by Deb Caletti
Finally, night has fallen. In the darkness, strings of little white lights glow over the dance floors. Any doubt and mistrust of others that Vlad Luxor spread around their land have vanished. Surrounding the partygoers are the things that make every person similar and that we all experience—the sky we live beneath, the ground we all walk on, the wilds around us; love and friendship and growing up, struggles and seasons and music. Around them, too, are the things that make us different and singular. Henry thinks the sky is indigo, and Pirate Girl sees it as more bluish-black, and Apollo spots a shooting star, but Jo doesn’t notice. Mr. and Mrs. Dante step on each other’s shoes and bump into the table while dancing, spilling someone’s drink, while Sir Loinshank Jr. and Rinaldo Francois waltz with the elegance of swans on a summer lake. Rocco taps his toes out of sync with the rhythm, and Coco wiggles her hips wildly, and Henry’s elbows poke this way and that, and Ms. Toomey can’t hear the beat at all, but she feels it in the soles of her feet, and one tree leans and whooshes this way, and another leans and whooshes that, but they are all, every one of them, still dancing.
Henry is dancing with all his might. His happiness fills him, and so does the heart-thump of the music, so much so that he doesn’t even care if his thin legs look silly, or if his toe pokes from his shoe. He dances for all he’s worth. And right then, because he’s lost himself so completely in that music, he accidentally steps on the cord of the strings of lights. They flicker, and everyone gives a surprised Ah! and of course, this, this is when something astonishing happens. The gerenuk who is munching on a branch hanging just above the cake is—pow!—quite suddenly a boy on his toes who can’t reach the limb.
“Hey! Wait a minute. Wait just one minute! I was enjoying that delicious treat!” Jason Scrum complains. But his gerenuk legs have vanished, just like that, and so have his horns, and his wide and alien-like eyes. Quite strangely, though, even from a bit of a distance, Henry can tell he is still quite smelly.
“What happened?” Henry shouts over the music.
The spell! Jo mouths, because these things are still dangerous to speak about loudly, even in the farthest and most hidden corner of Huge Meadow.
“Or, at least, most of it! Pee-yew!” Pirate Girl says.
“But how?” Apollo asks.
“I have no idea!” Jo shouts happily.
The Dantes notice, too, and begin hopping up and down with spell-breaking joy, and Mrs. Dante loses her hat, and Vic Chihuahua squashes it accidentally, but no one cares. The musicians do not skip a beat, adding to the merriment. Ms. Fortune hobbles toward Jason on her crutches and then hugs him so hard that they both tumble forward, her knees scraping the ground.
“Ow!” she cries in glee.
“Ow,” Jason cries, in complaint.
“Thank you, children,” Ms. Fortune cries. “Thank you!”
Henry and the others stand together, and Pirate Girl takes Henry’s hand in one of hers, and then Jo’s in the other, and Jo takes Apollo’s. Button sits proudly next to Henry’s knees.
“We did it,” Jo says, “or, at least, I think so.”
“Somehow we must have,” Apollo says.
“It’s just like the last time,” Pirate Girl says. “When we had to trust and go forward bravely, even though we didn’t know all the hows and whats and whys.”
“I guess it is,” Henry says.
And while they don’t entirely understand what has happened yet, and while they can see, or rather smell, that Jason has only mostly been returned to the way he was, in the farthest corner of Huge Meadow, at the hidden outer edge of the Wilds, with the music pulsing fabulously through him, Henry feels certain that a spell has indeed been broken.
CHAPTER 34
A Silent, Loud Voice
Where are you going, Henry Every?” Henry’s mother yells, just before Henry reaches the front door. “You were gone for two days! Don’t you know how worried we were that you’d never be back to do your chores?”
“Ugh, he’s just like my father,” Mr. Every says, turning up the television.
Sardines, Squished in a Tin
Oh, it is always so difficult to go from love and joy to nerve-racking anxiety and fear. But, sigh. This is the truth of Henry’s life. His fine clothes are gone, and he’s back in his thin jeans and too-small shirt and those tennis shoes that make his toes feel like sardines, squished in a tin.
