“Yes you do,” Rictus replied.

“Is he in the House?” Harvey asked, staring through the open door.

“Haven’t you guessed yet?” Rictus replied. “He is the House.”

As he spoke a cloud moved over the sun. The roof and walls darkened, and the entire House seemed to swell like a monstrous fungus. It was alive! From the eaves to the foundations, alive!

“Go on!” Rictus said. “Speak to him. He’s listening.”

Harvey took a step toward the House. “Can you hear me?” he said.

The front door swung a little wider, and a sighing breath from the top of the stairs blew a cloud of Jive’s dust out onto the porch.

“He can hear you,” said Rictus.

“If I stay—” Harvey began.

“Yesss…?” said the House, making the word from creaks and rattles.

“—you’ll give me anything I want?”

“For a bright boy like you…” came the reply, “…anything.”

“You promise? On your magic?”

“I promise. I promise. Just say the word…”

“Well, for a start—”

“Yesss?”

“I lost my ark.”

“Then you must have another, my lodestar,” the Hood-House said. “Bigger. Better.” And a board of the porch folded back as an ark three times the size of the first one rose into view.

“I don’t want lead animals,” Harvey said as he walked toward the steps.

“What then?” said Hood. “Silver? Gold?”

“Flesh and blood,” Harvey replied. “Perfect little animals.”

“I like a challenge, “Hood said, and as he spoke a tinny din of bellows and roars rose from the ark, and the little windows were flung open and the doors flung wide and half a hundred animals appeared, all perfect miniatures: elephants, giraffes, hyenas, aardvarks, doves.

“Satisfied?” said Hood.

Harvey shrugged. “It’s okay, I suppose,” he said.

“Okay?” said Hood. “It’s a little miracle.”

“So make me another.”

“Another ark?”

“Another miracle!”

“What would you like?”

Harvey turned his back on the Hood-House and surveyed the lawn. The sight of Mrs. Griffin, watching with puzzlement, inspired the next request. “I want flowers,” he said. “Everywhere! And I don’t want two alike.”

“What for?” asked the Hood-House.

“You said I could have whatever I wanted,” Harvey replied. “You didn’t say I had to give you reasons. If I have to do that all the fun goes out of it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want that,” the Hood-House said. “You must have fun, at all costs.”

“So give me the flowers,” Harvey insisted.

The lawn began to tremble as though a minor earthquake were underway, and the next moment countless shoots pressed up between the blades of grass. Mrs. Griffin began to laugh with delight.

“Look at them!” she said. “Just look!”

It was quite a show; tens of thousands of flowers bursting into blossom at the same time. Harvey could have named a few of them if he’d been quizzed: tulips, daffodils, roses. But most of them were new to him: species that only bloomed at night on the High Himalayas, or on the windswept plateaus of Tierra del Fuego; flowers with blooms as big as his head, or as small as his thumbnail; blooms that stank like bad meat, or smelled like a breeze from Heaven itself.

Even though he knew it was all an illusion, he was impressed, and said so.

“Looks good,” he told the Hood-House.

“Satisfied?” it wanted to know.

Was its voice a little weaker than it had been earlier? Harvey wondered. He suspected it was. He showed no sign of that suspicion, however. He simply said: “We’re getting there…”

“Getting where?” said the Hood-House.

“Well,” said Harvey, “I guess we’ll know when we arrive.”

A low growl of irritation came from the House, shaking the windows. One or two slates slid from the roof and smashed on the ground below.

I’m going to have to be careful, Harvey thought; Hood’s getting angry. Rictus echoed that thought.

“I hope you’re not stringing Mr. Hood along,” he warned, “because he doesn’t like that kind of game.”

“He wants me happy, doesn’t he?” Harvey said.

“Of course.”

“So how about something to eat?”

“The kitchen’s full,” said Rictus.

“I don’t want pies and hot dogs. I want…” He paused, ransacking his memory for delicacies he’d heard about. “Roast swan and oysters and those little black eggs—”

“Caviar?” Rictus suggested.

“That’s it! I want caviar!”

“Really? It’s disgusting.”

“I still want it!” said Harvey. “And frog’s legs and horseradish and pomegranates—”

The meals were already appearing in the hallway, plate upon steaming plate. The smells were tantalizing at first, but the more dishes Harvey added to the list the more sickly the mix became. He rapidly began to exhaust his menu of real meals, however, so instead of giving the House easy recipes like meatballs and pizzas, he started to invent dishes.

“I want crawfish cooked in cherry soda and horse steaks with jelly-bean sauce, and Boston Cream Cheese and pastrami soup—”

“Wait! Wait!” said Rictus. “You’re going too fast.”

But Harvey didn’t stop.

“—and pumpernickel stew and snail fudge with pig’s-foot clusters—”

“Wait!” the House howled.

This time, Harvey stopped.

In the heat of his invention he hadn’t even looked to see if Hood was supplying him with these eatables, but now he saw all the dishes he’d demanded piled so high in the hallway that they were threatening to topple and float the ark on a noxious sea of sweetmeats and stews.

“I know what you’re doing,” said the Hood-House.

Uh-oh, Harvey thought; he’s onto me.

He looked up from the feast at the door to the facade and saw that his plan to drain the House of its magic was indeed working. Many of the windows were now cracked or broken; the doors were peeling and hanging from their hinges; the porch boards were twisted and blighted.

“You’re testing me, aren’t you?” said Hood. His voice had never been melodious, but it was now uglier than ever: like the rumble of the Devil’s belly. “Admit it, thief.” he said.

Harvey took a deep breath, then said: “If I’m going to be your apprentice, I need to know how powerful you are.”

“Are you satisfied?” the decaying House demanded.

“Almost,” Harvey said.

“What more do you want?” it roared.

What more indeed, Harvey thought. His mind was reeling with these ridiculous lists; he had little left in the way of demands.

“You may have one final gift.” the Hood-House said, “one final proof of my power. Then you must accept me as your Master forever and ever. Agreed?”

Harvey felt a trickle of cold sweat run down his spine. He stared at the teetering House, his mind racing. What was left to demand?

“Agreed?” the House boomed.

“Agreed,” he said.

“So tell me,” it went on. “What do you want?”

He looked at the tiny animals around the ark, and at the flowers, and at the food spewing through the door. What should he demand? One final request, to break Hood’s back. But what? What?

A gust of chilly wind came from the direction of the lake. Autumn could not be far off: The season of dying things.

“I know!” he said suddenly.

“Tell me,” the House replied, “tell me and let’s have this game over owe and fur all. I want your bright soul under my wing, little thief.”

“And I want the seasons,” Harvey said. “All the seasons at once.”

“At once?”

“Yes, at once!”

“That’s nonsensical!”

“It’s what I want.”

“Stupid! Imbecilic!”

“It’s what I want! You said one more wish and that’s it!”

“Very well,” said the House. “I will give it to you. And when you have it, little thief, your soul is mine!”