ON A BRIGHT morning with a warm breeze in the air and the early sun making dewdrops sparkle on the daffodils and tulips, Missy bustled around the yard doing her farm chores.
“Good morning, Warren and Evelyn,” she said to the geese. “Your babies are lovely.”
The goslings followed their parents around the yard in a little pack, endlessly peeping. Peeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeep.
“Noisy! Very noisy!” squawked Penelope in a voice that was much louder than any noise the goslings made.
Missy scooped corn for the geese out of a bin in the barn. There wasn’t much left.
“What am I going to do?” Missy asked aloud. “I’m running out of everything. Especially money.”
She turned around and studied the house. Serena and her crew had been tromping in and out, in and out, for days, leaving muddy footprints and cardboard coffee containers behind. Missy thought that if anything, the holes they were repairing looked larger, not smaller. Serena said that where repair work was involved, things often got worse before they got better.
“Things often get more expensive, too!” Penelope had squawked in reply.
Missy scattered the corn in the farmyard and then sat down on a bench to think. Wag jumped up next to her and rested his head in her lap.
“Perfect,” said Missy. “I need someone to talk to.” Wag raised his eyebrows, listening. “I’ve been wondering if I should look for work,” Missy went on. “After all, before I moved to Little Spring Valley, I had a job.”
Missy’s job had been at the Magic Institute for Children. She’d taught magic to children lucky enough to have been accepted as students at the institute, which is located in a secret village on a secret mountain, and it’s all so secret that even the students don’t know exactly where they are. Missy had taught three classes: Potions and Spells for Beginners, Animals—What’s on Their Minds?, and Advanced Trickery. One afternoon a week, she had also taught a sewing class: Make Your Own Capes and Hats! She had been one of the most popular teachers at the institute, especially among the younger students. And her salary had been quite good.
But Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle had needed her great-niece’s help, and Missy wouldn’t have dreamed of letting her down.
“Well, well, well,” she said to Wag.
A voice behind her said, “You know what my father says any time someone says ‘Well, well, well’?”
Missy jumped and turned around. Wag let out a startled woof.
“Sorry,” said Melody Flowers. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Missy smiled at her, and Melody squeezed herself between Missy and Wag on the bench. “I just came over for a visit. Anyway,” Melody went on, “my father says, ‘Well, well, well. Now, that’s a deep subject!’”
Missy laughed. “You’re up early.”
Melody nodded seriously. “Yes. Back in Utopia, I was always up with the birds. That’s something else my father says. ‘Up with the birds.’”
Missy got to her feet. “Well, would you like to help me clean out the stalls?”
Melody, who had cleaned out the stalls before, very much liked aiming a hose around, shooting water every which way with Missy, and pretending they were firefighters, but she said, “Oh. You have to clean the stalls this morning? I was hoping we could go into town.”
“To Juniper Street? Why?” asked Missy.
“Not exactly to Juniper Street. To Spell Street.”
“Ah,” said Missy. “I expect the Art of Magic has opened its doors for the season. Is that it?”
“Yes! How did you know that’s where I wanted to go?”
Missy tapped her head. “Just a hunch.”
“Well, can you come with me?”
“I thought you were afraid of the store. I thought you said it was dark and dreary and the store clerk spoke—”
“Magic!” Melody exclaimed, reminding Missy of Einstein J. Treadupon. “He spoke magic. He did!” she cried, as if Missy had contradicted her. “At least I think he did. And there was that spooky black cat in a basket, and his name was Mephistopheles.”
“So why do you want to go there?”
Melody twisted her hands together. “I just do. I, um, want to show it to you.”
Missy could spot a lie a mile away. She knew Melody was afraid to go to the store by herself and wanted Missy for company. What she couldn’t figure out was why Melody wanted to go back to the Art of Magic in the first place. But Missy was patient and had a way with knotty problems, so she simply said, “Well, then, let’s walk to town.” She led Wag into the house, called, “Lester, you’re in charge,” and took Melody by the hand. They set off for Spell Street.