Today, though, Henry and Button have somewhere they need to be. Somewhere very important.
“I asked you a question! Where are you going?” Mrs. Every stands in front of the door, blocking their exit. When she speaks, Henry can see the big, scary cave of her open mouth.
“Oh, let him go. And that yippy-yappy nuisance of a dog. Our bad luck we got stuck with those two,” Mr. Every says. “Be back before never,” he snarls, still staring at the television.
“Fine! Leave me all alone, then!” Mrs. Every says. “Leave me here all by myself!”
Henry’s stomach aches, but his hand reaches the doorknob. And he turns it oh so slowly, because when you live in a house like Henry’s, everything is a version of a tiptoe. Turrnn . . . The knob clicks, and he eeeeases the door open ever so carefully.
It’s almost wide enough for Henry and Button to escape. Almost. Then his mother says it. Then it happens. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Henry Every?”
Fear scoots up his back like a shiver, and he feels a yucky something down deep. It’s a feeling he can’t entirely understand, let alone explain out loud, like those confusing words where some letters are silent. But what he does next . . . well, it’s extraordinarily brave and even somewhat dangerous. Now, you may not appreciate just how brave and somewhat dangerous it is, not if you’re allowed to sometimes ignore your parents or talk back or complain or whine or say no or even, heavens, shout or stomp your feet. Henry, of course, doesn’t dare do any of those things, so when he and Button quickly scoot through the narrow space of the door without him saying those three most precious and magical words that his mother is waiting for, it is most definitely brave.
Henry’s heart is pounding. He is trying not to hear the screech of HOW DARE YOU, HENRY EVERY. He moves as fast as he can before her arm can reach out to grab him by the neck. He runs down those steps, with Button at his heels, and while Henry is full of terror, he also feels a small, new something else. The beginnings of his own voice. It’s not very loud—in fact, back there it was silent as a stone—but it could still be heard.
“Hurry, Henry!” Apollo shouts. All the children are on the sidewalk this morning, with their bikes that Mr. Dante retrieved from Hollow Valley. Apollo has Henry’s bike upright and ready, and he jumps on.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jo says. Her hands grip her handlebars.
“Hop in, Button,” Pirate Girl says as the dog scurries into Pirate Girl’s sidecar.
“Come on, you guys!” Apollo makes sure his helmet is secure, and then takes off.
The foggy morning has that smoky smell of fall, and the drifting ribbons of white are eerie enough that the children imagine Needleman lurking behind every lamppost, even though, on this day, Mr. Reese is keeping an especially close watch. They hurry through town, past the billboard with the messages that always change but always stay the same, too: OTHERS AND ITS! A NATIONAL EMERGENCY! Then, they bump down onto the path across Huge Meadow, and pedal madly to the Circle of the Y, where one road leads up, up to Vlad Luxor’s horrible tower on the mountain, and one road leads down to their shining destination.
When the road curves toward the lighthouse, and they are flying so fast that Henry barely has to pedal, that small, new something else feeling blooms in his chest. Henry did not give away those precious, magical three words, and for a few moments, he’s filled with a glorious soaring, and the wind whips past his cheeks and through his hair. That morning, well, first he was afraid, he was petrified. But now he hol
ds his head up high. In his whole body, he feels the deep bass beat of the strongest and most ancient and powerful things you can think of—the eye of a tiger, a dragon breathing fire, titanium.
And then he does something very un-Henry when no one is looking. He pumps his fist in the air in victory.
CHAPTER 35
The Details of Bizarro Crueltildo
The Beautiful Librarian has the large book of spells out on the library table, and Captain Every is leaning over it. The children have just told the two of them every gory and frightening and victorious detail of their adventure, from the trek through the weird Wilds, to the Shadow enemy who wasn’t an enemy at all, to their own personal triumphs. Grandfather Every is tsk-tsking, and hmm-ing, and ah-ing as he reads the tiny words. Outside the lighthouse, the wind howls a bit, and under the table, Button is curled up on Henry’s feet. It gives him that cozy warm feeling you might see on a holiday postcard.
