“Oh, Jaya, go away,” said Anjali. “Don’t you have homework or something?”
“Already did it. What’s the scary thing?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why was Elizabeth screaming?”
“She wasn’t screaming.”
Jaya turned to me. “Is something scary after you? Because I know a good protection spell.”
“You do?”
“I need a piece of string. Or thread or ribbon or something.” She flung herself up off the sofa like a fountain of sticks, pounced on Anjali’s sewing box, extracted some fuchsia yarn, and snapped off a length with her teeth.
“Jaya, that’s disgusting,” said Anjali automatically. She knotted off the thread she had been using to sew on the button and snipped it neatly with little bird-beaked scissors.
Jaya ignored her. “Hold out your arm,” she ordered. She wrapped the yarn around my wrist twice and began working on a knot, biting her lower lip, tucking the ends under and over, making loops around her fingers.
At last she took an end in each hand—pinching me slightly—and declaimed,
I looked at my wrist. It had a bracelet of hot-pink yarn with a lumpy knot and slightly frayed, spit-wet ends. “Thank you, Jaya,” I said.
“Don’t take that off. As long as it stays on your arm, you should be safe—from bad magic, anyway. I don’t think it works for muggers or car crashes.” “Where did you learn that? Auntie Shanti?” asked Anjali.
“No, Miss Bender.”
“Who’s Miss Bender?” I asked.
“Sewing teacher.”
“You guys take sewing?”
“Of course. All Wharton girls learn how to sew. It’s an important part of a young lady’s education,” said Jaya. She sounded like she was quoting a teacher.
“Miss Bender’s the one who got me the job at the repository,” said Anjali.
“Oh. I see.” Anjali’s equivalent of Mr. Mauskopf.
If their sewing teacher—Anjali’s connection to the Grimm Collection—was teaching the Rao girls magical spells to ward off evil, perhaps Mr. Mauskopf would have some that would help me, I wondered. Should I ask him? What a difference this job was making in my life! On the plus side: magic! And maybe even more important: friends. On the minus side: also magic. The dark, scary kind—the kind that makes you worry about warding off evil.
We heard a knock on the door. “Anjali? Jaya? Dinner is ready.”
Anjali’s parents ate with their fingers. It sounds messy, but it wasn’t, not at all—they had elegant table manners, delicately scooping and pinching morsels with bits of thin flat bread or clumps of rice. Mr. Rao saw me looking nervously at my plate. “Didn’t Aarti give you a fork?” he asked me. “I’m sorry, I should have told her; that was thoughtless of me. Aarti! Silverware for our guest, please,” he called. He was a portly man, genial and commanding. He looked a lot like his younger daughter, despite her skinny spikiness. “Do you need something else to drink, Elizabeth? Some ginger ale?”
“Yes, please, I’d love some.”
“Ginger ale, please, Aarti.”
“I want some too,” said Jaya, jumping up.
“Sit still, Jaya. Aarti will bring it,” said her mother.
We ate a sort of bean stew and a puffy thing and a vegetable I didn’t recognize. It was all delicious; I happily accepted second helpings. I was sorry when the meal ended and a little scared too—scared to walk out into the cold, dark streets where the bird might be lurking. Anjali offered to walk me to the subway, but of course I said no.
I fingered the yarn around my wrist nervously and buttoned the top button of my coat tightly around my throat. But the sky was empty all the way home. Whatever the bird was after, evidently it wasn’t me.
I went looking for Mr. Mauskopf on Monday. Evidently he’d been looking for me too. “Elizabeth,” he said. “When do you next work at the repository?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good. Will you give this to Dr. Rust for me?” He handed me a largish package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “Put it in Lee’s own hands. It’s very important. Do not entrust it to anyone else. Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
“And don’t open it.”
“Of course not!” As if I would open someone else’s mail!
“Thank you, Elizabeth. How are you getting on at the repository?”
“It’s fantastic—I love it. They gave me a key to the Grimm Collection.”
“Yes, Lee told me. Congratulations! They don’t give out those keys lightly, you know. If things go well, you’ll have borrowing privileges soon too.”
“Really, you think so? That would be so awesome! I can’t believe the things they have in the collection!”
Mr. Mauskopf smiled. “No, I couldn’t believe it at first either. You understand what an honor it is to be asked to take care of them, don’t you? An honor and a responsibility. It’s not always easy.”
“Yes, I know. Mr. Mauskopf, a strange thing has happened. Remember how you said you’d heard the rumors about an enormous bird? I think we saw it—me and the other pages, Marc and Anjali and Aaron. It was hovering near the skylight at the repository, and then when I went over to Anjali’s apartment, I thought I saw it again.”
“You saw the bird! Tell me, how big was it?”
“Bigger than me. It was definitely no ordinary bird.”
Mr. Mauskopf looked worried. “I’m glad you told me. If it makes you feel better, I’ll have a word with Griffin. I’ll tell him to keep an eye on you.”
“Griffin? Your dog?” I wanted to ask what good that would do, but it seemed too rude.
“That’s right. And I think you’d better take this.” From his shirt pocket, with two long, bony fingers, Mr. Mauskopf plucked something small, brown, and smudgy, which he held out to me. It was a feather.
“Thank you. What—what do I—?”
“Keep it safe, and when your need is great, give it to the wind. And remember to take care with that package.”
I wanted to ask him more, but the second bell rang and I had to run or be late for French.
Mr. Mauskopf’s package was too wide for my backpack, so I carried it under my arm, clutching the string with my gloved fingers. A faint smell rose from it, like swimming pools, reminding me of summer. Swimming pools and bananas . . . no, something else. Tire swings, maybe? I walked downtown along Fifth Avenue beside the park, trying to tease apart the shifting components of the magic smell and watching the sinking sun paint the snow with purple shadows. It felt good to be walking; the cold pinched life into my cheeks. A flock of crows passed overhead, silhouetted against the sunset. Something odd about the birds caught my eye, and I stopped and looked up. One seemed too big to be a crow. A hawk? I couldn’t see it any longer, but I had a bad feeling, like at Anjali’s. I picked up my pace, craning my head behind me.
Then the enormous bird appeared again. It spun and swooped, coming right at me. I started to run.
Something even bigger than the bird appeared from behind a clump of trees, crossing the sky. It didn’t look
