CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Celia didn’t get a chance to talk to Paul until the bus ride home the next day. He settled in next to her, banging his backpack against her feet. “Did you get the flute?” Celia asked.
Paul didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said it all. “Yeah, well, don’t get mad, Celia…” He tapped his fingers on his knee and didn’t meet her eyes. “I was gonna take it yesterday, really I was gonna, but it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“I know I said I’d help you and stuff, but I can’t now. We can still be friends though, right, Celia? You aren’t mad at me, are you?”
“I don’t get it. Why didn’t you get the flute for me? You promised you would.” The bus lurched, and Celia grabbed onto the seat ahead of her. Toward the front of the bus some of the older kids were playing keep-away with some poor kid’s baseball cap.
Paul wouldn’t look her in the eye. “My aunt’s being really, really nice now. My mom says I have to be extra good, cause she’s going to help us with a problem. Something bad is going on with the government and my house, and my aunt said she’d make it stop. So I can’t do anything to make her mad. I promised my mom I’d be good.”
“Paul, this is really important to me. That flute was my Grammy’s when she was my age. Your aunt stole it from us.”
“I know, Celia.” Paul hung his head. “I’m sorry. But hey—” He looked up suddenly, wide-eyed and hopeful. “Maybe you could get another flute somewhere. A better one, even.”
“You don’t understand, Paul.” Celia turned toward the window so he couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. What was she going to do now? Mira was counting on her to get the flute.
“Don’t be mad, Celia.” Paul leaned so close she could feel his breath on her neck. He felt terrible, that was obvious. She knew she should tell him it was okay, not to worry about it, but she just didn’t have it in her. When they got to her stop, Paul got up to let her out. “Bye, Celia,” he said sadly. All she could manage back was a very small wave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Celia spent the next two days thinking of ways to retrieve the other half of the flute from around Vicky McClutchy’s neck. She considered offering to buy it back, which was not a bad idea except for the fact that she didn’t have much money. Next she thought of asking to see it, and then grabbing it and running away. A good plan, but Celia doubted Vicky would let her get close enough to hold it. She also envisioned setting off some kind of huge and terrible distraction like a smoke bomb, and then jumping onto a chair and lifting the necklace over Vicky’s head during the ruckus. But when she really thought it through, none of these scenarios was likely to work. Oh, if only Paul hadn’t changed his mind! She thought back bitterly to all the times she’d played his stupid games. All the hours doing what he wanted, and when she’d asked for just one teeny, tiny favor, would he do it for her? No.
The only thing that consoled her was that nothing had happened in two days. No dreams, no visits from Vicky McClutchy, no problems at Lovejoy World. Just school and homework and her grandmother’s good cooking at dinnertime. Everything was fine. Maybe Mira was wrong and it was a false alarm. Her grandmother had said Mira could be a bit of a drama queen.
The second evening, as her family sat at the dinner table enjoying Grammy’s roast chicken, creamed potatoes, and sweet corn, there was a knock at the door. Her father stopped halfway through his story about his latest new invention, a puppet theatre that came with materials for children to create their own puppets or marionettes. The family looked toward the front hall, wondering who was on the porch. They rarely got visitors in the evening. “I’ll see who it is,” Celia said, sliding off her chair and padding toward the door in her stocking feet. Behind her, Dad continued the conversation, explaining that he’d given a prototype of his new puppet theater set to a first grade teacher, and the kids had loved it. “It’s the perfect toy,” he said. “It allows for creativity and endless hours of fun. I can’t wait to perfect it and get it out there for children to play with.” As he talked, his voice got louder and faster, the way it always did when he was excited about a new toy.
Celia stood on tiptoe and looked through the small window at the top of the door. On the other side stood a tall man wearing a black coat and a brimmed hat. She didn’t know him. “Little girl, I need to talk to Jonathan Lovejoy,” the man said, putting his mouth close to the glass.
“Dad,” Celia called out. “It’s for you. A stranger.” She’d been warned about strangers and wouldn’t have opened the door for anyone she didn’t know, especially not this man, who looked a little dangerous with his squinty eyes and pointy teeth.
Her father came quickly, followed by her mother and grandmother. He opened the door and greeted the stranger with a smile. “Hi, what can I do for you?”
“You’re Jonathan Lovejoy?” the man asked with a mean smile. Celia got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“I am indeed.” The man thrust a large envelope at her father. “What’s this about?” Celia’s father asked, taking it and looking it over.
“You’ve been officially notified of county business,” the man said. “I’m going to testify to the board that I delivered this official document to you personally.” He turned quickly and headed down the walkway to his car, which was parked out front.
“But what’s this about?” her father called out.
The man didn’t answer, just kept going. Celia watched as he got behind the wheel of his car and drove off into the night.
“What is it, Jonathan?” her mother asked.
“I’m not sure.” Dad took his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket, flipped them open, and put them on. Celia and her mother and grandmother watched as he ripped the envelope open and pulled out a thick wad of paper.