A Holiday Postcard
“Well?” Pirate Girl asks. “Is it any clearer why Jason Scrum turned back into a boy but is still smelly like a gerenuk, even though he did not walk on the line between good and evil, falling on the side of good?” Which, we might point out, is quite an unwieldy thing to say.
“Oh!” Grandfather Every looks up. “My apologies! I was reading ahead to various other spells I am sure you will encounter.”
“You weren’t reading about Bizarro Crueltildo?” Apollo asks.
“Oh, no, no! No need. It’s already abundantly clear why that happened, of course. Clear as your perfect vision in those fine spectacles.”
Apollo smiles.
“Big. We should perhaps stick to the here and now. Show them the page,” The Beautiful Librarian says. “The children are confused about the stinky bully.”
“Ah. Yes. Quite right.” Grandfather Every shuffles the pages of the big book, and then he points. “What happened to the bully . . . Yes. Here.”
“‘Bizarro Crueltildo. Duration: somewhat permanent,’” Apollo reads.
“But that’s the same page we saw before,” Henry says.
“Well, yes. Of course it is! You attempted the more dangerous spell-breaking option, number two: ‘In a far corner of the world, walk the victim of Bizarro Crueltildo along the line between good and evil, falling to the side of good.’ Which, as you know, most unfortunately failed. Jason Scrum fell to the side of evil, though, quite honestly, the line between good and evil is always hard to determine, let alone dangerous to walk along, which is perhaps why option two is strongly warned against. What you succeeded at was spell-breaking option number one: ‘Accompany victim to a large gathering involving music, particularly stylish attire, and high spirits . . .’”
“The celebration of love,” Jo says.
“Our fancy clothes,” Apollo says.
“And as I mentioned before, if you read forward in this rather lengthy spell, you’ll see that the next aim is to seek an unexpected outcome among flickering lights.”
“The lights flickered when I stepped on the cord,” Henry remembers.
“And that’s when Jason Scrum turned back into a boy!” Pirate Girl realizes.
“I told you. Music has its own timeless and ever-present magic,” Grandfather says, with great importance.
“I felt the magic that night!” Jo exclaims.
“But wait. Why is he still as stinky as a gerenuk?” Pirate Girl asks.
“Well, this is a mystery,” Grandfather says. “Alas. I never did find out why Ms. Sumac stayed a Sparklemuffin. And I couldn’t go back to reread those smudgy parts where I spilled the cologne.” He sighs. Outside the lighthouse, the waves crash in and out again. The children feel the small ache of an unanswered question.
“Maybe I can help,” The Beautiful Librarian says. She holds up a finger. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Both Grandfather Every and Pirate Girl remove their pocket watches and click the little button at the top. Henry hears The Beautiful Librarian running up and down the library stairs, removing volumes and setting them back again, muttering things like “Maybe . . . no” and “Wait, perhaps . . .” until she finally says, “I’ve got it!” and dashes back to the table again.
Grandfather Every and Pirate Girl click their stopwatches again.
“Wow,” Pirate Girl says. “That was almost a moment exactly.”
A Baffling Sheet of Music
“Quite extraordinary. A new record,” Captain Every says.
The Beautiful Librarian hands the red leather book to Captain Every. “Thank heavens for multiple sources!” she says cheerfully.
Captain Every squinches his eyes and tilts his head. “Tinsel, mcdoodle, crocodilius? Ugh. I can’t make out the words. It’s atrocious, the way the print shrinks with each passing year! This is harder to read than a baffling sheet of music.”
“Let me sum up,” The Beautiful Librarian says as they all lean in. She clears her throat. “Spell-breaking option one most certainly works, as you children discovered. Just not on adults, hence Mrs. Sumac remaining a Sparklemuffin. Once a bully has reached a certain age, they often stay a bully, and no amount of magic can change that unfortunate situation.”
“Ah! So option one would never have worked on Mrs. Sumac! I must have read it too hastily in my great excitement to go to the disco. And then I knocked over the cologne, smudging the essential information. I was the glitch in the spell!” Grandfather admits with merriment. “But as you see, a plan did present itself, and I did follow it to great success, since Mrs. Sumac was transformed, only not in the way I expected.”
