The Wishing Game(39)

“Five points for the last game?” Andre asked.

Jack grinned. “I always bet on the underdog.”

“And if no one scores the requisite ten points,” Ms. Hyde reminded them, “the book will go—immediately—to Lion House.”

“Requisite,” Jack said, nodding. “Also a good word.”

“If one of you does win the book,” the lawyer continued, still ignoring Jack, “Lion House has authorized me to purchase the manuscript from you for a very generous six-figure sum.”

Six figures. Lucy’s breath quickened. One hundred thousand dollars—or maybe more? With that amount of money Lucy could easily afford an apartment and a car and take care of Christopher. It wouldn’t last long in California, but it would be a great start.

Jack waved his hand dismissively. “Take it to auction.”

“What if two people score ten points?” Dustin asked.

“No one will,” Jack said. “It will be very impressive if even one of you does.”

Jack didn’t seem old now, not when he met her eyes and held her gaze without smiling. She didn’t feel like she was in the presence of Jack Masterson, beloved children’s author, anymore. Here was the Mastermind, the king of Clock Island, the wizard of riddles, the shadow-wearing secret keeper who gave children their wishes but only if they earned them.

The room turned quiet, hushed, as if secrets were about to be revealed. The only sound came from the ocean breeze rushing past the house and the occasional crackle of the fire.

“Oh, fair warning, there will also be”—Jack paused as if searching for the right word—“challenges presented. They will not be worth any points, but if you refuse to meet the challenge, you will be disqualified and sent home. Do we all understand?”

Andre shook his head. “Not really, Jack.”

“I can hardly blame you,” Jack said, still playing the enigmatic Mastermind. “But let’s begin, shall we?”

Outside, the wind blew harder. Lucy took a deep breath.

Let the games begin.



* * *



—

As the wind picked up, it rattled the shutters and sent the fire in the fireplace flickering.

Jack waited. The wind died as if he’d asked it to, and it politely obliged.

He began to speak:

    On the moon is a room

With a green glass door.

I can’t go in.

You can’t go in.

What is it for?

Kittens go in.

Puppies too.

But no cats and no dogs.

A drill but not a screw.

A queen but not a king.

A rabbi but not a priest.

Kisses allowed but no hugs.

Not in the least.

You can roll there but not rock And you won’t find a clock

In the room on the moon

With the green glass door.

Jill can go in.

Jack can’t go in.

So what is it for?





Chapter Fourteen





A long silence followed. Jack said, “Two points for the first to correctly guess the secret. One point for the runner-up. Do not reveal the secret if and when you do finally guess it. Just play along…”

“O…kay,” Dustin said. “Got a hint?” He laughed nervously.

“Of course,” Jack said. “I’ll give you many, many hints.”

Lucy took a deep breath.

Jack turned and chose a book off a shelf. “A book can pass through the door,” he said. He opened the book and held up a page. “But not a single page can pass.”

“What?” Andre asked. He looked around wildly as if searching for clues.

Jack put the book back on the shelf. He started a slow walk around the room. “Coffee can pass through the green glass door,” he said as he poured the coffee into a cup and held the cup high as if making a toast. “But not in a mug. Coffee can pass, but not tea.”

Melanie said, “Okay, anyone else confused?”

Jack walked over, clapped a hand onto Hugo’s shoulder. “Hugo can’t pass through the door, but Mr. Reese can.”

“Oh, Lord.” Hugo groaned so loudly Lucy giggled.

Jack pointed at her. “You can giggle through the door, but you can’t laugh.”

“Okay, what the hell are you talking about?” Andre demanded. “I don’t even know what he’s talking about. Anybody?”

“You have to figure it out yourself,” Hugo said. “Welcome to my world.”

Jack gave a soft, rather wicked little laugh. Lucy could tell he was enjoying himself. Good thing he was enjoying himself. No one else seemed to be having fun.

He walked back to the fireplace and pointed at the painting above it. “A Picasso,” Jack said. “It can pass through the green glass door. But not any old painting.”

“It’s not a Picasso,” Hugo said, glaring. “I did that one.”

“It’s very nice,” Lucy said. The painting was eye-catching, bright with wild colors, trees and sand and a house made of squares and triangles.

“You can’t pass a compliment through the door either,” Jack said. “But you can send through a bit of flattery.”