“Why, that’s our house,” her mother said as he pulled out a large, glossy photograph. Her father flipped through the rest of the papers, all of them official looking with stamps and seals and large scrawly signatures at the bottom of each page.
They stood silently while Celia’s father read one of the pages, his face a mixture of confusion and anger. “This can’t be right,” he said. “There must be some mistake.”
“What is it, Jonathan?” Celia’s grandmother rested a hand on his shoulder.
“According to this, the county is seizing our property so they can build a highway through this area.” He read aloud: “You will be fairly compensated with payment to equal double the amount of the fair market value of your home. You have thirty days to vacate the premises. On that date, the sheriff’s department will evict any remaining persons and your possessions will be removed and sold at auction.”
“This has to be some kind of joke,” her mother said.
“I don’t think it’s a joke.” Celia’s father rifled through the papers. “This looks very official.” He frowned and pointed. “Why am I not surprised to see that Vicky McClutchy is one of the board members who signed these documents? It figures.”
“But they can’t do this!” Her mother twisted her hands nervously. “This can’t be legal. There’s no way we’d just go along with this. There has to be a way to fight this.”
Her father sighed. “Of course we’ll fight this. I’ll call Brad tonight.” Brad had been her father’s college roommate. He was also an attorney and handled all the legal papers for Lovejoy World. Celia had often heard her parents talk about how smart Brad was. “If anyone can figure a way out of this, it will be Brad.”
Grammy came over to Celia and gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. When Celia looked up, her grandmother gave her a nod and mouthed the word flute. It was obvious they needed magic now more than ever. The thought weighed heavily on Celia, who still felt confused about the whole thing and wondered why it all fell on her. What did she know about legal matters and seizing property? She looked up to her mother for some reassurance.
“Let’s not worry about this now,” Mom said in a false, chipp
er way. “It’s probably going to turn out to be nothing.” She smiled at Celia. “We should go finish dinner before it gets cold.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
That night, sometime after Celia had been tucked into bed, she left her room and went out to the landing to listen. Sitting there cross-legged with her back against the wall, she overheard her grandmother say good night to her parents before heading off to her own bedroom. After Grammy’s door clicked shut, Celia knew her mother and father would feel free to talk.
“Finally,” her mother said, “I thought your mother would never go to bed.”
“Shh.” This was her father. “Let’s keep it down. Little pitchers have big ears.”
“Celia’s been asleep for hours,” her mother said. “She was yawning before her head hit the pillow.” Celia smiled. Her acting had worked.
“I don’t want to upset her,” her father said, “but Brad didn’t have good news.” Immediately after dinner, he’d locked himself into his home office to call attorney Brad. The conversation lasted an hour, and when he came out of the room, he looked shaken. Still he’d smiled and told them not to worry, Brad would handle it.
“What did he say?” her mother asked.
“It seems there’s this old law on the books that makes it legal to seize private property under certain conditions. Something about the needs of the many superseding the rights of the few.”
“I don’t understand.” Celia heard the scrape of a kitchen chair against the tile and pictured her mother sitting down at the table. “What does that mean?”
“It means that a greater number of people will benefit from having the highway go through than live in this house.” Now her father pulled out a chair and sat.
“How can they just kick us out of our own house and tear it down for a road? Why can’t they just build the highway somewhere else?” Her mother’s voice had the sound of crying in it. “It’s our house. Our house.” She slammed her hand on the table. “We’ll fight this. They can’t really do it if we object, can they?”
“Actually, Brad says they can.” Her father sighed. “They plan to raze the house and bulldoze the woods and put the highway right through here. He says we can appeal and that will put it off for a month or so, but it’s impossible to overturn it. We could try to change the law, but that would take more time than we have.”
Now her mother was crying. “Vicky McClutchy is behind this, I know it. She’s doing this because we won’t sell her the company. She’s a vile, wicked, jealous person. She’s barely human. I hate her.”
Her father moved his chair closer and was making the soothing sound that Celia always found so comforting when she awoke from a bad dream. Her mother, however, was having none of it. “How can you be so calm?” she snapped. “We need to figure out a way to stop this.”
“Believe me—I understand where you’re coming from. Brad’s going to investigate some more and look for loopholes. If there’s a way around this, he’ll figure it out. Until then, there’s not much we can do. It won’t help to get all emotional about this.”
“I’m sorry I’m being so emotional,” her mother said, sounding furious. “Sorry that I’m getting so upset about someone forcing us out of our home.”
Her father said nothing. Celia wondered if he was counting to ten, the way he taught her to do whenever she felt like saying something mean. Finally he spoke. “I’m taking care of it the best way I know how, Michelle.”
“You better fix this,” her mother said. “Because this is all your fault. You and that Vicky McClutchy and your stupid feud from grade school. Honestly, it’s hard to believe you can’t remember what you did to make her so angry. If you’d just apologized at the time, none of this would have happened.”
