Lord of the Wings

 

Begin Reading

Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright Page

 

Thank you for buying this

St. Martin's Press ebook.

 

To receive special offers, bonus content,

and info on new releases and other great reads,

sign up for our newsletters.

 

Or visit us online at

us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

 

For email updates on the author, click
here
.

 

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way.
Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author's copyright, please notify the publisher at:
us.macmillanusa.com/piracy
.

 

Acknowledgments

Thanks, as always, to everyone at St. Martin's/Minotaur, including (but not limited to) Hector DeJean, Melissa Hastings, Paul Hochman, Andrew Martin, Sarah Melnyk, Talia Sherer, Emma Stein, Mary Willems, and my editor, Pete Wolverton. And thanks again to David Rotstein and the art department for the dramatic Halloween cover. I'm raven about it!

More thanks to my agent, Ellen Geiger, and the staff at the Frances Goldin Literary Agency for handling the boring (to me) practical stuff so I can focus on writing.

Many thanks to the friends—writers and readers alike—who brainstorm and critique with me, give me good ideas, or help keep me sane while I'm writing: Stuart, Elke, Aidan, and Liam Andrews, Renee Brown, Erin Bush, Chris Cowan, Meriah Crawford, Ellen Crosby, Kathy Deligianis, Suzanne Frisbee, John Gilstrap, Barb Goffman, C. Ellett Logan, David Niemi, Alan Orloff, Shelley Shearer, Art Taylor, Robin Templeton, and Dina Willner. Thanks for all kinds of moral support and practical help to my blog sisters and brothers at the Femmes Fatales: Dana Cameron, Charlaine Harris, Dean James, Toni L. P. Kelner, Catriona McPherson, Kris Neri, Hank Phillipi Ryan, Mary Saums, Marcia Talley, and Elaine Viets. And thanks to all the TeaBuds for years of friendship.

The Creatures of the Night exhibit in the Caerphilly Zoo was modeled closely after the Kingdoms of the Night exhibit in Omaha's fabulous Henry Doorly Zoo. I owe the late Sally Fellows and all of the organizers of the Mayhem in the Midlands mystery convention a debt of gratitude for luring me to Omaha in the first place, and am particularly grateful to Lori Hayes, who is always eager to take me to the zoo and never complains when I want to take just another few dozen pictures of the peacocks or the meerkats.

And above all, thanks to the readers who continue to read Meg's adventures.

 

Chapter 1

“Someone's broken into the Haunted House!”

My cell phone almost vibrated from the excitement in my brother's voice.

“Calm down, Rob,” I said. I wanted to add, “And what are you doing awake before eight a.m.?” but I suspected he would take it as a slur on his character. I punched the speaker button, set my phone on the kitchen table, and went back to painting a goatee on my son Josh's chin.

“But, Meg, the Haunted House—”

“Was anything taken?” I asked. “Or broken?”

“Not that we can tell,” Rob said. “But Dr. Smoot is upset.”

“That's his normal state of mind these days,” I said. Then I winced, hoping the proprietor of the Haunted House wasn't close enough to Rob's phone to hear me.

“If you can call anything about Smoot normal.” Okay, even Rob wouldn't have said that in front of the man. “But definitely more upset than usual. The closer we get to Halloween, the more hyper he gets.”

Josh lifted up his piratical eye patch, twisted to look at his reflection in the shiny chrome side of the toaster, and frowned.

“I want to be more hairier,” he said.

“Just hairier,” I corrected. “I'm working on it. Did you report it to the police?” I added to Rob.

“Not yet,” Rob said. “Dr. Smoot says Chief Burke never takes him seriously.”

Dr. Smoot was probably right. Of course, it didn't help that while he was still serving as Caerphilly County's medical examiner, Dr. Smoot had taken to dressing as a vampire, complete with a long black cape and fake fangs, and collecting vampire-related paraphernalia. Chief Burke had been vastly relieved when Dr. Smoot had resigned his post to pursue this strange new hobby full time, complete with travels to such vampire meccas as Transylvania and New Orleans. The chief probably wasn't thrilled to have Dr. Smoot not only back in town but also running the Haunted House that played a central role in the town's ongoing Halloween Festival.

“Never mind their past history,” I said. “If there's any real evidence of a burglary, Chief Burke will want to investigate. In fact, he'll be pretty ticked off if he finds out you didn't call him right away.”

“Dr. Smoot says since nothing was actually taken, he thought it was okay to call the Goblin Patrol instead.”

“Rob,” I began.

“Sorry,” Rob said. “The Visitor Relations and Police Liaison Patrol. I still think Goblin Patrol's catchier. I'll call the chief. But Dr. Smoot's upset—he really wants to talk to you.”

