Hocus Pocus Hotel (11 page)

“Puzzles,” said Charlie.

“More puzzles?” asked Brack.

Charlie nodded. “Someone stole the shower curtains from the other rooms on the ninth floor,” he said.

“So I hear,” said Brack.

“But it wasn't Mr. Thursday,” Charlie said. “Why would he? He only needed a dozen metal rings for practice. Besides, how would he get inside those rooms?”

“I'm not sure,” Brack said.

“Someone who knew how to get the passkey could do it,” Charlie said. “Someone who knew how to palm things. Someone who could hang around the front desk and not be suspected. Like an old and trusted employee, maybe?”

“Maybe,” said Brack.

“And why would those other shower curtains be taken?” asked Charlie.

“Hmm,” said Brack.

“Maybe to throw off suspicion from Mr. Thursday,” Charlie said. “Because if his shower curtain was the only one that disappeared, people might investigate him. They might find him in the basement, practicing. And that would spoil the surprise of the show.”

“Perhaps,” said Brack.

“Also, how would Thursday know where to practice his juggling?” Charlie went on. “This was his first time in the hotel. Only someone who knew the hotel like the back of his hand could tell him where to find a great rehearsal space.”

“Could be,” said Brack.

“And finally,” said Charlie. “Who's the mysterious cleaner?”

“What do you mean?” asked Brack.

“The old theater,” Charlie said. “The floor of the stage has been recently swept. Maybe mopped. It was shiny. That doesn't make any sense at all! It should have been dull and covered with dust.”

“Why do you think that?” asked Brack.

Charlie shrugged. “Tyler said no one had been in the theater for years,” he said. “So it shouldn't have been clean. If anyone had been in there, he certainly would have heard about it. Since he hears about everything. I even rubbed my hand along the back of one of the seats. It was clean too. Someone was getting the theater ready for a show.”

“Incredible,” said Brack.

“And of course, I remembered certain things you said to me when Ty and I got off the elevator,” said Charlie. “You said I had juggled the clues together. Mr. Thursday turned out to be a juggler.”

“Isn't that interesting,” said Brack.

Charlie nodded. “Then you said you hoped my solution to the ghost mystery would turn tragedy into comedy,” he went on. “The faces carved into the doors of the theater are the famous faces of Tragedy and Comedy. I've seen them before. You can find them in lots of theaters. They're an old tradition.”

“You know a lot of things, Master Hitchcock,” said Brack.

“I read a lot,” said Charlie. “And I have —”

“An acute visual memory,” finished Brack. “I know.”

“You know a lot, too, Mr. Brack,” said Charlie. “Your words to me in the elevator proved it. You knew what was going on all the time.”

“I keep my ears and eyes open,” said Brack.

“Someone is putting on a show,” said Charlie. “Like the shows in the olden days.”

“Is that so?” Brack said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes,” Charlie said. “You know all about it. Thursday was invited to be part of it. Mr. Madagascar, up on the thirteenth floor, is planning on his comeback.”

“So I've heard,” Brack said.

“I'm guessing Mr. Madagascar is probably going to be in the magic show too,” Charlie said.

“Perhaps he is,” Brack said.

“And who better to plan a magic show like the old days than a magician from the old days? And who better from the old days than the greatest magician of them all?”

“Who indeed,” Brack said.

“Abracadabra,” Charlie said.

Brack smiled. “You would make a good magician yourself, Master Hitchcock,” he said. “How did you solve this mystery?”

“Lots of little things,” said Charlie. “But I really started thinking about it when you told us you saw the ghost here in your elevator. You pointed, and I looked at where you pointed, at the shiny doors.”

“Aha,” said Brack. He smiled.

“I saw my reflection in the doors,” Charlie explained, “and that's when I started to put the pieces together.”

“Of course,” said Brack. “I am impressed, Master Hitchcock.”

“When you look at your reflection, you see a ghost from the past,” Charlie said gently. “You see Abracadabra.”