“That’s what happened to us, too!” Jo says. “It’s just like you said, Pirate Girl. We trusted and went forward bravely, even though we didn’t know the hows and whats and whys.”
“As for young bullies and the spell duration as somewhat permanent . . . ,” The Beautiful Librarian continues. “Well, some children can change, and others won’t, and there’s no telling who is who. Occasionally, in circumstances of extreme yuckiness, a . . . hmm, let’s call it a warning. A small warning is built into the spell, leaving something quite noticeable that cannot be entirely undone.”
“A warning? Like the warning stink the caribou gave off?” Jo asks.
“Yes,” The Beautiful Librarian says. “But in that case, they were warning each other, and in this case, the warning is to everyone else.”
“How handy!” Pirate Girl says. “I wish every bully came with a warning.”
“Will he have it forever?” Jo asks.
“It’s hard to say. He was cruel about love, and that’s exceptionally awful. All we can do is hope that he will learn to do better so the stink can wear off in time,” she says.
“Do you think he ever will?” Henry asks.
“It’s hard to know,” The Beautiful Librarian says. “Sometimes, cruelty is like a very strong cologne. A person stops smelling it on themselves. Other times, though, a person will tire of seeing everyone else crinkle their nose whenever they walk into a room. And then they decide to change.”
CHAPTER 36
A Spell-Breaking Feast
Back in Captain Every’s dining room now, the children and Captain Every and The Beautiful Librarian and Button indulge in a great celebratory feast, including an aromatic tower of Jelled Noodle, and a Frankfurter Crown, and a stunning bowl of golden Egg Vrouvret. Warm buttered rolls, tricolored jam. Asparagus à la Glutton. Fronds of Beef. Garbanzo Galactic in lime and berry. Glasses filled to the brim with a perfectly aged bottle of Boublé Milk Magnifico, a gift from Mrs. Sumac years ago.
In his tummy, Jelled Noodle swims like an eel, and Henry is sure he can’t eat another bite. Until they move to the living room, that is, where, on the coffee table, he sees the tray of five astonishing cakes.
Pirate Girl chooses cakes one and three, and Apollo chooses cakes two, three, and four, and Th
e Beautiful Librarian takes a slice of each. Henry decides on cakes one, two, three, and four, and after that, he is utterly and wonderfully stuffed. Still, even after licking the last bit of cocoa-coconut frosting from his fork, something is troubling Henry.
Five Astonishing Cakes
“Grandfather?” He hates to even ask. He doesn’t want to spoil the mood, but he needs to know.
“Yes, son?”
“Was it . . . all for nothing?” he asks. “The trip through the Wilds, the cave, the Forest of Knives? Our fright with the Shadow? Being captured by Needleman and locked in the lodge? Our narrow escape, thanks to the caribou?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Pirate Girl says softly. “I mean, we could have just taken Jason Scrum to the celebration.”
“The Forest of Knives was terrifying.” Apollo licks his fork.
“And we almost didn’t make the celebration at all,” Jo says, sipping another glass of Boublé Milk.
“Of course it wasn’t all for nothing! Absolutely and unequivocally not!” Grandfather booms, his cheeks turning a jovial red. “What if we always knew the easiest road and took it every time? How would we learn anything? How would we stumble upon the surprising glow of nature or the view from unexpected heights?”
“But we didn’t just see glowworms. Bad stuff happened, too,” Apollo says.
“Dear children, of course it did! The whole, messy, tumbling story is important! Good and bad. Each ticking minute of the clock leading to each hour of past and present. The start and the finish. The trials and tribulations before the triumphs. The frights, the shudders, the eye-opening realizations! And we can never entirely know the hows and whats and especially the whys of any adventure, until we have the adventure.” Grandfather Every beams first at Pirate Girl, and then at each of them. “Magic is mystery! Mystery is magic! This entire spell was essential. Certainly not trivial and most definitely part of the larger story.”
