Magic Required

by Obert Skye

  “You never leave good rope behind,” he lectured. “So, I guess in a way I am.”

  Sigi leaned back and closed her eyes, too tired to even ask where they were going, and too smart to know she wouldn’t get a straight answer anyway.

  The moment felt like a brief respite from the storm, a well-earned break. But they would have all felt different if they had known that at that moment, locked in a box, locked in the trunk of a certain car, a certain bird was very much in danger.

  Ozzy woke up in a bed so soft he felt as if he had died and gone to marshmallow heaven. The sheets he was under were smooth, like a silk only a poet could describe. The room felt familiar and, as he rolled over, he saw a square window that helped him identify what spot on the globe he currently occupied.

  Ozzy was at Ann’s house.

  Ann was Rin’s sister and Ozzy had stayed in her home once before. She was a kind person with more polish than one would expect a sibling of Rin’s to have.

  Ozzy looked out the square window at the stars. As before, the view made him miss the superior view he used to have from his attic room in the Cloaked House.

  The boy tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing he could remember was talking to Ray and hearing the truth about Rin. He also remembered the picture of Rin in the pamphlet.

  Recalling the conversation made Ozzy feel sick again. He sat up in bed and looked at the bandage on his right arm. He had no recollection of what had happened there.

  “Clark?” Ozzy whispered. “Clark?”

  The bird didn’t reply.

  Ozzy thought about getting out of bed and trying to find Sigi or Ann, but the bed was soft, and it seemed easier to stay put.

  There was a timid knock on the bedroom door.

  “Yes?” Ozzy called out in a volume that suited the timidity.

  The door opened slowly, and Rin came in.

  Almost involuntarily, Ozzy scooted his whole body back on the bed and as far from the door and the false wizard as possible.

  “Can I come in?” Rin asked kindly.

  Taking the silence as an invitation, Rin walked in and sat down on a small plastic desk chair across the room. He didn’t turn on the light or close the door. He just sat and let the stillness of the room erase some of the awkwardness of Ozzy’s reaction. The boy didn’t look at Rin; he kept his gaze directed at the stars outside of the square window.

  “Are you hungry?” Rin finally asked.

  Ozzy was starving, but he didn’t say so.

  “Ann fixed you a plate of food. It’s downstairs in the fridge.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Ozzy said, wanting nothing to do with the kind of food Ann made.

  “I thought that might be the case.”

  Rin stood up and set a box of zebra cakes down on the end of the bed and returned to his chair. Ozzy took the box, opened it up, and began eating. The familiar, sugary taste seemed to soften his nerves just a bit.

  “Why are we here?” Ozzy asked between two big bites.

  “This felt like the right place to come,” Rin said. “Hotels can be dangerous.”

  “Sigi’s okay?”

  “She’s asleep in the next room.”

  “And where’s Clark?”

  Rin took a deep breath and sighed. “I went back to look for him. He wasn’t there. The only thing there is a small hole in the back of the door where his beak was stuck. But talking with a girl at the check-in desk, apparently there was a bird loose in the hotel today. It chased a kid down three flights of stairs and flew out the front door.”

  Rin couldn’t see it, but Ozzy smiled.

  “He’s probably looking for you now, unless he’s waiting for the sun to charge him. I don’t know if he remembers this house, or if he’ll just head back to Otter Rock. What I do know is that he’s resilient and probably falling in love with a spoon somewhere.”

  Ozzy polished off another pack of zebra cakes and Rin handed him a bottle of Sprite he had smuggled into the house. Ozzy took a long drink. Then, with sugar coursing through his veins, he found the courage to say what he wanted to say.

  “You weren’t in Quarfelt,” he said sadly. “You were in a hospital.”

  “A story can have more than one twist,” Rin replied.

  “Ray said you were sick. He said he has records that show you going in and out of Healing Winds for help for years. Does Sigi know?”

  “No.”

  “Patti told me you were sick,” Ozzy said. “I didn’t believe her. I thought you were a wizard.”

  “And what if I’m not?” Rin asked, his face more shadow than definition.

  “Then there’s no point to this. My parents were good, then horrible, now my dad’s dead and my mother might be as well. Ray is evil and wants to ruin the world and we helped. I should have stayed in the Cloaked House. I should have never gone looking for answers. I should have never made that call.”

  “Ouch,” Rin said softly.

  “Sorry.” Ozzy breathed out. “That’s how I feel.”

  “No,” Rin corrected, “my shoulder’s just sore from carrying you.”

  The boy opened another pack of cakes. After swallowing a couple more bites he said,

  “This is all a mistake.”

  The stars outside of the window stopped blinking.

  “I could argue about what Ray told you,” Rin said. “I could say he was lying and that I never went to Healing Winds.”

  “It’d be a dumb argument,” Ozzy said. “I saw the picture.”

  “You saw the pamphlet?” Rin asked with embarrassment. “I can’t believe I ever had just a mustache.”

  “That’s what you have to say? You have nothing to say about the fact that you lied to me—you just want to complain about a mustache?”

