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

figured it out over the summer — he’s really good with stuff like that,” said Cass, in case anybody didn’t know.
    “It’s
secret
backward, right?” asked Max- Ernest.
    “Exactly right,” said Mr. Wallace, sounding faintly disappointed. “The early members found that whenever they said the word
secret,
it aroused too much interest. They called themselves the Terces Society so the riffraff would stay away.” He looked hard at their young guests.
    Cass and Max-Ernest each took an involuntary step backward.
    They had a thousand questions about the Terces Society, but they sensed this might not be the time to ask them.
    “And now, perhaps you will tell us why you’re here,” said Pietro. “You took a great risk.”
    Cass looked at Max-Ernest — he nodded — and she removed her backpack from her back. Silently, she unzipped it and pulled out the Sound Prism.
    Pietro twinkled. “Ah, I knew you would have a good reason for coming.” He shot a look at Mr. Wallace — as if to say,
told you so!
    Owen laughed and shook his head ruefully. “You sneaks! Not even mentioning it in the car!”
    “Showed you up, did they, Owen?” asked Lily slyly.
    Cass and Max-Ernest glanced at each other, unable to hide their proud smiles.
    “We heard this was stolen,” said Cass.
    “It was, indeed,” said Pietro. “You have a done a very great thing — and, who can say? Averted much tragedy.”
    Cass was about to hand him the Sound Prism, but he held up his hand, stopping her.
    “And now — how do they say it on the television? I have a mission for you, if you choose to accept it.”
    They nodded eagerly. Cass gripped the Sound Prism in excitement.
    “Good. I think maybe you have heard of the homunculus?”
    “Yeah, but he can’t be real,” said Max-Ernest confidently. “You can’t grow a man in a bottle. It’s not possible.”
    “The Midnight Sun thinks it’s possible,” said Pietro.
    “Yeah, but . . . you don’t . . . er, right?”
    The old magician let the question hang. In a room like this, with half-built illusions all around, who could say what was possible?
    “And that’s why they want him?” asked Cass, after a moment. “Because they think he’s one of these man-made guys? And they want to make another one?”
    “We think they want something from him,” said Pietro. “Something he has or knows where to find.”
    “Like what?” asked Max-Ernest. He still wasn’t ready to believe the homunculus existed — let alone that it knew anything.
    “The grave!” said Cass, remembering the conversation they overheard on the boat.
    Pietro nodded. “That would be Lord Pharaoh’s grave. The alchemist who made the homunculus, he called himself Lord Pharaoh. Assuming this thing exists —” he added for Max-Ernest’s benefit.
    “Isn’t that redundant? Like calling yourself King King,” said Max-Ernest.
    Pietro laughed. “Redundant, yes. And vain. But those were not his worst crimes. The Midnight Sun, they believe he knew the Secret.”
    Max-Ernest and Cass fell silent, treating this information with the gravity it deserved. Pietro put a warm, calloused hand on each of their shoulders.
    “You must find the homunculus before the Midnight Sun. It is of the utmost importance.”
    Max-Ernest stammered in surprise. “Us? But —”
    “But they’re only children!” protested Lily.
    “It does seem dangerous,” said Owen. “Not that I’m volunteering. . . .”
    “Pietro, this is insane — even for you!” said Mr. Wallace, red-faced.
    “Yes, isn’t it?” He smiled broadly at Cass and Max-Ernest.
    Cass tried to smile back and show she was brave. She wanted to ask more about the homunculus. About why they were being given this task. But all she could get out was: “How —?”
    “With that —” Pietro pointed to the Sound Prism. “After all, it belongs to you.”
    Before she could ask why, he continued, “It’s the only tool that we have. And you, Cassandra, are the only one who can use