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is waking up. The magic is moving, stirring. The rats could feel its energy. They were feeding off it.
    â€œAnd who, you ask yourselves, is this special person from Hamelin Town? Who has this unbelievable magic power?”
    The Piper paused dramatically and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. “I confess—I don’t know who it is. But I do know that he—or she—is with us right now.”
    Everyone gasped. Eyes widened. Heads turned. Mouths opened.
    â€œAnd,” said the Piper, “we are about to discover exactly who it is.”

CHAPTER
SEVEN
    The Piper glanced at the moon and placed his hand flat against the Standing Stone.
    â€œThe land you see around you is called Elvendale,” he said. “It is full of elvish magic, wherever you go. But there are points in the landscape where the power is especially strong. Such points are marked by stones, like this. And when serious magic needs to be done, elves—like myself—will choose such a place to do it. And now, what I want you to do is this. I want you to come forward, one at a time, and touch the Standing Stone.”
    â€œWhat will happen?” asked Johann, the butcher’s boy.
    â€œNothing,” said the Piper, “unless you are the One.” He smiled and beckoned Johann closer. “Touch it and see.”
    Johann glanced at his friends. They nodded eagerly. Someone prodded him in the back, pushing him forward.
    Johann swallowed his fear. Reached out his hand. Touched the stone.
    Nothing happened.
    â€œNext,” said the Piper, pushing Johann aside. “Quickly now.”
    A girl stepped forward. Marianna knew her. She was Birgit, a street girl who begged by the abbey.
    Birgit touched the stone. Nothing.
    â€œNext,” said the Piper.
    Another child came forward, then another. Dozens of hands were reaching out, touching the stone. The Piper began to pace up and down again. The hawk flew from his shoulder and sat on the stone, watching the proceedings with dark eyes. Nothing was happening.
    The Piper paused and looked at the children remaining. Twelve, . . . eleven, . . . ten, . . . Who was it? Who was it?
    Marianna stood at the end of the dwindling line, feeling sick in her stomach.
    â€œI don’t know why I’m getting nervous,” she muttered to herself. “I’m not the one he’s looking for. There’s nothing special about me.”
    Two were left in front of her. Marianna could feel the palms of her hands getting sticky.
    One.
    â€œIt’s not me,” she told herself. “I’m nothing special. Am I?”
    Suddenly she wasn’t so sure.
    â€œCome here.”
    The Piper was right beside the stone, beckoning to her. “Touch.” She could hear the tension in his voice. “ Touch! ”
    Marianna sidled closer. So close she could see the color of the Piper’s eyes. She had wondered whether they were brown or green. Now she knew. They were violet.
    â€œWhat will happen to me?” she whimpered.
    â€œNothing bad,” said the Piper. “Touch.” He was starting to sound angry.
    Marianna stepped even closer. She closed her eyes. Reached out her hand. Touched the stone.
    Nothing happened.
    She dared to open her eyes. The Piper was staring at her oddly. He looked puzzled, confused, unsure. She started to back away. But he leaped forward, seized hold of her wrist, and forced her hand against the stone again.
    Still nothing happened.
    â€œ NO! ” The Piper threw Marianna aside and started pacing again. Now he was like a tiger in a cage— angry, trapped, despairing—snarling to himself, snapping at the situation. Then suddenly he paused and looked at the crowd of children. At the little ones, with their cherry round faces and wet mouths. At the girls, with their braids and ribbons and adoring eyes. At the boys, with their dirty shirts and scuffed boots. Rich and poor, tall and small, tired and eager.
    So young. So willing. So