“I'm putting the boys into their costumes for school,” I said. “And then Michael and I are going along as chaperones for today's school field trip to the zoo. And—”

“Great,” Rob said. “The Haunted House is right on your way. You could just drop in for a few minutes—”

“After the field trip,” I said. “Or if more than enough parents come to wrangle the kids, I might be able to break away once we've delivered our carload to the zoo. Call the police, and tell Dr. Smoot I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Roger,” Rob said.

“Uncle Rob,” Josh said. “I'm a pirate today.”

“A pirate?” Rob echoed. “I thought you were a cowboy.”

“A cowboy? Yuck. That was yesterday.”

“Today he's a pirate,” I said. “I've been trying to explain to the boys that when their teacher said they could wear costumes every day this week, it didn't mean a different costume every day.”

“But it's more fun this way,” Josh protested.

“Absolutely!” Rob said. “Goblin Patrol, over and out.”

“Rob,” I began, but he'd already hung up. “Josh, can you punch the button to turn off my phone? My hands are full.”

He obliged, then turned back to me and lifted his chin as if silently demanding that I add another layer of painted beard.

“Mommy—look!” I turned to see Jamie, Josh's twin. “See my new costume! Isn't it cool?”

“Very cool!” I stopped myself before asking, “But what is it?” and studied his outfit for clues. Like most first graders, he had only rudimentary costume-making skills, so at first glance, his new outfit looked exactly like Monday's dog costume, Tuesday's raccoon, and Wednesday's penguin. They all used as a base the same set of faded beige footed pajamas. Today he'd stuck tufts of fur rather than feathers to the flannel, so I deduced that he was a mammal rather than a bird. The catlike whiskers stuck on his cheeks with Scotch tape didn't help much, but then I noticed that the rope he'd tied around his waist, leaving one end trailing six or seven feet behind him, now bore a tuft of fur at the tip.

“So you're going as a lion today?” I guessed.

Jamie beamed.

“Look, Josh,” he said. “Rowrrrr!”

Josh was studying himself again in the toaster.

“I guess it's okay,” he said. “But I want a really cool costume for the real Halloween on Saturday.”

“Josh,” I said. “That's only two days away. I'm not sure we have time to make another costume. Can't you just go as a pirate or a cowboy or a space alien or a wizard? We can make some improvements to whichever one you choose.”

“I want to be a robot,” Josh said.

It could be worse, I decided. I could easily make him a robot suit with some cardboard boxes and tin foil.

“But not one of those lame robot costumes like Victor's mother made him out of cardboard boxes and tin foil,” Josh said. “A
real
robot costume. It should be metal. And the eyes should light up when I get mad. And you should be able to open up my chest to see my motor.”

“I'll think about it,” I said. “No promises,” I added. “You know I'm pretty busy with the Halloween Festival.”

“But I really want to be a robot!”

“No whining!” I exclaimed.

Josh recognized the wisdom of shutting up, and shifted tactics. He sighed and donned a look of patient, wistful longing—rather like Oliver Twist holding up the empty gruel bowl.

Maybe Michael could enlist some help in making a robot costume. An extra-credit project for a couple of his drama department students with prop and costume shop experience. I could ask him.

And come to think of it, maybe Michael could drive the boys to school, pick up the other two kids we were supposed to transport, and take them to the zoo. Then I could drop by to soothe Dr. Smoot and still meet them there in time for the tour.

“Where's your daddy?” I asked the boys.

“In the backyard, chasing the llamas,” Jamie said.

“Why is he chasing the llamas?” I asked. “Are they loose?”

Jamie shook his head.

“Then why—”

“Who's ready for waffles?” my cousin Rose Noire called out, as she sailed in, already dressed in her costume for the day, as Glinda, the Good Witch.

“Yay!” Jamie exclaimed.

“Blueberry waffles?” Josh asked.

“
Organic
blueberry waffles,” Rose Noire said. “With artisanal maple syrup.”

The boys sat down and looked expectant. On mornings like this, I was profoundly grateful that Rose Noire still showed no signs of moving out of the third floor spare bedroom she'd occupied since before the boys were born.

I strolled outside to see why Michael was chasing the llamas.

Actually, he wasn't so much chasing them as being followed by them. He was jogging briskly around the perimeter of their pasture and the llamas, ever curious about human eccentricities, were loping along behind him.

I leaned over the fence and watched until he drew near, then climbed over the top rail and fell into step beside him.

“What's up?” I asked.

“An actor's body is his instrument,” he puffed.

“That's nice,” I said. “What does that have to do with your taking up jogging?” Then enlightenment struck. “You tried on your wizard costume last night, didn't you?” I asked.

Michael frowned and nodded.

“Too tight?”

“Not
too
tight,” he said. “But a little tighter than it used to be. Tighter than it
should
be.”

Not surprising, since it had been a few years since Michael had donned the costume he'd once worn to play the evil wizard Mephisto on
Porfiria, Queen of the Jungle,
a long-canceled cult TV fantasy show. In fact, although die-hard fans kept inviting him to Porfiria fan conventions, he hadn't gone since before the twins were born, and they were six now.