* * *
Missy and Melody walked first to Juniper Street, turned right, and passed Aunt Martha’s General Store and Bean’s Coffee Shop. Then they passed A to Z Books and waved through the window to Harold, who was working behind the counter.
A moment later, Missy said, “Here we are. Spell Street. Ready?”
Melody shivered. “Ready.”
The stores on Spell Street were all nice regular ones with their doorways at the level of the sidewalk. Except for the magic store. A sign showing a black top hat and a red wand over the words THE ART OF MAGIC swayed above a railing next to a flight of damp cement stairs leading into darkness.
“It’s down there,” Melody whispered, pointing. “Don’t you think that’s strange? And spooky? The store is belowground. That makes it harder to escape.”
“Escape from what?” asked Missy.
Melody drew in a deep breath. “Let’s just go.” She stepped aside so she could follow Missy.
The door to the Art of Magic creaked when Missy opened it. Creeeeee. A hollow voice said, “Welcome to your doom.”
“Your doom!” yelped Melody, and she froze on the stairs.
“It’s not a real voice,” Missy told her. “It’s like Harold’s sneezing door.” She took Melody’s hand again, and they stepped inside. When Missy’s eyes adjusted to the dark, the first thing she was aware of was dust. “Goodness,” she whispered, “somebody needs a vacuum cleaner.” Everywhere she looked, she saw dust and cobwebs. Floating in the light that filtered in from two small windows above their heads were dust motes, and swirling around their feet were dust bunnies. A lean black cat pounced on one and batted it under a display case.
“Is that Mephistopheles?” asked Missy. The cat was lying on his side, kicking his hind feet as he used his front feet to feel around under the shelf. He was purring loudly, and he looked joyous.
Melody leaned away from Missy long enough to scan the store. “No,” she replied. “Mephistopheles is over there in his basket, just like last time. See?”
It was on the tip of Missy’s tongue to say, “That decrepit old thing?” but she didn’t want to hurt the cat’s feelings. At last she said to Melody, “Mephistopheles is the cat you’re afraid of?”
Melody crept closer to the basket. The sleeping cat was thin and old, curled into a tiny ball. “Well … I guess I didn’t get a very good look at him before.”
A door slammed at the back of the store, and a tall figure dressed in bright-blue robes and a pointy wizard’s hat glided behind the counter. “Mwa-ha-ha!” He set down a cup of coffee. Then he lit a candle that cast flickering shadows on the walls.
Melody gasped and ducked behind Missy without letting go of her hand. “He’s a real wizard,” she whispered loudly.
“Melody,” said Missy, “do you really think that real wizards go shopping at Bean’s Coffee?”
“I don’t know. He’s the only wizard I’ve ever met.”
“For heaven’s sake. He’s just wearing a costume. He’s even pinned a name tag to his robes.”
“What does the name tag say?”
“Art Magic.”
Melody straightened up. “Oh. Like the name of the store.”
“Can I help you?” Art Magic asked.
“We need to look around first,” mumbled Melody.
Art regarded Missy. “I haven’t seen you in here before.” He reached for his coffee and knocked the cup over. “Drat,” he muttered as coffee ran across the counter and dripped down to the floor. The scent of hazelnut reached Missy’s nose.
“Is he casting a spell? Is drat a spell word?” Melody asked frantically.
“It is not,” replied Missy.
“Fumbles and fleas!” said Art from the floor behind the counter. “All over my shoes. Now, let me see. Where are the paper towels?” He straightened up, and his hat slid off the back of his head and landed in the coffee. “Rats and rubbish!” he exclaimed.
“Let’s look around a bit,” said Missy, who personally felt that someone as clumsy as Art should perhaps not have a lighted candle in his store. She and Melody wandered between the shelves, while behind them they heard bangs and small crashes and cries of “Marbles and mushrooms!” and “Bat wings and barnacles!” and “Worms and wormholes!”
