Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

As the girl spoke, something caught Lily’s eye. Something was moving in the high slit window behind and above the twins. To her amazement, four cats’ faces were peering down at the children. Each cat was a different breed and a different color. Lily shrank back, feeling suddenly scared. For four cats to be standing on the outside sill of a slit window peering into a casino was very odd. Even though she was completely hidden, Lily felt very conspicuous, as though the cupboard door was transparent and made of glass. Now she really regretted that she’d ventured into her father’s office at all. She wished she’d stayed at school to do homework.

Four cats vied for position on the narrow sill to see what was going on in Black’s office.

“Just take the book now and leave, you idiots,” the white cat that was Miss Hunroe urged nastily. Then she noticed both Micky and Molly stop reading and turn their heads toward the door. “You fools!” she spat.

“Someone’s coming,” Molly hissed to Micky. “Quick!” She shut the book and slipped it back into the drawer. Grabbing the sleeve of Micky’s sweatshirt, she pulled him toward the floor behind the sofa.

“We’re so stupid, Molly. We should have—”

“Shh.” Molly strained her ear to the shuffling noise outside the room. Someone was opening the door.

Up on the window ledge, the fluffy white cat that was Miss Suzette and the gray Siamese that was Miss Teriyaki leaped away, leaving the white cat that was Miss Hunroe and the ginger cat, Miss Oakkton. They stood still as statues at the edge of the window, waiting to see what would happen next.

In the cupboard, Lily pushed the door a centimeter open to watch Molly and Micky disappear behind the sofa; then she quickly shut it again. Her father was going to be in the room soon. If she told him about the twins, at least he’d know that they were there. But then he’d be very, very cross with her. Lily winced. She hated the idea of being scolded. He hardly paid her much attention as it was, and she didn’t want her ration of the day to be taken up with him telling her off.

Theobald Black entered. From her hiding place, Molly caught sight of a black shoe and the bottom of his green velvet trouser leg. She bit her lip and gripped Micky’s wrist tightly. Micky pointed to a couple of ladybugs on the ground. Molly gave him a puzzled look. Micky then tapped the knotted boards of the wooden floor, pointing again, this time more emphatically, to the ladybugs. Without waiting for a response, he began staring intently at the pattern on the floorboard. Molly guessed what he was doing. It was a crazy thing to be attempting, but if morphing was real, it was definitely a very neat way of getting out of the room.

Then, before she’d expected anything to happen, Micky, amazingly, disappeared. His wrist vanished from Molly’s grasp as fast as a light turning off. Instead of him, Micky’s clothes, like a snake’s molted skin, lay bodyless in a heap on the floor. Molly’s eyes scrutinized the pile to try to see a ladybug. And there one was. It seemed to be jumping about. In fact, Molly could have sworn it was shaking its little legs as though it was doing a jig. Then it spread its wings and flew straight toward her, landing on her nose.

From her perch above, Miss Hunroe, the white cat, saw all of this. She splayed her claws in annoyance. Now her eyes were trained on Molly.

Molly felt the sofa move as Black dumped his full weight on it. He began to make a call. Molly listened to his heavy, congested voice as he spoke to someone.

“I’ll look for it, Terry. Probably dropped it here somewhere yesterday. Yes, then I’ll get him for you.”

Molly shivered and crossed her eyes as she tried to look at the ladybug on the end of her nose. She didn’t want to be caught red-handed in Black’s den. He was three times bigger than her and a hypnotist. He’d be too alert to be hypnotized, and he’d easily use his physical power to overcome her. Molly wouldn’t stand a chance.

She stared at the floor. Now Molly was desperate to follow Micky’s example. She concentrated on the weave of the wood of the floorboard. It was oak, streaked and knotted with dark brown marks. She focused on the pattern. She thought of nothing else. For a moment her mind faltered. All she could see were brown woody marks. There were no pictures, and she had to see pictures. If the book was right, that was the only way into morphing. Yet all she could see were mud-colored splodges.