If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late by Pseudonymous Bosch Page A

there’s an emergency, you can reach us at the Magic Museum.”
    “Where’s that?” asked Cass.
    “You don’t need to know.”
    Cass rolled her eyes.
    The VW ripped away, leaving them standing under a telephone pole. They both started talking at once — having the argument aloud that they’d had silently in the car.
    I won’t try to untangle the entire conversation, but it boiled down to this: Cass didn’t trust Owen.
    “The Sound Prism is all we have,” she said. “We already gave ourselves up to Dr. L, thinking he was Pietro. And Owen let us fall right into the trap!”
    “I still think we should have showed him the Sound Prism. He
did
save our lives,” Max-Ernest pointed out.
    Cass hesitated, then relented. “OK, fine — we’ll give it to them. But only if I can give it right to Pietro.”
    Max-Ernest, who was very hungry and very tired and very much missing both of his beds, figured she meant sometime in the sort-of-distant future. But Cass had another idea. They should go find Pietro now. While they still could.
    “We’re in trouble no matter what. What’s the difference if we’re missing a few hours longer?”
    “But our parents probably think we’re dead —”
    Cass nodded. “That’s why we should go now — dead people have more freedom!”
    Max-Ernest shook his head — just when you thought you’d won an argument.
    “Good,” said Cass. “Now all we have to do is figure out where the Magic Museum is.”
    “Oh, that’s easy.” Max-Ernest reached in his pocket. “I found this on the floor of Owen’s car . . . and, well, it had the word
magic
on it, s-s-so, anyway,” he stammered, embarrassed.
    He held out a book of matches.

    The address was on the back.
    “How ’bout that?”
    Cass looked stern. “Max-Ernest, that’s stealing!”
    He paled.
    “Joking!”
    He laughed. Sort of.

I wrote it on a napkin in a diner late last night and —
    You know how it is — one minute you’re banging on a broken vending machine, hoping just this once it will have pity on you, the next minute you’re tearing through the countryside, looking for anyplace, for anyone that will offer you a little bite of chocolate.
    OK,
bites.
    I fell asleep in my car halfway through my twelfth Hershey bar. (Why can’t you ever find any decent imported dark chocolate in the middle of the night?) By the time I checked back at the diner, well, that napkin was wiping off anybody’s chin but mine.
    Don’t worry — you’re not missing anything. The chapter didn’t contain anything important.
    Oh, except that I finally revealed the Secret.
    Or did I?
    Actually, if you want to know the truth, my head’s a bit fuzzy at the moment — not to mention a bit funky, considering all the chocolate stuck in my hair. I don’t remember
what
I wrote on that napkin. I hope I didn’t write anything I shouldn’t have because it could be anywhere by now. And anyone could be reading it.
    Well, there’s nothing to be done. The whole thing is out of our hands — out of mine, anyway.
    Why don’t you skip ahead to the next chapter? I’ll be with you in a minute.
    Ahem . . .
    Cough . . . cough . . .
    If you don’t mind . . .
    Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough:
    Move on. Now. Please.
    I’m in desperate need of a shower.

I t took six dollars, three buses, two hours, and one last bag of trail mix to get there.
    But where?
    Cass had told herself not to expect a medieval castle. But a mini-mall?
    “Well, at least we can get Slurpees before we go back,” said Max-Ernest, looking at the convenience store that stood where the Magic Museum should be. There was also a dry cleaner and a pet grooming salon called Shampooch.
    At first, they thought they had the wrong place. But when they walked around the side of the building by the bathrooms, they saw a stairwell leading to a basement door.
    Next to the door was a small sign:
    THE MAGIC MUSEUM
    Members Only
    “Members only?” Max-Ernest was disconcerted.
    “Well, we are