The Second Spy: The Books of Elsewhere: Volume 3 (26 page)

“Call me Hairy,” Harvey panted.

“Hairy,” Olive repeated. She tried to slip a knot off
of one of Harvey’s claws and got an electric shock in exchange. “Did you see any sign of the McMartins today?”

“No,” Harvey grunted, finally succeeding in shaking his head out of one particularly thick loop of curtain cords. “All is calm, all is bright, as Shakespeare said.”

“I don’t think that was Shakespeare.” Olive watched Harvey struggle for a moment. “Do you want me to help you out?”

“No need for that!” said the cat. “Three—two…I mean…Ten—nine—”

On his third attempt, Harvey managed to rock onto his side and balance on one foreleg and one hind leg. Bands of rope and chain still encircled the rest of his body, as though he had been very sloppily mummified.

“Ta-da,” he declared.

Olive applauded before getting up and heading toward her bedroom. Behind her, she could hear the flop of Harvey falling over.

Horatio was seated at the foot of her bed, staring out the window, his soft, warm fur made half transparent by the afternoon sunlight. Olive set down the plate of snacks on her bedside table and tossed her book bag onto the bed. The mattress bounced. Horatio didn’t move.

“Hi, Horatio,” said Olive. “I’m going to take a present to Morton. It’s a picture of his parents. Made with
normal paint this time,” she added quickly. “Would you like to come Elsewhere with me?”

Horatio didn’t answer. His ears gave a miniscule twitch.

“Horatio?”

Slowly, Horatio’s face turned toward Olive. “She’s out there. Not far away.”

Olive clutched her painting to her chest. “What should we do?” she whispered.

“What
can
we do?” Horatio’s whiskery eyebrows rose. “Be on our guard. Keep our eyes open. Trust each other.”

The sick sensation filling Olive’s body lightened just the teensiest bit. She nodded.

“Shh,” Horatio hissed suddenly.

“What?”

“Can’t you hear it?”

Olive listened. From somewhere down the hall, there came a crash, followed by a string of angry muttering. “I think Harvey’s still stuck in his restraints.”

“Not that.” Horatio’s eyes fixed on the window, where the ash tree’s nearly bare branches tapped softly against the glass.

Olive stared at the window through the twin tufts of Horatio’s ears. She listened. She waited. But whatever Horatio was sensing, Olive didn’t feel it. What she felt was the sensation of balancing on something very high and very narrow. Whether she moved backward into safety or forward into the unknown, she knew that she couldn’t stay still for long.

“What is it?” she whispered to Horatio.

A tiny smile appeared on Horatio’s face. “We may not have to fight alone,” he said.

About the author

JACQUELINE WEST is obsessed with stories where magic intersects with everyday life—from talking cats, to enchanted eyewear, to paintings as portals to other worlds. An award-winning poet, former teacher, and occasional musician, Jacqueline now lives with her husband in Red Wing, Minnesota. There she dreams of dusty libraries, secret passageways, and many more adventures for Olive, Morton, and Rutherford.