“Is it an earthquake?” Liesl asked.
“It’s the magic,” Po said, and its voice was full of wonder.
Then a column of gold, a finger of light, appeared. It stretched from the sky to the very center of the pond like a long, flaming braid binding them together—flashing, blindingly bright. At this even the Lady Premiere fell silent.
All at once the hard, cold earth seemed to explode. The brown surface of the world dissolved and in its place was an impossible, an inconceivable, an unbelievable profusion of color: green grass and purple and red flowers; sprays of lily; white baby’s breath that covered the hills; nodding fields of bright yellow daffodils; rich purple moss. The trees burst forth with new leaves. The weeping willow tree was a mass of tiny pale green leaves, thousands of them, which whispered and sighed together as the wind moved through its branches. There were fat heads of lettuce in the fields, and cucumbers lying like jewels among them, and enormous red tomatoes surrounded by thick, knotted vines.
And for the first time in more than 1,728 days, the clouds broke apart and there was dazzling blue sky, and light beyond what anyone could remember.
The sun had come out at last.
Liesl squinted and laughed. Will ducked his head, blinking back tears, embarrassed; he told himself it was just a reaction to the sudden brightness.
Mo took off his hat and pressed it to his chest. Lefty jumped from her sling and began batting at a butterfly. The old woman fell to her knees and remembered what it was like to be young, and wept.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Liesl could not stop laughing. “It’s like a dream. It’s better than a dream!”
The alchemist sat dazed and dumbfounded, as the true meaning of the magic was revealed: The dead will rise from glade to glen and ancient will be young again. The dead had, after all, risen. From dead and dry things there was growth, and new life everywhere. And the endlessly long winter had at last turned to spring.
From life to death and back again to life. It was indeed the greatest magic in the world.
The alchemist decided, at that moment, to retire.
At that moment, too, Augusta began screaming.
“No! Please, no! Stay away from me!” She had raised herself on her knees and was staring out over the pond, holding both hands protectively in front of her.
Liesl’s mouth turned to chalk. Her heart skipped in her chest.
The figure of a man was walking across the surface of the water.
And even though he was translucent, and the sunlight reflecting up from the pond rendered him the glassy-colored hue of a soap bubble, Liesl knew him right away.
“Father,” she croaked out.
He looked at her. “Hello, Lee-Lee,” he said in his old, kind voice. Liesl’s heart shook itself out and rose like a butterfly.
“Evil!” Augusta was scrabbling frantically backward, like an overgrown crab. “Evil! Unnatural! Stay away from me!”
The ghost of Henry Morbower whirled on her. Its voice turned low and furious. “How dare you use that word? The only evil here is your own.”
Augusta turned sheet-white. “No!” she shrieked as the ghost continued to advance toward her. “Please! Have mercy!”
“Why should I? You showed no mercy to me.”
“An accident.” Augusta began to tremble. “It was an accident.”
“Liar!”
“I didn’t mean to! I only wanted you to be sick—just a little sick, so you’d be out of the way!” Augusta’s voice rose hysterically.
“Lies again!” the ghost of Henry Morbower thundered. “You are a liar and a murderer!”
Augusta looked around her frantically, searching for a means of escape. Her eyes were huge and wild. She went from resembling a crab to a cornered rat.
“You!” She pointed at the alchemist. “It’s all your fault! You gave me the poison!”
“I—I—I—” the alchemist spluttered nervously. “I did no such thing.”
“You did! ‘Pernicious Poison: Dead as a Doorknob, or Your Money Back!’ Written right on the label!”
“Dead as a doorknob?” repeated the old woman sharply. She had quite recovered from her earlier display of emotion. She struck the policeman with her cane. “Did you hear that? A common murderer! She must be arrested at once—for the Common Good!”
“Well, I never,” Mo said, scratching his head.
“My dear lady.” The alchemist seemed about to deny it. He stood, brushing off his cloak indignantly, and drew himself up to his full height.
Then he turned, holding his hat tightly to his head with one hand, and began dashing up the hill.
The old woman gave the policeman a sharp thwack on the shins. “Go on! Get after him! It’s criminal, I tell you. Making poison and hanging around with ghosts. He should be ashamed.” She sniffed loudly.