Pigeon shrugged. “Ever since I realized there is treasure sitting around in the open, waiting for somebody to notice it, I’ve had trouble resisting.”

  “Hello,” Mr. Stott said, emerging from the back. A robust man of seventy years old, the former ice cream truck driver had a gray beard with a pair of symmetrical dark streaks running the full length down to his chest. “Lindy, bring your friends and come join me.”

  The five kids followed Mr. Stott through the door to the back of the candy shop. His ongoing experiments topped the counters and worktables—multicolored potions bubbled in clear flasks, sugary crystals dried on racks, and a bright-green gelatinous mass prowled inside a terrarium.

  Mr. Stott escorted the kids to a table where five tall glasses awaited, each filled with a milky white beverage.

  “Shakes?” Summer asked.

  “Banana,” Mr. Stott replied. “Try them.”

  Nate quickly took a sip. Anything Mr. Stott made was a safe bet, and this drink was no exception. More the consistency of a smoothie than a shake, it was frosty and creamy, with just the right balance of banana and vanilla. And a hint of honey.

  “This is epic,” Trevor said. “I don’t even like bananas, but you’re changing my mind.”

  “Is this hard to make?” Pigeon asked. “I have to give my mom the recipe.”

  “The only prep is freezing half a banana,” Mr. Stott said. “Combine that with a whole ripe banana, two small scoops of vanilla ice cream, one cup of milk, and a drizzle of honey. Blend well and enjoy.”

  “Are there other bells and whistles you sometimes include?” Nate asked. Mr. Stott often had alternate versions of his concoctions.

  Mr. Stott gave a nod. “You can use coconut ice cream instead of vanilla. Or try adding your preferred chocolate mix and a spoonful of peanut butter for a richer and more complex result.”

  “Why is John Dart our new lunch lady?” Trevor asked.

  “Lunch Lord,” Summer corrected.

  Mr. Stott’s demeanor became more solemn. “He’s worried about the carnival.”

  “Does he get sick on the spinny rides?” Nate asked.

  “First off, the fairgrounds have been powerfully warded,” Mr. Stott said. “That seems to indicate the carnival is a magical lair.”

  “A lair for who?” Trevor asked.

  Mr. Stott shrugged and splayed his hands. “We don’t know. The Dreams and Screams International Carnival has made appearances in Europe, Asia, South America, and most recently in Texas, but we still don’t know who runs it.”

  “Does this carnival have a reputation?” Pigeon asked.

  “Nothing of significant interest until Texas,” Mr. Stott said. “The Council had been monitoring the carnival but only considered it a minor threat until last month.”

  “What happened last month?” Summer asked.

  “There were numerous unreported disappearances after the outfit left Texas.”

  “Of people?” Nate asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know about the disappearances if they were unreported?” Nate asked.

  Mr. Stott popped a malt ball into his mouth and crunched it. “For ‘normal’ disappearances—people who run away or who are abducted—those events tend to get reported. For disappearances that aren’t reported, the Council investigates because those usually involve magic. Enchantments that make people forget or not notice what is happening. And dozens of people vanished while the carnival was in Texas. Children, adults—even a few entire families.”

  “Could they have run off and joined the carnival?” Pigeon asked.

  “The operatives we sent to investigate never returned,” Mr. Stott said. “Talented, dependable people. We’re still trying to figure out what happened.”

  “And now the carnival shows up here,” Lindy said.

  “Has anyone local vanished?” Trevor asked.

  “I don’t believe so,” Mr. Stott said. “If disappearances are being magically cloaked, they’re fooling me too. But there are baffling reports from around town. An orangutan was spotted in an oak tree at Hillcrest Park. And John Dart saw a stagecoach and a full team of six horses sitting idly in the Safeway parking lot yesterday.”

  “I saw that on social media,” Pigeon said.

  “My mom was there,” Summer said. “She wondered if they were filming a commercial or something.”