“All I see,” said Melody after a while, “are costumes and magic tricks.” She let go of Missy’s hand.
“Exactly,” said Missy.
“Do you think there’s anything truly magical here?”
“I think this is where someone would come if she wanted to put on a magic show. If she needed new tricks and maybe a wand.”
“A real magic wand?” asked Melody.
“What do you mean?”
“A wand that could do real magic. Like you do.”
“What do you think?”
Melody shrugged.
Missy looked across the store at the counter. Art was there, making notes on a pad of paper. He dropped his pen. “Crab apples and crayfish!” He retrieved the pen then stepped around in front of the counter. “What are you looking for?” he asked pleasantly.
“Well—” Missy started to say.
“A magic kit for the little girl?”
“I’m not little!” said Melody in a voice much louder than she normally used.
Art bent over to select a box from a shelf, and his hat fell off again. He stooped to pick it up, and four pens slid out of the pocket of his robe. He sighed and set the pens and the hat on a shelf. “This is my top-of-the-line beginner’s magic kit,” he said, holding the box out to Missy. “Perfect for the child in your life.”
“I don’t think we’re interested in a magic kit,” Missy replied, although she still had not one single idea what Melody was interested in. “Thank you, though.” Art Magic looked so disappointed that Missy added, “What lovely cats you have.” Most adults, she had found, could be nicely sidetracked if you brought up the subject of their children. If they didn’t have any children, you could mention their pets.
Art brightened. “Mephistopheles and Snowman,” he said proudly.
Melody looked at the black cat that had been chasing dust bunnies and was now sitting up straight and tall, his eyes fixed on the burning candle. She frowned. “That black kitty is named Snowman?”
“Yup.” Art put his wizard hat back on and knocked the pens off the shelf. “Troubadours and trampolines!”
“Melody?” said Missy. “Are you ready to go?” She paused. “What’s the matter?”
Melody was standing by a rack of black robes. Her face was frozen, and she looked as if her feet had been glued to the floor. She pointed to Snowman. “Did you see that?” she whispered to Missy.
“See what?” Missy felt as though she should whisper, too.
“Snowman just stared and stared at the candle until it went out.”
Missy looked at Art’s candle. The flame had indeed been extinguished. “It must have gone out by itself,” she said. “There was probably a little breeze from Art’s robes.” But she looked from Snowman to the candle and back again.
The door to the shop opened then, and the hollow voice intoned, “Welcome to your doom.”
“Hi, Art!” a young man called cheerfully as he stepped inside.
“Welcome, Patrick,” Art replied. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“A deck of cards and a folding wand.”
“Come with me,” said Art, and led Patrick to a display near the counter.
“Missy!” cried Melody. “Did you see that?”
“No. What?”
Melody’s mouth was gawping open and closed like Einstein’s had when he couldn’t speak. She gulped in some air. Finally she said in a hysterical whisper, “Snowman just made a mouse fly across the room!” She stood in front of Missy, huffing and puffing with excitement. “A live mouse!”
Now, if Melody had said such a thing to her mother, her mother would have replied, “I think you’re overly tired, dear.” If she had said such a thing to her father, he would have replied, “Impossible. What have you been watching on TV lately?”
But Missy Piggle-Wiggle was not like most adults. She replied, “Tell me exactly what you saw.”
“I saw,” Melody began, and paused to huff a few more times. “I saw, well, first I noticed a mouse.” Huff, puff. “It ran out from under that shelf over there.” Huff. “Then I saw Snowman crouched right here by my feet.” She let out one final, small puff. Puff. “Snowman was staring at the mouse just the way he stared at the candle.”
“Mm-hmm,” said Missy. What she was thinking was that of course Snowman was staring. He was a cat looking at a mouse. But she let Melody finish her story.
