Benjamiah returns to a much-changed Wreathenwold in this spooky, illustrated second book in the #1 New York Times bestselling middle grade trilogy perfect for fans of Phillip Pullman and A.F. Steadman. In the months since Benjamiah returned from his adventure in Wreathenwold, he has been dying to return to those labyrinthine streets. Desperate to find anything that will bring him to the impossible magic, the Minotaur, and most of all, his best—and only—friend Elizabella, he looks through his mother’s things and finds a strange witchstone mask that leads him back. The only problem? Once the mask is on, it won’t come off. But Wreathenwold is not how Benjamiah left it. Nor are Elizabella and her father where he left them. Worse still, children have been disappearing, and no one knows where they are or who has been taking them. Benjamiah has to find Elizabella and, with the help of two new companions, undertake a series of magical trials to remove his mask and save the missing children of Wreathenwold before Midsommer ends and they are all lost forever. ★ "Lees layers and intersects multiple plotlines in this second Whisperwicks novel to richly develop Wreathenwold and the story’s primary characters. The themes of home and belonging are central to the narrative, which continues to build toward a reckoning with Wreathenwold's corrupt elite in a future installment." -- Booklist, starred review Praise for The Labyrinth of Lost and Found A #1 New York Times Bestseller A Publishers Weekly Bestseller A Barnes & Noble Most Anticipated Title A Barnes & Noble Monthly Pick An Amazon Best Book of the Month An Amazon Best Book of 2024 ★ "First-time author Lees writes with confidence and fantastic imagination, crafting a complex world that layers both original and classic mythologies. Benjamiah and Elizabella’s antagonistic dynamic evolves in a compelling way, leading to heartbreaking yet necessary revelations. Readers attracted to the dark storytelling of Neil Gaiman and Philip Pullman will adore this captivating first installment in the haunting Whisperwicks series." — Booklist , starred review Jordan Lees was born in Scotland but grew up in Essex, where he still lives with his wife and young daughter. He studied literature at university and has worked in publishing since, firstly in royalties before becoming a literary agent. When not working, Jordan can usually be found reading whatever is lying around or losing at online chess. He’s the author of The Whisperwicks middle grade series. Vivienne To has illustrated several books, including The Underland Chronicles by Suzanne Collins and the Randi Rhodes, Ninja Detective series by Octavia Spencer. As a child, she had two pet mice escape. She currently lives in Sydney, Australia, with her partner and her ginger cat. Visit her at VivienneTo.com. Chapter One: With the Strange Parade ONE WITH THE STRANGE PARADE The Festival of Midsommer will forever be the merriest and most magical time of year in Wreathenwold, a time for celebrating the rich and mysterious folklore of our world. Magic forged at Midsommer is the strongest and truest of all magic—both fair and foul. — The Book of Barely Believable Stories , Mildred Fogge THE PARADE CAME the first night of Midsommer, beneath the blossoming bonewoods and a smoky moon. Claris Songwood sat on the front steps, knees drawn beneath her chin and her face trapped in a scowl. Her older brother was being mean again and she refused to go inside until he was properly punished—ideally shipped off to a boarding school for horrible boys. Even as darkness set in and the day’s >warmth slipped away, Claris could not be coaxed home. “I’ll just leave this here, then,” said Mum. She set a mug of hot treacle tea on the stone step beside Claris, where its sweet smoke climbed upward and made Claris’s mouth water. Still, Claris only took her first sip when her mother had gone. The taste flooded her, warm and deliciously sugary. Claris stared at the sky, studying the moon in its shawl of thin cloud and the scatter of surrounding stars. Wind sighed through the bonewoods, which always erupted into blossom at Midsommer. They swelled with petals of a purple so pale they were almost white. The street was quiet otherwise, nothing moving but the shivering trees. Feeling lonely, Claris cast her poppet—called Tya—as a tortoiseshell cat. Tya curled in Claris’s lap, purring as Claris scratched the back of her head. “Horrible boy, isn’t he?” she said. Tya meowed in agreement. “We should run away,” said Claris. Tya was less convinced by this. Getting lost in the great labyrinth of Wreathenwold often meant never finding home again. Claris took another sip of treacle tea—Mum really knew how to hit the spot. She could wander the entire labyrinth and never find anything that tasted so good. Then she heard the drum. At first, it was a deep, steady beat, like a great heart pulsing from the depths of the earth itself. T