  “Nobody claimed the coach,” Mr. Stott said. “Or the horses. The police showed up, and some people from animal control. The authorities couldn’t figure out where any of it came from. There wasn’t much precedent for how to handle the situation.”

  “Was the stagecoach from olden times?” Trevor asked.

  “John reported that everything was in good repair,” Mr. Stott said. “As if it were new. Could it have slipped through time to get here? Not a bad theory.”

  “What happened to the orangutan?” Summer asked.

  “It’s still at large,” Mr. Stott said. “Multiple people reported seeing it at the park. But then nobody could find it, including John.”

  “It’s coming to my house,” Pigeon muttered. “I know it.”

  “Did the orangutan escape from the carnival?” Nate asked.

  “The carnival claimed all their apes are accounted for,” Mr. Stott said.

  “I thought circuses had stopped using animals these days,” Summer said.

  “Apparently the Dreams and Screams International Carnival has permits for just about everything,” Mr. Stott said.

  “They’re going to have protestors,” Summer said.

  “Let’s hope so,” Mr. Stott said. “This carnival is up to no good. Any resistance they encounter will be welcome.”

  “I need some good candy in case that ape shows up,” Pigeon said.

  “Too bad our stamps wore out,” Trevor said.

  Nate nodded. It had been two weeks since the last of his stamp powers faded away. Having the strength of a tank or the flight abilities of a jet had been handy. The ink pads and stamps had been confiscated by the Council after Jonas White was incarcerated.

  Mr. Stott scrunched his brow. “If I remember correctly, you still have some Shock Bits, several Moon Rocks, an ample supply of Brain Feed, a fair amount of Peak Performance gum, and at least a few Ironhides.”

  “An Ironhide would probably do the trick in an orangutan attack,” Pigeon said. “He wouldn’t be able to dislocate my limbs or tear me open or shatter my bones. But he could haul me off into the hills and wait for the candy to wear off.”

  “Could be a ‘she,’” Summer said.

  “And she might never show up again,” Trevor said.

  “I want to be ready,” Pigeon said.

  “I’m not sure I have anything better than what you already possess,” Mr. Stott said. “I’m in the final stages of developing a trick candy that I call Sour Stink. It’s sour candy that will leave you smelling worse than a family of skunks crushing rotten eggs in a garbage dump. The effect lasts a few hours, but while it does, the odor should drive off any living creature.”

  “Would I smell bad to myself?” Pigeon asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Stott said. “Chances are good you would throw up uncontrollably. I may need to dial it back a little.”

  “I’ll take it,” Pigeon said. “I’d rather puke than become an orangutan’s chew toy.”

  Mr. Stott opened a drawer and handed Pigeon two black cubes of a gummy substance. “Don’t use this as a trick on anyone besides a mortal enemy. The effects are currently too extreme to employ Sour Stinks as a prank.”

  Pigeon saluted. “I’ll only use these on myself or the devil.”

  “We were planning to go to the carnival on Saturday,” Nate said. “Opening day. We even scored free tickets.”

  “Be wary,” Mr. Stott said. “I doubt much inside will be free.”

  “Should we still go?” Pigeon asked.

  “Up to you,” Mr. Stott said. “No magical operatives or magicians can enter. We cannot be separated from our magic, and the lair is sealed against our powers. I’ve tried to see inside, but to no avail.”

  “You need us to go in,” Nate said.

  “I wouldn’t encourage it,” Mr. Stott said. “I’m convinced the carnival is dangerous. But if you end up going, I’d love a report.”

  “We’ll do some spying for you,” Summer assured him.

  “Carefully though,” Mr. Stott said. “We don’t want you joining the ranks of those who have vanished.”

  Nate tipped his glass back, swallowing the last of the banana drink. He wiped his lips. “We also don’t want the carnival to kidnap people while we do nothing. If they’re up to no good, we should monitor the situation. Ignoring evil lets the bad guys carry out their plans.”

  “I would appreciate anything you can learn,” Mr. Stott said. “So would John. But we will have no way to help you if things go sideways.”

