Caramelized butter and thyme wafted from the bookshop’s open door. Dickens leaned towards the tantalizing aroma of steak and potatoes. With a swift arm, Kennedy halted his motion. She indicated with a meaningful look the tripwire set on the door.

The tracker and her page crept into the Bookstore of Forgotten Dreams. The door closed quietly behind them. Industrial spot lights flickered on over darkened stacks. Dickens’ eyes grew wide as his favorite books moved from the shelves and floated towards him. Batting aside an annotated Sherlock Holmes, Kennedy marched forward.

In the shop’s backend, the proprietoress Rhinehart sat finishing her dinner. Her familiar a large owl whipped its head at the entrance and angry fluffed. The white owl screeched.

“Rockwell calm your feathers and bring out the pie for our treasured guests,” Rhinehart said.

Silent as a grave, the owl took off from her perch. The tracker sat across from the bookstore owner. Dickens pulled up a small stool.

“Where is it? We know Jackson stole the MacGuffin for Farcas. It’s here isn’t it?” Kennedy said.

“Am I my sister’s keeper? I don’t know her secret. Ask her.”

Kennedy glanced at Dickens then away. Her page’s eyes were unfocused and non responsive.

“Jackson is indisposed. What do you know?” Kennedy said.

The bird returned carrying a basket with a pie.

“Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie….” Dickens murmured.

Kennedy reached for Dickens resting her hand on his young shoulder. Rhinehart lifted the pie wedge.

“Sing a song of sixpence has its origin in King Henry the VII. The blackbirds refer to the rightful queen’s two dozen spies. Do you understand risking everything to preserve what you believe? Only four of those agents returned safe to Spain. That ditty is a remnant of their courage,” Rhinehart said.

She slammed her fist on the table.

“How much courage did it take to plot the death of old woman, Rhinehart. Plath was more than collateral damage.”

Rhinehart flung the wedge that transformed into a cutting star mid air. The tracker ducked. Both witches leap back from the table into fighting stances. The owl went for kennedy’s eyes. Dickens smashed his hand into the pie crust. Ravens rushed from the pie, swirling and attacking the owl and bookseller.

Dickens and Kennedy ran for the exit. Books flung themselves at their heads. Kennedy pulled out her sword. It transformed into a shield to protect them from the book projectiles. Dickens smashed the front door with the collected works of Austen.

Back on the canoe, kennedy rowed away. Dickens caught his breath on the bottom on the boat.

“We’ll have to come back with reinforcements. I felt the talisman was close.”

“When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,” the page said.

Dickens held up a blueberry stained gem.