Mr. Stott nodded. “That can be a good quality, depending on the situation.”
Pigeon took another bite of the concentrated mixture. He had already related what the Battiato brothers had told them, and had also summarized the events of the day. “Are we making a mistake?”
Mr. Stott sighed. “You’re certainly out of your depth. The Battiatos are probably in over their heads too. If this enemy overpowered Mozag, there is likely little any of us can do.”
“Wasn’t Mozag exposed?” Pigeon asked. “He was far from home, and magicians are vulnerable outside of their lairs.”
“I know Mozag has at least one portable lair,” Mr. Stott said. “A motor home, I believe. And his Cubs hat functions as a limited lair as well. A magician of his caliber is never defenseless. Still, you’re right that he would have been much more vulnerable here than at home.”
“Do you know any magicians powerful enough to get both John and Mozag?”
Mr. Stott shrugged. “I could make guesses. Few magicians advertise their abilities. Because of the many rivalries in the magical community, it’s wise to keep your talents hidden. Without knowing what skills you possess, an enemy will be less eager to pick a fight. And in the event of a confrontation, if your capabilities are unknown, you keep the element of surprise on your side.”
“So it would be hard to guess who we’re facing,” Pigeon said.
“There would be no accuracy in guessing without more information.”
“Should we walk away?” Pigeon asked. “Should we leave this to the Battiatos?”
“It’s complicated,” Mr. Stott replied, shifting uncomfortably. “I may not love garnering attention from the magical police, but the service they provide our community is invaluable. We can’t lose Mozag. Who knows how many villains would come out of hiding? The process of finding a magician to take his place would cause serious contention, which would only add to the chaos. I’m not sure whether anyone really could replace him.”
“So we need to solve this?” Pigeon said.
“The need is great. There must be a terrible scheme in motion if Mozag got personally involved. Out of our depth or not, we might be harmed more by inaction than by involvement.”
Pigeon licked his spoon. “We need to give it a shot?”
Mr. Stott held a finger to his lips and glanced toward the door. He rose, crossed silently to the door, and opened it, revealing Lindy in a suspicious pose.
“Give what a shot?” Lindy asked without shame.
Mr. Stott scowled deeply, his bushy eyebrows crowding together. “How long have you been there?”
“No time at all,” Lindy replied. “Long enough to hear what Pigeon just asked. How do you always know when I’m listening?”
“Every magician has his secrets,” Mr. Stott replied. “Run along while Pigeon and I finish our conversation. He has some private concerns.”
“I know exactly what concerns him,” Lindy said. “I don’t need to eavesdrop to figure that out. He met with the Battiatos today, and it’s getting messy.”
“This is none of your business, young lady,” Mr. Stott insisted.
Lindy glared at him incredulously. “But all of my friends are involved! What’s my defect? Why can’t I help?”
“Your defect is that I’m your father,” Mr. Stott answered. “It might not seem fair, but this situation is too hazardous for me to let my daughter participate.”
“Oh, right,” Lindy complained. “What a great protector. You’ll send all the kids in the neighborhood into harm’s way, just not me.”
“I’m not sending anybody anywhere,” Mr. Stott replied calmly. “I am not Pigeon’s guardian. I have no authority over him. He came to me for advice. Should I turn him away?”
“Maybe not,” Lindy said. “But do you have to give him magical candy? Isn’t that encouraging him?”
“If I feel the candy might help protect him, I’m willing to provide some.”
Lindy looked to Pigeon. “What’s going on, Pidge? I want to help.”
Pigeon locked eyes with Mr. Stott. The warning there was unmistakable. “Sorry, Lindy. Your dad is your dad.”
“Is he?” she replied harshly. “Then why don’t I remember him? Why do we hardly know each other?” She faced Mr. Stott, her expression livid. “I’m not asking to go to an edgy rock concert. I’m not asking to hang out with druggies. I’m asking for something good! I just want to help. If you won’t let me go with them, at least fill me in on what’s happening!”
“I know you too well,” Mr. Stott said. “If you had details, you wouldn’t be able to resist. This is for your own good, honey. Call me the worst parent ever, but my first priority is keeping you safe.”
“While putting everybody else in danger?” Lindy challenged.
“I have my reasons,” Mr. Stott said, getting frustrated. “This isn’t safe for anybody, but you would be in even greater danger than the others.”
“Because I’m stupider?” Lindy blurted. “Because I’m less capable?”
Mr. Stott turned to Pigeon. “I’m sorry, Pigeon. I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this discussion at another opportunity.”
Lindy backed out the door. “My mistake, Dad. Don’t let me disturb your little powwow with my friend. I don’t want to mess things up for Pigeon. I just wanted to help. It’s bad enough to be useless. I’d hate to also be problematic. I’ll find something that suits me better. Maybe I’ll go upstairs and stare at the wall.”
She closed the door briskly. After a moment of silence, Mr. Stott went and peeked to make sure she was gone.
“You understand why I can’t let her in on this,” Mr. Stott said.
“The Battiatos agreed,” Pigeon replied. “We don’t know who we’re up against. If our enemies figured out Lindy’s identity, she really could be in serious trouble.”
“Even if her memories remain truly irretrievable, once her identity leaks, she will become a target. Some magicians might want revenge. Others may aspire to enlist her. None of the consequences would be good for her—or for us.” Mr. Stott frowned. “I don’t relish keeping your activities from her. She’s already curious enough about where she came from without adding new secrets to the mix.”