Welcome back to Circus Mirandus . . . a place with magic so wondrous, you need to believe it to see it. Micah Tuttle--magician in training--lives and works at Circus Mirandus alongside his guardian, the ancient and powerful Lightbender. The circus is a place filled with dazzling fire shows, stubborn unicorns, and magicians from every corner of the world. And Micah is doing everything he can to prove he belongs there. When a dangerous enemy from the past threatens his new home, Micah will have to untangle the mystery of his own potent magic, and he'll have to do it fast. With trouble this deadly on its way, every magician will need to be ready to fight. Even the youngest. "Marvelously entertaining."-- Kirkus Reviews Cassie Beasley is from rural Georgia, where, when she's not writing, she helps out on the family pecan farm. She earned her MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. The Bootlace Magician is the sequel to her first novel, Circus Mirandus , which was a New York Times bestseller and a New York Times Notable Children's Book. Her second book, Tumble & Blue , was received to widespread critical acclaim. Prologue The Idea was born in darkness. It flashed to life deep, deep in the sea, in a place so far below the waves that the warmth of the sun was only a rumor. There, beneath the cold weight of the ocean, the Idea shone dazzling and new. The drifters and skitterers that lived in that black abyss fled from its light. And it was alone. It had been born, as Ideas often are, much too soon. But it had been born, too, with a certainty, right at the center of itself, that it would not be alone forever. One day, Someone would understand the Idea. They would meet at the perfect Moment, and together, they would do great things. But their meeting would not come soon, and it could not be here, in this dark place. The Idea would have to go up, into the world, to wait. It set out—a brilliant spark spiraling up and up toward the surface, toward its Someone, toward their destiny. And also toward a hungry fish, which gulped it down in a single bite. Fortunately, Ideas are not digestible. The tuna endured a few queasy hours, then it spat the spark of light back up and swam off to find a less troublesome lunch. The Idea was delighted by this experience. In the whole of its short life, nothing so interesting had ever happened to it. A fish, it decided, was a wonderful creature to be. So, it grew fins. It figured out scales and gills. It gave itself a lovely silver tail, and with a few experimental twitches, it was off—a tiny, gleaming dart of a fish heading for the waves above. The Idea-that-was-now-a-fish breached the surface with barely a ripple. It looked around. How bright it is up here! it thought, though the day was gloomy. It spied the rocky line of the nearby shore. Aha! it said to itself. I am supposed to go in that direction. And so it did. Standing on the pebbly beach, quite unaware of the fish heading toward him, was a boy. His name was Ephraim Tuttle, and he had come to the beach, as he often did, to write letters to his father, who was a soldier in the war overseas. Ephraim was used to the beach’s chilly breeze and its dark water and the steady clack of pebbles as the waves lapped onto shore. But he was not at all used to the strange thing that was happening around him now. Only moments ago, a great wind had swept up out of nowhere, blowing so fiercely that Ephraim had to lean into it to keep himself standing upright. But instead of whipping the waves into a froth, as it should have, the wind was pressing the whole ocean flat. Flat enough, Ephraim thought, to walk on. Flat enough, he hoped, that a determined son might be able to cross all the way to Europe to fetch his father back home. He headed toward the water. Now, the fish didn’t understand any of this. It couldn’t feel the wind underwater, and it couldn’t yet tell the difference between a boy and a barnacle. What it did know was that the creature it had seen on the beach would take it where it needed to go. It felt the truth of this like a tug deep inside its fishy belly. That way to safety. That way to the future. And so it swam toward shore, and it was pleased when Ephraim waded confidently into the ocean, wearing all his clothes and a pair of boots with leather laces tied into neat bows. Hello, the fish said when it reached the boots. Here I am! Pick me up. The boots didn’t answer. I am on a mission. The fish nudged one of the bootlaces with its nose. You are supposed to help me. But Ephraim’s feet didn’t speak the language of Ideas, and the boy himself had no way of knowing what was going on beneath the water’s surface. He felt wet and silly and disappointed, and—what was that sound? Ephraim tilted his head, listening. A song drifted on the wind, one filled with pipes and drums. To Ephraim, the music sounded like an invitation; he decided to accept it. He turned his body, and his boots, back tow