  Rin stood up and walked to the window. He looked down at the neighborhood park below and saw no movement or motion in the dark.

  “Becoming a wizard isn’t easy,” he said in a voice so low Ozzy could barely hear it. Rin turned. “Everyone needs help, Ozzy. I’m not embarrassed to say that in the past I accepted some. The intensity of magic is hard to manage. Just like the pursuit of one’s dreams can be deadly. I needed help in the past. But that doesn’t change what I am. In fact, it has only made me stronger. There is a saying in Quarfelt, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you tired.’ Well, I was tired. I was hurt from experiences I couldn’t avoid. I was also trying to accept Quarfelt in my own mind.”

  “You still say it’s real?”

  “Whether I say it or not, it is.”

  “Then do something,” Ozzy said frustrated. “If you’re a wizard, do something. Make this room light up. No, turn my pants green. No, bring my family to me.”

  “What would that prove?”

  “It would give me hope that you can do what you’ve promised.”

  “It would give you nothing but memories and markers that indicate how weak your will was. What would you do with green trousers? Show them to others and insist they believe because of them?” Rin sighed sadly. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

  “You’ve taught me nothing!”

  The weight of the room grew heavier. The darkness made the space feel like the bottom of the ocean, with millions of pounds of pressure pushing in threatening to crush the life out of everyone in the room.

  “I’m sorry, Ozzy,” Rin said. “Perhaps I should have led with the fact that I’ve spent time in a mental hospital. But believe it or not, I’m sane enough to know that doesn’t look well listed in a classified ad. ‘Struggling human for hire.’ You wonder why I’m not pulling flowers from my sleeves or making the bad guys disappear? Well, those kinds of tricks are not magic. They’re a glitch. They’re a distraction that steals your attention. The true sadness of reality is that it has forgotten that magic is everywhere. We bury it with worry and te
dium, because deep inside we all know it takes strength to wield a wand. It takes energy and belief to step out of the fog of reality and recognize the wonder in almost everything. You are resisting what is inevitable. And when you finally figure this all out, things will be both heavier, and more fantastic.”

  “Figure what out?” Ozzy asked angrily.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  The room was still.

  Outside, the black sky began to fill up with thin ghostly clouds. When Ozzy finally spoke again, his voice was as soft as a feather, but it had the impact of a large stone.

  “What you’re really saying is that you won’t do any magic?”

  Rin took off his hat and ran his long fingers through his long hair.

  “I’m saying I already have.”

  Ozzy laughed scornfully.

  “You may not know it, Ozzy. But I am glad Ray told you the truth. It needed to happen. It was on my list. You deserve to have all the answers. You’ve had more to think about in your life than most people your age. Still, I need you to trust me for one more day.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t is different than won’t.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Nobody can force you, Ozzy. But the conclusion of our quest is at hand. And I need you to believe in me one last time.”

  “Believe nothing,” Ozzy said. “No matter where you read it, or who has said it.”

  “Nicely put.” Rin stood up slowly. “Refrigerator magnets can be powerful.”

  Ozzy shook as he sat on the bed. “Well, I don’t believe what you’ve said.”

  “Okay,” Rin adjusted the belt on his robe. “I get it.”

  The once-wizard walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  Ozzy looked at the dark, vacant room and couldn’t decide if he should cry or scream. Before he could make up his mind, something tapped against the outside of the square window.

  The boy turned and saw stars draped with gossamer clouds.

  Ozzy moved closer to the window, hoping to see the bird he desperately missed. Instead, there was another tap as something small hit the glass and bounced off. The boy reached down and undid the latch. Grabbing the windowsill, he pulled it up and open. A cool breeze dropped through the opening like a blanket that chose not to be comforting.

  Ozzy stuck his head out the window and gazed down at the haunting night.

  “Clark?”

  “Stop looking up all the time,” a voice from down below said. “Sometimes what you’re searching for is more in reach than you think.”

  Ozzy looked down. It was hard to see clearly, but there, standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the front yard, was an old man. Strike that—a very old man. Burn that—a very, very, old man, the kind of man who looked like he had been born before electricity, the invention of the wheel, or the discovery of fire.

  “You—Grandpa?” Ozzy said, not knowing exactly what to call the man.

  “I don’t care for that term, but yes, yes, it’s me,” the old man said. “Now come down here.”

  The boy rubbed his eyes in disbelief. The last time he had seen his grandfather (the term sounded weird even in his own head) the old man had let Ozzy know that he didn’t want anything to do with the boy’s life.

  “Come down,” the old man said.

  Without thinking, Ozzy climbed out of the window and onto the roof. He scooted to the edge and then, using the rain gutter, shimmied and dropped down into the front yard. He turned to see his grandfather staring at him. The old man was holding a book in his right hand.

  “I wondered if you’d use the stairs and come out the front door like a civilized human,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, yes.” The old man was flustered. “There’s a table at the park.”

  Ozzy’s grandfather walked down the front path, crossed the deserted street, and entered the neighborhood park. The boy followed ten steps behind him, wondering where he was being led.

