Avi returns to the Kingdom of Pergamontio in MURDER AT MIDNIGHT, the gripping and suspenseful prequel to MIDNIGHT MAGIC. Take a look!

That night, in the crowded back room of the Sign of the Crown tavern, Fabrizio was determined to see everything. Since his task—collecting money—would come at the end of Mangus’s performance, he had climbed atop an overturned basket behind the audience.

The magician, standing before a yellow backdrop, was costumed in a green velvet robe lined with red silk that peeked out like spots of fire. On his feet were blue Turkish slippers with tips curled like monkey tails. On his head sat a three-peaked hat. From each peak hung a black star.

Exactly the way a magician should look. Next moment, Fabrizio scolded himself. Never mind what he looks like! Watch! Listen! If you want to become a magician, you must learn!

He stood riveted as Mangus made balls, bones, flowers, and cups appear, disappear, change shape, color, and size. Fabrizio had no doubt that some of what he saw were tricks. He was equally sure the rest was real magic. How clever of Master to mix the real with tricks!

A ball was taken from an empty box. That’s a trick, Fabrizio decided, recalling a diagram from the magic book. A burning candle was pulled from an ear. That’s true magic, he thought. A box changed into a hat. True magic, again. Objects were snatched from noses, sleeves, and elbows. There were flashes of light. Smoke. Real or unreal, everything was wonderful!

“Dear friends!” Mangus said to the enthralled crowd. “Is not the great enterprise of magic to make something from nothing? To make more from less? I believe it is! Therefore, for my final act of magic, I shall do exactly that: create something from nothing. Furthermore, from that something, I shall make many—with magic!”

Fabrizio watched intently. The old man rolled back the sleeves of his robe. Nothing hidden. He showed the backs of his hands. Nothing there, either. He extended his right hand toward his audience. Empty. His bare left hand gestured as if sculpting air. Suddenly, he was holding a large tarot card that bore the image of a crowned head!

“The king!” exclaimed Mangus, holding the card aloft. “Our beloved Claudio the Thirteenth!”

Fabrizio was astonished.

The crowd—and Fabrizio—applauded wildly.

Mangus offered a courtly bow. “And now,” he said, waving his right hand around, “may the king’s power—increase!”

In an instant two tarot cards were in his hand.

Fabrizio laughed. What wonderful magic!

Mangus made yet another hand flourish.

Three cards were in his hand!

Four!

Five!

Fabrizio was bedazzled.

“From nothing,” proclaimed Mangus, “comes something. From something, many!” With eyes full of merriment, he held up the five tarot cards.

“Bravo!” shouted an excited Fabrizio from the back of the room. “Bravo!”

The crowd joined in.

With another wave of his hands, Mangus made a quick pass. The cards vanished!

“Fantastic!” came loud cries from the audience. “Mangus the Magnificent!”

“Oh, I do love magic,” whispered Fabrizio,applauding so hard his hands hurt. “My master is truly amazing!”

The old man held up a hand. The crowd hushed.

“Dear friends, thank you kindly. Since magic makes a magician weary, that’s all I can do for you tonight. Be assured I shall recover soon enough to perform again—right here—in the near future.

“But now the king’s curfew is almost upon us. The king loves us and wishes to keep us safe from devils. Besides, I don’t want any of you to sit in one of Count Scarazoni’s jail cells.”

Somebody hissed.

“I beg you, return to the safety of your homes. But if—if—you have found some mystery, some amusement in what I’ve done, be so kind as to drop a coin or two—a single pezolla will be fine—into my servant’s cap. No coin is too small! The boy—his name is Fabrizio—stands by the door, cap in hand.”

“Thank you, dear friends,” Mangus concluded. “Remember, even a magician must eat!” With a final bow, he stepped behind the backdrop.

That was Fabrizio’s cue! He leaped off the basket, scurried to the room’s doorway, whipped off his wool cap, and held it before him. The crowd, babbling with pleasure, shuffled toward the exit where he stood.

“Thank you, Signore,” Fabrizio said as coins clinked into his cap, one after another. “Thank you, Signora.”

Intent on making sure no one took any money out of the cap, Fabrizio paid little attention to those who passed. Only when he decided that the last of the audience had gone did he look up.

He gasped. A large man wrapped in a black robe with the hood hiding most of his face loomed over him. Even as Fabrizio started back, the person grasped him firmly by a shoulder and drew him close.

“Boy!” he whispered harshly. “Tell your master he’s in grave danger.”

Before Fabrizio could collect his wits, the black robe fled into the night.

Excerpted from MURDER AT MIDNIGHT © Copyright 2011 by Avi. Reprinted with permission by Scholastic Press. All rights reserved.