Almost Magic

by Kathleen Bullock

I’ve never been given any REAL responsibilities or education about the world that they’re grooming Corny to live in. What do they think? That I’ll stay isolated on Bramblewood Heights until I’m as old as Granny Nebb?

  Saturday morning’s gray sky promised rain. Cornelia moped. “It’s too bad Pop’s Weather Regulating Invention didn’t work. Oh, Mother, what am I going to do if it rains?”

  Magdella sat at her dressing table, braiding her long chestnut hair to one side of her face. “Why, we’ll set up a tent, of course. Don’t worry, Cornelia. Your party will be a smashing success. Won’t it, Apple?”

  “Yeah, smashing.” I swung my arms and avoided looking at Corny because she was still mad at me for the Watermelon mess. And I was really, really ticked off at her for blow-drying my wild tresses until I looked like a rabid hedgehog on a bad hair day. Forced to wear a daisy-patterned sundress, rhinestone-studded flip-flops, and a butterfly barrette, I hadn’t looked so immature since I was six years old. I only put up with it because it seemed wrong to stir the troubled waters of Bramblewood Heights. And there was cake.

  “What are we going to do about Bobbitt?” Corny wondered, tapping a rattail comb against her lips. “I don’t suppose he’d wear a bag over his head?”

  “Corny!” Mother scolded.

  “Just joking!” Corny said.

  Party!

  It never did rain, though the sky stayed gray, and the air grew hot and muggy on Corny’s special day. Smidgen, a cute boy band, arrived early to set up their equipment and a karaoke machine.

  “I know karaoke is passé,” Cornelia explained, tossing her golden locks. “But it’s so much fun.” She looked at me sternly. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.” She steered me and hangdog Bob to the table with my parents. “You guys enjoy!” she sang gaily, then ran off to talk to Marsh, the “dreamy” leader of the rock band, who was one of the boys from her high school.

  “I feel naked,” Bob said in a low voice.

  I eyed him up and down. “You do?”

  “Your sister asked me to lock my wand in the credenza for the afternoon.”

  “Oh! Me, too!”

  “Well, I’m not blaming her. It broke in the dragon mess. It could misfire, like she said.”

  “Eh—maybe.” I kicked off my flip-flops and let my bare feet rub the cool grass.

  Corny’s friends started arriving. Mr. Bramblewood (as they called my dad) showed the kids where to park in the dirt field across the steep tree-lined drive that isolated our house from the country road below.

  “Wow, we made it,” exclaimed a girl named Stephie, who climbed out of a car with four other teens. Stephie was one of Cornelia’s particular friends. I had met her a few times at Corny’s school functions, but didn’t expect her to remember me. The girl handed Corny a long, skinny package. “I can’t believe I’ve never been out here before, even once! It’s bee–yooo–tiful, girl!” She pivoted and waved. “Hi, Annie. Cute outfit.”

  I faked a grin and waved. Apparently she did remember I existed, although not enough to remember my name. Everybody gets it wrong.

  The music started, and the party took off.

  To Cornelia’s everlasting surprise and obvious chagrin, Bob Bibbetty became the hit of her party. Who knew he could sing like that? When he held the karaoke mike, he looked and sounded almost cool. Bob spent the afternoon surrounded by tittering girls who hung on his every word.

  After food (Grizzwald barbequed both beef and soy burgers) and beverages (Magdella’s recipe for fizzing peach-mango smoothies) and cake (triple-layered chocolate fudge with pink frosting) the moment finally arrived for Cornelia to open her birthday presents. I stealthily helped myself to a third piece of cake and kicked my legs under the picnic table as I watched. I had made Corny an ankle bracelet of teal blue and lavender beads, her favorite colors, and wrapped it around the neck of an origami dragon. My sister would definitely laugh.

  Corny sat cross-legged on the lawn in front of a heap of presents. “You guys!” she gushed. “I told you not to bring gifts. I don’t know what to say—”

  “Open mine first!” shouted Stephie.

  The tubular gift, topped with a red bow, was certainly a poster. Corny stuck the bow in her hair and carefully unpeeled the wrapping paper.

  To my surprise, I was sort of enjoying myself. If only Watermelon were there, the day would be perfect.

  For no particular reason, I began to sweat and fidget. The yard grew suddenly hot. Waves of heat undulated around me as if I were enclosed inside a sticky mirage. It made me woozy, to say the least. The party guests, who sprawled in a semi-circle on the lawn, began to grow restless too. Above their heads, roiling gray thunderheads clashed with unexpected force.

