Free A Tangle of Knots by Lisa Graff Page B

a stash of seriously old blue suitcases. The Owner would never notice if one of those was missing.
    On his hands and knees, Zane pulled out one of the suitcases. St. Anthony’s, the scrawl of silver thread across the top announced. There were three small dimples by the left clasp. Zane opened it up. The lining was torn. He yanked out a second case from the collection to see if perhaps it was in slightly better shape. Positioning this second suitcase next to the other—just to the left—Zane opened the clasps. Torn as well, in exactly the same spot. Zane shrugged. He supposed it would have to do. Into the suitcase went the cameras, the leather wallets, the rings, the belt buckles. Anything that might score a few dollars.
    Zane hadn’t realized just how much he’d miss his old home before they moved into the Emporium. He’d never been the kind of kid who felt particularly homesick when his family went away on vacation or he spent a week at camp. What was so great about a tiny, cramped apartment? he’d always wondered. With everybody smooshed together, poking into your business all the time? Nothing. That’s what he’d always thought.
    But if they did send him to boarding school . . . Zane swiped at his nose. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, having your business poked into just a little bit.
    Zane was just emptying his last pocket into the suitcase when he heard a startling skitter-skitter-CRASH! And suddenly, in a flash of fur and claws, Will’s pet ferret, Sally, whomp ed down from the overhead air vent, right into Zane’s spiky hair.
    “Aaaagh!” Zane batted at her wildly until she skittered down his neck, across his chest, and buried herself inside the suitcase of loot, where she promptly became entangled in the pricey headphones.
    “Sally!” Zane shouted, digging into the suitcase to pull her out by her scruff. “Don’t you dare break any of my stuff, you little weasel.”
    Sally spit out the shiny bit of whatever it was she’d been hoarding to let out a frantic click-click-clack! of protest.
    “Get out of here!” Zane advised her, tossing her to the floor. “Why don’t you go find Will?”
    Sally narrowed her eyes threateningly at Zane, but she scurried off just the same. Zane shook his head. Stay ahead of the trouble, he reminded himself. You need to stay ahead of the trouble.
    WORTHLESS.
    Zane jumped up on his heels. All he needed now was some way to get to Louie’s and sell his stuff. A bicycle, maybe. A bicycle would be perfect. Leaving his loot in the suitcase for just a moment, he wandered off to see if he might be able to find one.

21

    Will
    S IR WILL WAITED UNTIL HE WAS SURE THE COAST WAS CLEAR before popping out of the air vent onto the main storeroom floor. There was no way the evil wizard would ever find him. Sir Will was too good at hiding. He zipped across the room until he reached the circular countertop in the center. There he found a pair of powder blue suitcases. Perfect. Sir Will flipped open the top of one of them—the one on the right. It had three small dimples by the left clasp, and it was just large enough for a small child.
    Checking that no one was watching, Sir Will crawled inside, curling himself into a tight little ball against the torn inner lining. (Sir Will had somehow lost one of his shoes along the way, but knights didn’t care about things like that.) He pulled the lid securely over his body and clutched at his mother’s precious hairpin, waiting for his heart to stop racing. He breathed in deep. His pulse slowed. His eyes drifted closed. And safe in the darkness of the warm blue suitcase, Sir Will drifted . . . off . . . to . . . sleep.

Marigold’s Lime
Pound Cake
a cake that contains more than a little zest and zing

    FOR THE CAKE:
    4 large eggs, at room temperature
    1 / 2 tsp vanilla
    2 tsp grated lime zest (from approximately 2 limes)
    2 tbsp lime juice (from approximately 1 lime)
    1 cup butter (2 sticks), at room temperature (plus extra for greasing