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return address given, for Simon had lost the lease on his tiny garret apartment in London while at sea with the pirates and now lived, as he liked to say, out of his suitcase and off of his wits.
    If only she knew where to send a reply! She longed to tell him her own news: that despite Edward Ashton’s resolve to use the secrets within the stolen diary to rid his family of the Ashton curse once and for all, it seemed his plan had failed. During the last full moon (during which Lord Fredrick was nowhere to be found), the wild, relentless howling that echoed across the estate had grown so frightening that local farmers armed themselves with muskets and slept by their henhouses and sheep pens.
    â€œSimawoo, harr!” The children swaggered about and made pirate noises, for they liked the clever young bard. Penelope was once again lost in the letter.
    Speaking of Not-So-Dead Edward, here’s the big news: I ran into Madame Ionesco in London. She was reading coffee grounds in a tea shop, or tea leaves in a coffee shop, can’t remember which. Hope you don’t mind, but I told her about Pudge’s diary,and all that ominous bunkum Edward Ashton said about family trees split in two and so on. Well, the soothsayer went pale as the full moon and fainted dead away. For a minute I’d thought she’d taken a jaunt Beyond the Veil herself! When she woke up, she asked for a hot meal and told me to give you a message. I’ll write it the way she said it, so as not to lose any of the spooky nuance.
    â€œThis curse is not so simple as it looks. The wolf babies are in danger. Time is running out. But to break a curse is no joke. Tell your redheaded friend—a curse is like a contract. It’s all in the wording. She must find out the exact words of the curse. Then, maybe I can help. Also, tell her my services will not come cheap.”
    I’ll say they don’t—it cost me a chicken dinner just to get that much out of her. Say, is your hair really red? You’d think I’d have noticed that by now! My head’s in the clouds. The price of genius, I suppose.
    Smooth sailing till we meet again,
Simon
    As sock balls flew thick and fast overhead, Penelope tried to connect the dots. “‘This curse is not so simple as it looks’ . . . that is a nice use of iambic pentameter, at least. The ‘wolf babies’ in danger . . . by that she means the Incorrigibles. I shall have to be even more watchful than usual. And ‘time is running out’ . . . hmm! That does sound ominous.”
    Still, that Madame Ionesco might be able to undo the curse was cause for optimism, in Penelope’s view. Many things were, of course. Swanburne girls were taught to look on the bright side of things, so much so that they were often in real danger of optoomuchism, a word that means precisely what it looks like it means.
    But how to discover the exact wording of the curse? Edward Ashton had run off with Pudge’s diary. Pudge was in the Home for Ancient Mariners in Brighton and would only talk to a long-dead admiral. “Blast!” she said aloud in frustration.
    Margaret had been ducking sock balls and prattling away this whole time. “‘Blast?’ You sound like Lord Fredrick! Anyway, as I just said, Her Ladyship has me running errands faster than Bertha the ostrich galloping at full speed. You’d think we were going to the moon, instead of Brighton.”
    The letter Penelope had just read nearly slippedfrom her hands. “Did you say Brighton?”
    â€œHaven’t you been listening? I just told the whole story! The doctor says Lady Constance must take the sea air for her health, and he knew a hotel that would take us in the off-season, and now we’re all going to shiver ourselves to pieces in Brighton.”
    A poorly aimed sock ball hit Penelope square in the forehead, but she scarcely noticed. “Brighton, England?” she asked, disbelieving.
    Margaret