  I felt the picnic table rock.

  Corny’s guests leapt to their feet, screaming, laughing, and scurrying for cover. Just in time, too. The sky ripped open, and not rain, but a fiery ball of green and red streaked downward, crash-landing on the birthday presents.

  Watermelon!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The rioting mob of hysterical guests prevented me from reaching my dragon before he brayed and unleashed a fireball that singed the treetops.

  “Do something!” screeched Corny.

  I’ll bet she wishes now she hadn’t locked our wands away. I hovered three feet from Watermelon. He didn’t recognize me in my party get-up and wouldn’t let me get any closer. The poor little guy was as frightened and panicked as Corny’s classmates.

  My father, still in his chef’s cap and apron, raised his arms and shouted. “Draco et hospitibus obturatio! Dragon and guests freeze!” Instantly, the pandemonium ceased. The party guests stood around the yard like grotesque statues, looks of frozen horror on every face.

  I threw my arms around the stiff dragon and nuzzled his leathery neck. He smelled like a cesspool. Where in heck had he been?

  “Got a cage?” Bob shouted, running for the house.

  “In the basement,” my father answered.

  I didn’t care much for the idea of putting my pet in a cage again, but there was nothing else to do with him at the moment. I wouldn’t let him stay in it long, nor would he wake up alone and scared.

  Magdella and Grizzwald conferred in low tones as a sooty Cornelia walked in circles, stunned. “Everyone knows now, Mother. They know who we are. No more secrets about our true nature. We’ll have to move. It’s the only solution.”

  “Tut-tut.” Magdella put her arm around Corny’s waist and led her to a bench. “An over-reaction, to be sure. You must be in shock. A smart witch—”

  “Wizard,” Corny interrupted.

  “…knows there’s a remedy for every problem.”

  Corny’s sobs subsided. “Y-you m-mean y-you can f-fix this?”

  “Maybe. Not all your father’s experiments were total failures. Do you remember the ‘Forget-the-Pain’ pills he invented when you were little? They worked too well, and made you forget everything that happened in the preceding hour. I think I have a stockpile in the safe.”

  Bob returned with the cage. No matter how we tried, we couldn’t stuff the baby dragon inside. Watermelon’s stiff, widespread wings and pointed tail would not fit.

  “Good.” I crossed my arms and set my jaw. “No more cages.”

  Bob rolled his eyes. “I could call Auntie Rose. She’d come lickety-split with the van, you can bet on that. He’ll fit in there, sure enough.”

  “Oh,” I sighed, turning my face away. “Not yet. Let’s carry him down to the basement instead. He’ll be safe for a while there, and out of sight.” I pressed his arm. “Don’t tell Auntie yet. Promise?”

  The basement smelled of mildew and mold. A single bare bulb swung from the ceiling, making the shadows look longer and spookier than they were. The basement was a storehouse for all the old and broken stuff, magical and non-magical, that my mother and father didn’t want but couldn’t bring themselves to throw away. One whole wall was devoted to my mother’s rejected paintings.

  Bo
b and I set the rigid Watermelon on a worn velvet sofa while we looked around.

  “I remember that picture!” I pointed at a landscape painting of green rolling hills with woods and a blue lake. In the distance, a tiny tower peeked over the treetops. “I used to stare at it for hours when I was little, trying to figure out who lived there. It made me long to visit them, whoever they were, but Mom said the painting was boring and brought it down here.”

  “Well, lookee here.” Bob ran to one corner and kicked at an iron chain bolted to the concrete floor. “Someone must have kept something down here once.” He fixed the chain around Watermelon’s leg and propped him into a standing position in the corner. “Good enough for the moment, but we still have a problem. This little guy’s going to be all fired up when he unfreezes.” He swept his arm through the air. “Lots of flammable stuff in here. We’ve got to think of someplace else.”

  Cornelia stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs. She flourished Artemis. “Minimize,” she commanded. All the clutter in the basement reduced to the size of a shoebox. “Hide that stuff behind the steps,” she suggested. “I’ve got to run out and give these Forget Pills to Mom before Pop’s Freeze Spell wears off.” She snapped Artemis again and our wands appeared in our hands.

  I rubbed Wanda against my cheek. “Oooo, better. How do regular people manage without wands?”

  Bob nodded. “I told you, it’s like being naked.” He zapped a muzzle around Watermelon’s snout. “Just until he gets used to the chain,” he promised.

