Free This Book Is Not Good For You by Pseudonymous Bosch Page B

an hour they’d moved fewer than a quarter of the boxes out of the way.
    Sebastian was lying nearby on the old beach towel known as his “magic carpet” (because Larry and Wayne used it to lift the dog and “fly” him around the room). As Cass dropped what seemed like the hundredth box of opera records onto the floor, he kept nudging her leg and barking.
    “Shh. Just let me find this crate, Sebastian. I need it to save my mom. She was kidnapped,” Cass whispered, grateful to be able to confide in somebody, even a dog.
    She petted his head repeatedly, but Sebastian, who tended to bark very loudly because he was very nearly deaf, only barked louder.
    Cass was about to go hunt for some dog food when she realized he was barking in the direction of the old fire hose Wayne had mentioned. It was coiled around a big iron wheel.
    Wedged behind the wheel was a box Cass hadn’t noticed earlier. Was this the cause of Sebastian’s barking?
    Growing excited, Cass pulled out the box. It was cardboard and about the size of a case of soda pop. It looked banged-up, as if it had been in her grandfather’s store for quite a while.
    Cass sighed, disappointed. One thing was certain: it wasn’t an orange crate. Why had Sebastian steered her so wrong?
    She was about to push the box aside with the others when she noticed a quarter-size hole cut into the cardboard. And the words HANDLE WITH CARE written in black marker.
    Could it be…?
    She looked over at her friends—they were both absorbed in what they were doing—and then she nervously peeled back the layers of masking tape that kept the box closed.
    The box was empty, save for a single piece of paper.
    BABY GIRL—7 LBS, 3 OZ
    TIME OF BIRTH—6:35 PM
    According to the story her grandfathers had told her, those were the only words written on the piece of paper that had been taped to her chest. Yet here she found a long letter written below them.
    DEAR LARRY AND WAYNE:
    YOU ARE THE MESSIEST, MOST DISORGANIZED, MOST FRUSTRATING CLIENTS I HAVE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE OF WORKING FOR IN MY ENTIRE CAREER AS AN ACCOUNTANT. HOWEVER, I DO NOT KNOW WHO ELSE TO TURN TO. DESPITE THE DISARRAY IN WHICH YOU LIVE, YOU HAVE GOOD HEARTS AND YOU KNOW MANY PEOPLE. I AM SURE YOU WILL FIND A GOOD HOME FOR THIS BABY GIRL. IT IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THAT NOBODY KNOW OF MY CONNECTION TO THE CHILD—ESPECIALLY THE CHILD HERSELF. ANY MENTION OF MY NAME WILL PUT HER IN DANGER.
    YOUR HUMBLE SERVANT,
    WWW III
    WWW III.
    William Wilton Wallace, the Third.
    Mr. Wallace.
    It had to be. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Even if there were somebody else with those initials, what were the chances that he would also be an accountant?
    Of all the people in the world, it was Mr. Wallace who had left her on her grandfathers’ doorstep!
    Cass knew she shouldn’t be surprised. As she’d learned in her hunt for the homunculus, Mr. Cabbage Face, her connections to the Terces Society ran deep. The founder of the Terces Society, the Jester, was her ancestor. Her great-great-great-great-grandfather. Or something like that. She was the Heir of the Jester. Mr. Cabbage Face had told her as much. He could tell by her ears.
    And then there was the fact that she had found her birth certificate, the first clue that she wasn’t exactly who she thought she was, in a Terces Society file. Mr. Wallace had claimed never to have seen the birth certificate before, but looking back, she’d been foolish to believe him.
    He always seemed to disapprove of her being a member of the Terces Society. He said it was because of her age, but what if it was because of who she was?
    Could Mr. Wallace be her father?! No. It was impossible. She refused to believe it. They looked nothing alike. More importantly, their personalities were nothing alike. But it was very likely that he knew who her parents were.
    Correction: who her birth parents were. They hadn’t raised her, she reminded herself. Somebody else had.
    She stared at the box in front of her, eyes