  “We’ll watch out for each other,” Summer said.

  “Can I go too?” Lindy asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Mr. Stott said.

  “I’m not going to turn back into an evil old lady,” Lindy said. “I don’t even remember being her.”

  “That isn’t the main problem,” Mr. Stott said.

  “Then how come I can’t go?” Lindy challenged.

  “Their parents have no idea how dangerous this could get,” Mr. Stott replied. “Your dad does.”

  Chapter Four

  Parade

  The wooden railing of the boardwalk creaked as Nate leaned against it. The buildings along Main Street were designed to replicate an old western town. Raised wooden sidewalks and barrels as trash cans lined the street. He stood in front of the Main Street General Store beside Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon. Other onlookers lined both sides of the street, two or three deep in some places.

  “What’s worse than a parade?” Nate asked.

  “Tell us,” Summer said.

  “Waiting for a parade to start,” Nate said. “Early on a Saturday morning.” He looked up and down the street. “I can’t believe so many people came.”

  “This carnival has been heavily advertised,” Pigeon said, rubbing sunblock onto his forehead. “It will draw visitors from all over the Bay Area.”

  “The Foster Child has been pushing it hard,” Trevor said. “Not that I follow him.”

  “He better throw me extra candy,” Nate grumbled.

  “Parades can be fun,” Summer said. “You don’t know what’s going to come next.”

  “Local beauty queens waving from fancy cars,” Nate said. “Or a marching band. Maybe a float.”

  “This is a carnival parade,” Pigeon said. “There could be animals.”

  “Try not to freak out if there is an orangutan,” Nate said.

  “I’m worried there will be clowns,” Trevor said.

  “I hope not,” Pigeon muttered somberly.

  “Why is everyone scared of clowns?” Nate asked. “They’re weird and funny.”

  “Clowns are a disturbing kind of funny,” Pigeon said. “Their happiness is contrived. It’s all paint and giggles. You never know when they’ll snap.”

  “When was the last time you saw a nice clown?” Trevor added. “They’re all fighting Batman or living in sewers.”

  “I don’t mind clowns,” Summer said. “They’re kind of corny, though.”

  “Aren’t clowns more for circuses than carnivals?” Nate asked.

  “This carnival has a big top,” Trevor said.

  “Sounds like clown habitat to me,” Pigeon said.

  The rumble of a huge drum sounded in the distance. After a brief pause, another enormous boom followed. Then another, like the footfalls of an approaching giant. Each beat thrummed with deep vibrations that Nate felt in his chest. The bystanders had all gone quiet. Somewhere above them, a crow cawed.

  A huge clockwork elephant lumbered into view down the street. Sudden, urgent percussion filled the gaps between the steady booms. The gilded elephant plodded forward, its exterior built like an ornate cage, leaving the internal gears and cogs visible.

  “No way,” Nate said. “How big is their budget?”

  “Magicians,” Pigeon muttered. “Remember, the carnival is a lair.”

  Four people in metallic-colored bodysuits moved through the interior of the elephant, working levers and turning cranks, apparently powering and controlling the bizarre creation. They climbed from one internal platform to another, pulling chains and pumping pedals to make sprockets rotate and belts whir. The elephant’s bejeweled head tilted back, and the trunk extended skyward, trumpeting brassily.

  The mechanical pachyderm pulled a sleek wagon holding a colossal drum. A woman in a dressy tweed suit operated a small crane that swung a wrecking ball to produce the deepest thrums. A variety of other drummers in the wagon pounded out the rest of the percussion on kettle drums, snare drums, tambors, bongos, and cymbals.

  “You have to admit that is cool,” Summer said as the clockwork elephant approached.

  “It’s impressive,” Nate agreed.

  “Looks like four people are working the elephant,” Trevor said. “We have to find a way to take it for a joyride!”

