait!” I pleaded. I had one chance to recover my grade. My mom had found me a good visual aid, just like the librarian had suggested. I whipped it out from behind my back, holding it aloft for all my classmates to see.

  “This is a music box,” I explained. “I know it’s a little different from the one on the cover of the book.” I glanced at the novel for reference. “The one on the book is made of metal. This one is made of wood. The book one has a little robot that spins around doing a techno-dance. This one . . . doesn’t.”

  I actually had no idea what was inside this music box. My mom had found it for me after I’d gone to bed last night. We’d argued about the book report. I’d told her that it didn’t matter if I’d read the book as long as I had a good visual aid to show off. She’d opened the box at breakfast, but I’d been disappointed by its dainty appearance and hadn’t paid it much attention. The happy little song it played was so annoying that I didn’t think there was any chance it would win me an A+.

  In fact, I hadn’t even planned to bring it to school, but Mom had stuffed it into my backpack, saying that she
hadn’t gone through so much effort to get it for nothing.

  “Does it open?” asked Mrs. Dunlow, unimpressed with the item in my hands.

  “Yeah,” I said, not wanting to do it for fear of the cheesy song that would play for my classmates.

  “Mason,” the teacher said in her serious voice, “did you even read the book?”

  “What?” I said. “I couldn’t hear you over the song that’s playing in my music box . . .”

  Slowly, in the most dramatic fashion, I lifted the little wooden lid.

  That was when my life changed forever.

  In the blink of an eye, Mrs. Dunlow, all of my classmates, and I disappeared. I had just a moment to wonder what the classroom must have looked like as we left it behind—suddenly vacant, a few papers fluttering off desks and drifting to the floor like leaves on an autumn breeze.

  Fortunately, every single one of us reappeared. Unfortunately, we were no longer in Indiana. In fact, I was pretty sure we were no longer in North America.

  The air around us was freezing cold, my breath catching in my throat and escaping my lips like a white cloud. As I spun my head around in surprise, I realized that there was nothing but snow and ice in every direction.

  “Whaaaaa . . . ?” Mrs. Dunlow couldn’t get the whole word out. She was either too astonished or partially frozen. I was feeling a bit of both myself.

  “Where are we?” asked Kyle Henderson, standing up and dusting snow off his backside.

  I realized that we’d all been transported in the exact same positions we’d been in in the classroom. Mrs. Dunlow was closing in from the side to give my book report an F, and everyone else was seated. Only, here, in this snowy wonderland, there were no desks or chairs, so everyone had instantly collapsed, taking an unwanted seat on the frozen white ground.

  I was standing in front of my classmates, holding the open music box. I saw now what was inside. Two little wooden figurines—a fox chasing a goose. The annoyingly cheerful song was playing in my hand, the tune almost lost in the howling wind.

  “I’m not getting any service,” said Thomas Grand. His hand was shaking from the cold as he held up his cell phone.

  “Phone!” Mrs. Dunlow said, changing directions and going after Thomas. “Give me that phone!”

  “Are you serious?” he cried as she snatched it out of his hands. Like me, Thomas must have thought that Mrs. Dunlow was enforcing her strict no-phone-during-class policy. I had been wise, leaving mine safely in my desk. But we were soon proven wrong about Mrs. Dunlow’s motives.

  “Hello?” our teacher cried, pressing the phone to her ear, voice desperate. “This is an emergency! Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

  “I said I don’t have service—” Thomas tried.

  Mrs. Dunlow yowled in rage and threw the phone down into the snow. “Why don’t you get better service?” she yelled at Thomas.

  He took a step back. “It’s not my fault. We’re in the middle of nowhere—”

  “Antarctica,” Sandra Park cut him off. “I’d say we’re in the middle of Antarctica.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” shouted Ingrid Selbaker.

  Sandra pointed across the frozen wasteland. “Penguins,” she said. I spotted them a short distance away, black blobs that I had first mistaken for rocks.

  “Just because you see some penguins doesn’t mean we’re in Antarctica,” continued Ingrid.

  Sandra shrugged. “It’s just a guess. The orange color around their necks means they’re emperor penguins, and that species is found exclusively in Antarctica, so—”

  “Stop being such a know-it-all, Sandra!” yelled Damian Fawks. “I don’t care where we are. I just want to know how we got here!”

  “Yeah!”

  “What happened?”

  “How do we get out of here?”

  “I’m cold!”

  Everyone started yelling and talking at once. I stood in silence, watching the sun dip toward the horizon. It would be dark soon. I had a feeling that without the little warmth the sun was providing, we’d all be icicles in a matter of moments.

  The music box was still going in my hands. The tune wasn’t really helping the mood, so I snapped the lid shut, giving the fox and the goose a rest.

  “Class, class!” Mrs. Dunlow’s voice cut through the chaos, her hands clapping with her words. It did the trick, just like in the classroom, quieting the nervous bunch in a second.

  “There has to be a logical explanation for what happened,” our teacher said, voice warbling from the chill. She seemed to have gotten control of herself again. “We have to think back to what was happening in the classroom.”