  “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “Please let me sit down first.”

  They came to a picnic table sitting empty under a small metal shelter. The park was empty mostly because it was midnight. The old man sat down and let out a dusty sigh. The expression on his face made it clear that he wasn’t pleased about being there. Ozzy sat directly across from him.

  Their arrival caused a light to flick on beneath the shelter.

  Ozzy opened his mouth to speak but his grandfather stopped him by showing him the wrinkled palm of his left hand.

  “I realize that on paper I might be your . . . well, your mother’s father, but I don’t want to be called anything like Grandpa. My name is Omen, and if you need to address me, use that.”

  Omen then set the book he was holding on top of the table. Under the light, Ozzy could see that the cover was purple leather and there was gold lettering on the front that read:

  Oz

  It wasn’t surprising to see Omen with a book. The man was a bibliophile who lived and breathed them—well, lived was a bit generous. The surprise was in the fact that his grandfather was there at all.

  “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “Any other day I would have said the same thing,” the old man grumbled. “I hate being away from my books. Or outside. But yesterday at three o’clock, when I went to answer my door and receive my latest titles, this was the only one that arrived. To say I was surprised is an understatement.”

  Omen pushed the book toward the boy.

  Feeling like it was a trap, Ozzy didn’t touch it.

  “Go on,” his grandfather insisted, “open it up.”

  Ozzy opened the front cover carefully. The end pages were orange and felt like a stiff satin. He turned the page and looked at the title.

  The Trials of Oz

  By Labyrinth

  “What is this?” Ozzy asked, his messy bed hair making him appear extra surprised. “Is it a joke?”

  “Do you think I’m funny?” Omen asked.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Read the first page.”

  Ozzy turned to the beginning and began. Each word he read filled him with awe and fear. It was an account of his birth and his first years in New York. The information wasn’t new—it was all things that Rin and he had discovered in the last while, but it was in a book and written as a story.

  The boy looked up.

  “I don’t understand. Rin wrote this?”

  “That’s what it says,” Omen said. “At least according to the bio on the last page.”

  Ozzy turned to the About the Author page at the back of the book.

  Labyrinth was born in a hospital that has since been torn down and made into a supermarket and a Starbucks. He has a brother, Woody (deceased), a sister, Ann (alive), and a daughter named Sigmund (alive and quite brilliant). He is best known for being a wizard.

  Looking up from the page, Ozzy said, “Sigi’s name is really Sigmund?”

  “Makes sense. That family seems to have a lot of issues.”

  Ozzy began to flip through the book. He spotted pages and paragraphs that described everything he and Rin and Sigi and Clark had been through. The mountain in New Mexico, the trouble in the ocean.

  “There was a submarine out there?”

  “At one point,” Omen said. “It was once a lab in international waters. But that was a long time ago. That submarine no longer exists.”

  “So, it was Rin that destroyed the Spell Boat?”

  “Read,” Omen chastised. “Don’t look at me for answers when there is a book in your hands.”

  Ozzy read the pages about Rin meeting and talking with Ozzy’s mom.

  She was a lovely woman, with eyes like those of her son and posture that wou
ld put a post to shame. What she wasn’t was kind. Her mind seemed to be in a constant state of drift. She was forgetful and confused and stubborn. When I asked her what she could remember from the past she answered coldly, “All I remember is my work.”

  The words pressed on Ozzy’s chest like a thick slab of granite. No mention of her son. Just the all-consuming work that had torn his family apart. He tried to catch his breath and then quickly flipped the pages. His fingers fell on one of the last chapters.

  Omen put his old hand on the book and pulled it back.

  “That’s enough,” Omen said.

  Ozzy blinked slowly. “You told me to read.”

  “Old men are fickle.”

  “At what point does the story end?” Ozzy asked.

  “It ends tomorrow,” his grandfather said. He flipped to a page near the back and showed the boy. “But you should focus on tonight.”

  Omen pointed to page 350.

  As Ozzy read the words, something inside of him began to grow. It was a feeling of energy so raw and swelling that he felt as if his skin couldn’t hold it in. He read the word-for-word conversation he had just had with Rin in the room with the square window. He read about the pebbles his grandfather had thrown at the window and how his grandfather had said:

  “Stop looking up all the time. Sometimes what you’re searching for is more in reach than you think.”

  Ozzy looked at Omen.

  “For the record,” Omen said, “I never would have said that if I hadn’t read it in there first.”

  There was the account of Ozzy climbing down the roof to meet with his grandfather.

  “How . . . ? How is this possible?”

  “I think your friend might be a wizard,” Omen said. “Only a book would have motivated me to travel here and tell you this. I enjoyed the read. It is sorcery and magic in the most outstanding way.”

  “Maybe he printed it a while ago and just guessed at what you were going to do?”

  Omen eyed Ozzy. “You don’t believe that.”

  Ozzy didn’t.

  “I don’t know what to believe.” A sudden realization dropped down from the thin clouds and landed on the boy. “Wait—you said the story ends tomorrow.”