A cold draft passed Celia’s way, and she hugged her knees and shivered. Her parents never argued; in fact, they rarely disagreed. She waited to hear her father’s answer, but it never came. When she heard her mother get up from the table, Celia moved quietly back to her room and crawled under the covers. She had a feeling sleep that night would not come easily.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The mood in Celia’s house changed after that. Her parents were oddly quiet the next morning. Her father, who usually whistled as he poured his coffee, was silent, and her mother neglected to wish Celia a good day as she headed out the door to the bus. Only her grandmother was her usual self. Even after Celia had filled her in on the bad news, Grammy remained cheerful. “It will all work itself out, I suppose,” she said with a smile. Celia wasn’t so sure.
On the playground at recess Paul took her aside to tell her that his family had gotten a similar envelope with the same news about their property. “But my Aunt Vicky said she’ll fix it for us. She was against it, but they made her sign it, she said. My mom doesn’t believe her, but my dad says if we gots to move, at least we’ll have enough money to buy a bigger, better house. Maybe even one with a pool. Wouldn’t that be cool, Celia? I’d invite you over for sure, okay? It would be fun to go swimming.” Paul was so clueless.
After school Celia headed out to the woods, intending to talk to the only one who could help—Mira. Magic was the only answer, she was certain of that. When she reached the center of the Triple Trees, she stood in the exact spot where she’d first met the fairy girl. She’d brought her half of the flute and was just lifting it to her lips when a spot of light appeared in the distance. It moved fast, much faster than last time. Mira appeared in front of her as quickly as a camera flash. She came alone this time and looked irked. “I’m not a dog, you know. I don’t come when you whistle.” Mira hovered in midair and folded her arms.
“I’m sorry,” Celia said, lowering the flute to her side, “but you came the last time I used the flute.”
“I came the last time because I wanted to come and I knew you’d be here, not because you called me.”
“Oh.”
Mira flew in dizzying circles around Celia. When she finally stopped in front of Celia, her grouchiness had vanished and she was smiling. “Why so serious, young one? Things not going well for you?”
“Things are terrible,” Celia said, and proceeded to tell Mira about the papers from the county and the plans to tear down the house and destroy the woods. “And now my mother is angry with my father and everything is awful.”
“Well, you’re right, that is terrible,” Mira said. “What are you planning on doing about it?”
“Me? I can’t do anything. I’m just a girl.” Didn’t Mira understand how limited she was? Celia didn’t know anything about government business. Her parents wouldn’t even let her use the stovetop unless they were around to supervise. “I thought you could do something with your magic. Make the county board change their minds or put a force field around the house or something.”
“A force field.” Mira scoffed. “As if. Someone’s been watching too many movies. I can’t create force fields.”
“Okay, then what about making them change their minds? Maybe put the highway somewhere else?” This sounded reasonable to Celia. Changing the minds of a bunch of boring grownups should be a cinch for someone who could infiltrate dreams and fly.
“Fairy folk don’t practice mind control. We give suggestions and guidance only.” Mira recited this like she was reading from a rule book. “Honestly.”
“Okay then, what can you do to help?”
Mira flitted up and down, moving so fast that she was as transparent as a soap bubble. She finally landed on Celia’s shoulder. “You have more power than you know,” she whispered in her ear.
Celia had heard that before but still wasn’t sure what it meant, so it wasn’t too helpful. “Just tell me what I should do,” she said.
“I already told you the last time we met here. The key is the flute.” Mira kept her balance by holding on to a strand of Celia’s hair. “Have you recovered the missing part yet?”
“No, but I know where it is. Vicky McClutchy has it, and she keeps it on a chain around her neck.”
“Good, you found it!” Mira did a little dance step. “Okay, first you go get it. Once the two parts are combined, then you’ll really have something. Pay attention now, and I’ll tell you how it all works. You take the two pieces out to the Watchful Woods, because that’s where the magic is strongest. Once you get there, you put the two pieces together and blow into the flute. Trust me, you’ll know if it’s working. Then, you make your wish. If you make the right wish, all your problems are solved. Easy peasy. All you have to remember are the three rules of the flute. The first is—”
“Wait!” Celia said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to remember all the rules. Maybe I should go get some paper and a pen to write this down.”
“A smart girl like you? You’ll remember. There’s only three of them,” Mira said. She ticked off on her fingers. “Number one, no wishing for more wishes. Two, you can’t force someone to do what they don’t want to do. Three, the wish has to bring a good outcome for everyone involved. See, simple.”
It didn’t sound simple to Celia. A good wish, in her opinion, would force the board to change their minds about the highway or make Vicky McClutchy disappear from the planet Earth. She was pretty sure neither of these fit with the rules. “How can I ever come up with a wish that will fix everything without forcing people and have a good outcome for everyone?” she said, blinking back tears of frustration. “Your rules make it impossible.”
Mira flew up and gently stroked her cheek. “Others have done it, and you can too. Don’t think about it too much, or you’ll make yourself crazy. Wish with your heart and not your head.”
Celia didn’t have much confidence in the wisdom of her heart. “I wish you’d just tell me what to do. I came to you for help.”
“I am helping,” Mira said. “You just don’t see it yet. Go and get the flute; the rest will follow.”
Celia and the Fairies Page 7