  “The last thing I remember was Mason failing his book report,” called one of my classmates.

  “Yeah! This is Mason’s fault!” shouted another.

  “What?” I cried in defense. “That doesn’t make any sense! You think failing my book report somehow transported us all to another continent?”

  “Wait . . . maybe this is the book report,” said someone else in a mysterious voice.

  “Did the book take place in Antarctica?” asked Kyle.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I didn’t actually read it.”

  “I knew it!” howled Mrs. Dunlow, pointing a failing finger at me.

  “Waaaahhh!” cried Ingrid. “This is your fault!”

  “You guys!” I shouted. “I swear I don’t know how we got here. One second I was standing at the front of the classroom, trying to sound smart. Then”—I lifted the item in my cold hands—“I opened the music box and . . . poof.”

  I flipped open the wooden lid of the music box, and everything changed again.

  This time, we were instantly transported to a tropical beach. In a heartbeat, the ice beneath my shoes was replaced with soft sand. Instead of the cruel Antarctic wind, there was a gentle, warm breeze carrying a salty scent as it rolled in over the turquoise water in front of us.

  “Whoa . . . ,” muttered Kyle. “This is way better than—”

  In curious wonderment, I clicked the music box shut again and then lifted the lid once more.

  Zoom!

  My classmates and I were immediately whisked away to a different kind of sandy landscape.

  A desert.

  Dry orange sand surrounded us in an endless field. The sun was beating down so fiercely that I immediately felt uncomfortable. No trees, no shrubs, no shade. And worse . . . no water.

  I found it completely understandable that several of my classmates were now having full-blown panic attacks. Mrs. Dunlow was taking attendance, which was actually a pretty good idea, to make sure that no one had been left behind.

  “Really, Mason?” Kyle yelled over the tinkling music of the little box. “We could have been happy on that beach!”

  I wanted to say that it wasn’t my fault, but I was starting to think that, somehow, it really might be. I turned my eyes to the music box in my hands. The fox chased the goose like nothing was out of the ordinary.

  What was this thing? Some high-tech transporter? Magic? It definitely hadn’t done anything but annoy me during breakfast. What was going on?

  “Mason Morrison!” Mrs. Dunlow shouted once she was satisfied that there were no absences. “Explain yourself at once!”

  I couldn’t. I really had no idea what was going on. I clicked the music box shut again.

  “No!” screamed Noah Miles, suddenly tackling me from behind. The box went flying out of my hands, skidding through the sand as the two of us went down. I didn’t want to fight Noah. He was usually pretty nice. Luckily, he didn’t seem interested in pounding me into the sand, either. He rolled away, letting me rise to my knees.

  “I was just going to open the music box again,” I explained. “It seems to be connected to whatever is happening.”

  “Obviously,” said one of the girls behind me.

  I didn’t dare move toward the fallen music box for fear that Noah would pounce again. In fact, nobody seemed interested in picking
it up. We all just stared at it like it was a musical bomb about to go off.

  “Maybe if I open it again,” I said, “it’ll transport us back to Indiana.”

  “Or maybe back to Antarctica,” said Noah. “Or drop us in the middle of the ocean. We can’t risk it.”

  “Then what’re we supposed to do?” asked Thomas. “We don’t have any water, and the sun’s going to fry us before we can walk a mile.”

  “Maybe someone at the school will notice we’re missing,” suggested Natalie Burgon. “They’ll send someone to look for us.”

  “In the desert?” cried Kyle. “They might check the cafeteria or the gym, but we’ve got to be halfway around the world!”

  “Everyone remain calm,” Mrs. Dunlow said. “We’re all together, and we’re all safe. For the moment.”

  “Yeah,” said Natalie. “Someone’s going to rescue us.”

  “How?” argued Kyle. “No one knows where we are. We don’t even know where we are. Do you really expect someone to show up out of nowhere and save us?”

  There was a loud sound to our left, and everyone turned in surprise. An archway of bricks had appeared out of thin air, looking very strange and out of place in the landscape of never-ending sand. As we stared speechlessly, a man and a woman suddenly showed up out of nowhere, stepping through the arch. Both were wearing light gray suits and tall black top hats.

  “Is everyone okay here?” asked the woman, who had a braid of black hair falling over one shoulder. “Anyone injured?”

  “Agent Nguyen,” the man muttered, his eyes falling to the music box in the sand. “There it is.” He took a step toward it, but the woman grabbed his arm.

  “Could be another decoy,” she said. “You don’t want to end up like Jacobsen. I say we get these people to safety and then return with a verification team to retrieve the boon.”

  “What is . . .” Mrs. Dunlow took a deep breath as if trying to steady herself. Then she lost all control and started shouting. “SOMEBODY BETTER TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON!”

  “We’ve tracked the signal of an unauthorized boon,” said the man.

  “Boon?” said Mrs. Dunlow.

  “It’s what we call magical items,” answered the woman named Nguyen.