“And the next thing I knew, that mousie was sailing through the air! He went all the way across the store to the window.” Melody pointed above her head.
Missy glanced over her shoulder to see if Art Magic was listening to Melody, but he was demonstrating a trick wand to Patrick.
“Missy, mice do not ordinarily fly,” Melody said urgently.
“No, they do not.”
“Do you believe me?”
“I do.”
Missy turned her attention to Snowman. She looked at him intently.
“Can you read his mind?” Melody asked Missy. “What’s he thinking?”
“He’s thinking that Snowman is a ridiculous name for a black cat.”
Melody laughed. But Missy was frowning. There was something unusual about Snowman. He reminded her of a cat who had lived at the Magic Institute for Children. The cat’s name was Enigma, and just like Snowman, he could sit placidly on the floor or in his bed while he made silverware jump or hats fly off of heads.
Missy looked at Art Magic and his hat, the hat he couldn’t quite control. Then she looked at Snowman. She thought he might be laughing. “Clever boy,” she whispered to him. “I know what you’re up to.” She turned to Melody. “Ready to go?”
“Almost.” Melody walked to the back of the store and stood patiently at the counter while Art rang up Patrick’s cards and trick wand.
“Well, now,” Art said to her as Patrick tucked the bag under his arm and turned to leave. “Have you decided on a magic kit?”
Melody shook her head. “No. Thank you. I don’t want to learn tricks. I want to learn real magic.”
“Real magic?” Art repeated.
“Real magic.”
Art’s face reddened slightly. “What is it you’d like to be able to do? Pull an egg out of an empty hat? That would surprise your friends. Pour milk out of an empty pitcher?”
Veronica Cupcake would have stomped her foot and shouted, “NO! I said I wanted to learn real magic!” But Melody was far too polite to do such a thing. “No,” she said again. “Those are just tricks.”
Art’s face was growing redder. “Popcorn and pandemonium,” he murmured.
“What I would like,” Melody said in her most grown-up voice, “is to make my dog talk, make my teeth brush themselves, turn Little Spring Valley into Utopia, that sort of thing.”
“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm,” said Art.
“So can you help me?” Melody asked patiently.
Art looked desperately around his store. “The most advanced kit I have,” he said finally, “is the Conjure-Master 3000. It’s state-of-the-art.”
Melody dropped her head. “Oh. Okay. Thanks. That isn’t quite … Let’s go, Missy.”
Missy reached for Melody’s hand. She locked eyes briefly with Snowman, who stared at her until she felt her face turn warm. Then she and Melody climbed the steps and emerged into the sunshine.
They walked back to Juniper Street in silence. At last Melody said, “Mr. Magic doesn’t know how to do real magic, does he?”
“He creates illusions,” Missy told her. “He’s a very good actor. And salesperson.”
“Snowman might be magic.”
“There’s certainly something unusual about him.”
Melody let out a sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to ask you, then.”
“Ask me what?”
“How to do real magic. I wanted to learn by myself, but Mr. Magic only has tricks. Can you teach me?”
“Teach you how to do magic?”
“Yes.” Melody nodded her head once, with great finality.
“And why do you want to learn magic?”
“It’s the only way to solve my problems.”
“I see,” murmured Missy.
“You solve people’s problems with magic.”
“Sometimes. But sometimes magic isn’t the best way to solve a problem.”
“It’s the fastest, though, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes,” Missy said again.
Melody waited for Missy to ask her about her problems. When she didn’t, Melody finally said, “All my friends hate me. They’re not like my friends in Utopia. I’ve been trying and trying to make them like me, but nothing is working.”
“So you thought you’d try magic.”
Melody nodded again. “It must be the only way. And I know there’s real magic because you’re magic, and House is magic, and Snowman is magic. So I just need to learn some real magic.”
“I’ll have to think about this,” said Missy, and she was glad that no one knew about her work at the Magic Institute for Children.