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

behind his ear walked toward them.
    “William Wilton Wallace III, certified public accountant, at your service,” he said, handing each of the newcomers a business card.
    “Mr. Wallace is an accountant by day, but he is the Terces Society archivist by night,” Pietro explained.
    “Nice to meet you,” said Cass.
    “Oh, we’ve met before, when you were in diapers,” said Mr. Wallace with an expression of distaste — as if he could still smell the diapers in question. “I did the books for your grandfathers’ store until I gave up on them. Far too disorganized. Absolutely hopeless, those two. But I expect you feel the same?”
    “No, well, I . . .” Cass trailed off, wanting to defend her grandfathers, but not wanting to pick a fight.
    “And this is Lily Wei. I think you have met her upstairs.” Pietro nodded as the beautiful, black-suited woman entered the room. “Of course, she is not just our receptionist, she is a master of the Chinese music.” *
    Lily smiled modestly. “Master is a relative word.”
    “Will you play for them?” asked Pietro, indicating the collection of exotic instruments hanging on one wall.
    Lily tilted her head in assent. Then picked out an odd, violin-like instrument with a horse head carved at the end of the neck where a scroll should be.
    “This is the morin khur. From Mongolia. Close your eyes —”
    Cass and Max-Ernest obeyed, and suddenly, they heard the sound of a horse galloping. The horse whinnied, then stopped short right next to them.
    The effect was so startling they opened their eyes.
    Lily laughed softly, still playing. “In the old days, they made the morin khur from the skull of a horse. They say you can still hear the horse’s ghost.”
    The music became lovely and mournful and then —
    She moved so swiftly that they never saw her pull the long, needle-like sword out of her violin bow. By the time they grasped what was happening, the sword was tickling Max-Ernest’s throat.
    “Wha —!” he gasped.
    Lily dropped the sword just as quickly.
    Cass stared, pale.
    “I forgot to tell you, Lily is also a master of defense,” said Pietro, enjoying their reaction, “our, what is the term?
Muscle.
”
    The kids looked suitably impressed.
    “You will always be safe when I am nearby,” said the demure receptionist, sheathing her sword back in the bow.
    “So then — you knew it was us all along?” asked Max-Ernest, still quivering from the shock.
    “I suspected. But I had Owen take a look just in case.”
    “Owen? Is he here?” Cass looked around in surprise.
    “Right here.”
    Everyone turned to see the goateed Englishman sitting quietly in a chair by the wall. He removed his glasses.
    The kids groaned. How could they not have guessed?
    “The question is: why are
you
here?” said the English Owen. “I seem to remember dropping you off at home.”
    “Give them a second. They’ll tell us in a moment,” said Pietro.
    “How can you always look so different?” Max-Ernest asked. “Is that even your nose?”
    “Of course, it’s mine!” said Owen, offended.
    He pulled on his nose — and it stretched like putty. “I paid good money for it!”
    Everyone laughed. And Cass felt a sudden surge of happiness.
    The members of the Terces Society might not be the Knights of the Round Table any more than Pietro was Merlin, but, at the moment, she wouldn’t trade them for anyone. Even Owen.
    “So, then, is this . . . everybody?” she asked.
    At this, Mr. Wallace coughed and looked at Pietro with raised eyebrows.
    “They will turn up when we need them, you will see,” Pietro said defiantly.
    “I’m sure they’ll put on a fabulous show,” sniffed the archivist. He was obviously skeptical that they would turn up — whoever
they
were.
    “The Terces Society has many friends,” said Pietro, turning back to Cass and Max-Ernest. “But it is well that we do not all know each other. . . . Speaking of this, have you two figured out our name?”
    “Max-Ernest