  Behind the wagon came figures on towering stilts. One looked like Uncle Sam, his red-and-white-striped pants descending all the way to the street. There was also a police officer, a firefighter, and the Statue of Liberty. Behind them came others on stilts doing tricks with enormous yo-yos. At the rear was a fake donkey with four superlong legs. Nate figured there were two people inside the donkey, rather than one individual with stilts on hands and feet.

  Next came a procession of performers in vibrant and colorful costumes.

  Nate watched a woman tilt her head back and slide a long, slender sword into her mouth to the hilt. She had close-cropped hair and a studded leather vest that bared her toned, tattooed arms.

  Another woman held aloft handfuls of writhing snakes, some of them hooded like cobras.

  Jugglers in motley tossed rings, balls, and blades into the air, some working in groups to keep elaborate patterns of thrown objects from touching the ground.

  Three bare-chested Middle-Eastern men in shimmering pants blew geysers of fire from their lips.

  A white-faced mime seemed to ascend four or five invisible steps at a time before dropping back to the street.

  A family of acrobats in skintight apparel did numerous flips and tricks on a large, rolling trampoline. One of the sons looked barely older than Nate, and one of the daughters, her hair in a tight little bun, looked a bit younger. Other acrobats balanced atop balls or traveled inside of rolling hoops.

  A slender contortionist being pulled on a platform somehow folded herself down into a clear cube no taller than her knees.

  A long, bargelike float followed, hauled by eight live camels. The float featured numerous animals on platforms of different heights, including several monkeys, a crocodile, a python, an emu, an ostrich, several chimpanzees, a gorilla, a black bear, a warthog, and, in a cage at the apex, a magnificent lion with golden fur and a thick, dark mane.

  “How do they get away with exploiting these animals for entertainment?” Summer asked.

  “At least they look healthy,” Nate said.

  The lion growled and heaved against the side of his cage, making the whole enclosure rattle. It roared, showing huge teeth.

  “That sound made my heart stop,” Pigeon said.

  The lion slammed against the cage again, and it fell apart, bars clanging as they toppled. Onlookers screamed as the lion bounded down from the float. The bear and gorilla vaulted off the float as well.

  Mothers snatched their children, pulling them away from the street.

  Nate was about to retreat into the general store when the wild animals came to a stop. The bear, lion, and gorilla took off their heads, revealing smiling people inside the shaggy costumes.

  The lion was phony. The bear and the gorilla too. Could the animals have been a mix of costuming and puppetry? Nate could hardly believe it. But just moments earlier, he had seen a strand of saliva connecting the fangs of the lion’s gaping mouth!

  Nervous laughter percolated through the crowd. Frightened bystanders who had begun to retreat returned to their places at the roadside. Others kept their distance. Some of the parents looked disgruntled.

  “Not cool,” Trevor said. “The lion was fake, but what happened in my underwear was real.”

  By the time the lion, bear, and gorilla had resumed their positions, the float had passed by the general store. Workers reassembled the lion’s cage. Nate could not believe how realistic the animals looked once the costumes were in place again.

  A tiny car came careening down the road behind the float, honking repeatedly, some two-door model Nate had never seen, maybe from Europe. The absurd little vehicle went fast, making looping turns, doing doughnuts, and sometimes driving against the flow of the parade. At last, the car screeched to a stop in the middle of the street a few yards beyond where Nate and his friends stood, the driver hidden behind tinted windows.

  The passenger window rolled down, and a tiny clown tumbled out. Then the door flung open, and a large clown was shoved to the street. He did a somersault and sprang to his feet. The driver’s door opened, and more clowns began spilling from that side as well.

  “No!” Trevor cried. “I should have worn a diaper!”

  Nate watched in amazement as clowns continued to pour from the undersized vehicle. The trunk opened, and a sinister clown with purple makeup and long limbs came slinking out. An extremely tall clown rose from the sunroof and exited. More than a dozen clowns emerged! No, two dozen! Finally, a bulky leg protruded from the passenger door, barely fitting through. A tremendously fat clown followed the hefty appendage, the automobile rocking as he extricated himself.