“Yes, yes,” said Brack. “It's the eyes. Hair turns gray and falls out, ears grow bigger, wrinkles attack your skin. But a person's eyes stay the same.”

“Just like the painting in the lobby,” said Charlie. “That was my final clue.”

“I could never leave the hotel,” said Brack. “It's my home. And I feel protective of the other magicians here. We don't have many places left, magicians. Not the ones from the old days, anyway. So I decided on this new disguise, this new identity.”

“And a new name,” Charlie said.

Brack smiled. “Yes,” he said. “And a new name.”

“Brack is short for Abracadabra,” said Charlie. “I guessed that, too.”

“You guessed very well,” said the magician. “And you seemed to have solved all the puzzles. Well done. So I guess this is for you.”

Brack pulled a gold card from his uniform pocket and handed it to Charlie. Charlie looked down at it.

“Thank you, Mr. Abracadabra,” said Charlie, holding the golden ticket.

“My pleasure, Master Hitchcock,” said Brack.

The elevator stopped.

The doors slid open.

Beyond, Charlie saw the roof of the hotel. Trees bloomed in concrete planters. Flowers were planted in careful paths. There was a stone walkway that led to a stone house, with small, warm windows and odd-shaped towers.

Charlie knew without being told that it was Brack's house.

“Would you care for a cup of hot cocoa?” asked the magician.

“But who'll operate the elevators?” asked Charlie.

“It's all automatic,” said Brack, smiling. “I don't think anyone will mind if the hotel's two puzzle masters take a short break.”

Charlie opened his umbrella, and the magician and the boy walked toward the house.

MICHAEL DAHL
grew up reading everything he could find about his hero Harry Houdini, and worked as a magician's assistant when he was a teenager. Even though he cannot disappear, he is very good at escaping things. Dahl has written the popular Library of Doom series, the Dragonblood books, and the Finnegan Zwake series. He currently lives in the Midwest in a haunted house.

LISA K. WEBER
is an illustrator currently living in Oakland, California. She graduated from Parsons School of Design in 2000 and then began freelancing. Since then, she has completed many print, animation, and design projects, including graphic novelizations of classic literature, character and background designs for children's cartoons, and textiles for dog clothing.

On Friday at three o'clock, Tyler Yu and Charlie Hitchcock stood together just inside the back doors of Blackstone Middle School.

Each of them clutched a packet of paper. All around them, other students took books from their lockers, packed their bags, and made plans for the weekend.

It was an ordinary Friday afternoon. There was nothing at all unusual about the scene.

Except that Ty was the biggest bully in school, and Charlie was best known for his photographic memory, and they weren't supposed to be friends.

“Okay,” Ty said. “This is where we split up.”

Charlie nodded.

“I'll hand out flyers to the eighth-graders,” Ty went on. “I'll also hand out flyers to the jocks, the cool kids, the cheerleaders, and the crew in detention.”

“Who does that leave for me?” Charlie asked, looking up at Ty.

“The dorks,” Ty said. He shrugged. “And the nerds.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Don't forget the geeks.”

“Them too,” Ty agreed. He pointed toward the science wing. “You go that way.”

“Obviously,” Charlie said. He walked off into the crowd.

“And remember — you don't know me,” Ty called after him.

Charlie reached the first corner and stopped. Then he turned and saw Ty, across the main hallway, handing some sheets of paper to two eighth-grade girls.

“I think they'll figure out that we know each other,” Charlie hollered, “when they realize we're handing out the same flyers!”

Smiling, he headed down the science hallway. He would never have tried something like that a few weeks ago, but ever since Charlie helped Ty solve two magic mysteries at the Abracadabra Hotel, the two boys had become something like friends.

Ty would probably deny that.

Actually, Charlie was sure Ty would deny that.

But he knew it was true.

Thirty minutes later, the boys met up at the front of the school. All the flyers were handed out, except one, which Charlie still held in both hands.

“Why did you save that one?” Ty said. “Did you give one to every kid?”