  I heard voices in the yard and ran to the high basement window. “Stepstool, please, Wanda.” It materialized instantly, proof that I was getting good at spontaneous magic, or at least better.

  Climbing up, I watched my mother, father, and Corny go from guest to guest, pushing pills down their throats.

  “They better hurry,” Bob warned. “The Freeze Spell is wearing off.”

  Sure enough, clusters of guests began to stir, gulping, gagging, and staring at one another.

  “What happened over there?” cried Stephie, pointing at the charred pile of presents.

  “Lighting struck,” Corny told them. “And then this rain started. Thank goodness no one was injured! I guess everyone was stunned for a minute, though.”

  “Yeah,” said one of the boys. “An ear-splitting thunderclap. I think I blacked out.”

  A chorus of voices resounded. “Me too!”

  “Quite a normal reaction,” my father told them, patting their shoulders and nodding wisely.

  Then the weather turned foul for real. Thunder rolled across the sky and lightning flashed on the horizon. Rain fell hard and heavy. Cornelia’s classmates giggled and shouted at each other like five-year-olds. Getting soaked to the skin seemed like a joke all over again.

  I smiled as I watched Corny walk arm-in-arm with two of her friends and do a happy splash dance in a puddle. Everything was going to be all right. A pang of envy stabbed through my heart. Corny was so lucky to have friends.

  I turned away from the window at the sounds of a struggle. Watermelon, now unfrozen, thrashed wildly, tugging at the chain that held him.

  I waved Wanda above my head. “I want to wear my real clothes, please.” Wanda graciously obeyed. Restored to shorts and T-shirt, with wispy threads of hair in my face again, I ran to the dragon. Still, he turned his back on me. I tried to hide my hurt feelings. “Watermelon, please,” I whispered. “It’s me.”

  I pleaded with Bob. “Tell him in his own language that I won’t let anything bad happen to him ever again.”

  Bob stood a safe distance away and squawk-hissed and gestured in the strange language of dragons. The little guy blinked large yellow eyes and snorted steam, looking back and forth between Bob and me.

  “Well? What did you say to him?”

  “Baby dragons don’t have very big brains. I made it short and sweet. I said—‘Apple’ (he pointed at me) ‘loves’ (he crossed his heart) ‘you’ (he pointed at the dragon).”

  Watermelon wriggled on his belly and turned his mournful eyes on me. Relieved, I moved close enough to pat his neck.

  The solution to our dragon problem came to me in a brainstorm. I saw all its perfection and glory. Mother, Father, Cornelia and I quietly talked over my idea in the basement after Bob went out to check the creature-catching equipment in his van. As I was the only person allowed anywhere near Watermelon, I carted the 3x5 foot painting over and propped it against the stone wall behind him. We all stood back and stared.

  Watermelon’s eyes flitted over at us with anxiety. I don’t think he understood why we looked at him so somberly.

  “Yes, I think so, Apple. I can see it,” my mother said, after deep thought. “Though I’ve never done so complicated a spell before. I can’t guarantee the outcome.”

  “It’s still worth a try, Maggie,” said my father. “Hard as I’ve tried, I can’t come up with a better plan. And we mustn’t worry about the SPAS rules. Apple is the dragon’s master, after all, whatever Aunt Rose might say.”

  Cornelia tapped her front teeth with Artemis. “Perhaps we should all do it together?”

  “All together” in Corny language meant all but me, even though it was my idea. This time I didn’t complain; there was always an off-chance I’d mess up.

  “Wands at the ready! On the count of three—” said Grizzwald.

  That evening, free of guests (except Bob), we sat at the table for dinner.

  Bob said, “I don’t understand what happened today, Mr. Bramblewood.” The apprentice looked quite unlike himself in a pressed shirt and tie, with his hair combed. “Where did Watermelon come from? Didn’t he go to the future?”

  “Of course he did. This is the future, B—Bob.” Corny struggled a bit with his name, but favored him with a warmer smile than usual.

  “Wrong, Corny,” I amended. “This is the present. Pass the pasta, please.”

  “Right you are, youngest daughter.” Grizzwald beamed at my unexpected cleverer-than-Corny-ness.

  My sister frowned. “But Father, reason tells us that today is last week’s future. It’s our present, but the dragon’s future.”

  “That’s true, too.” Dad beamed at the astuteness of both his progeny.

  I helped myself to a large serving of pasta, and mumbled, “Bob, you know Aunt Rose better than we do. What was she planning to do, if Watermelon never came back?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. We were both pretty sure he’d gone some place far, far away. Zapped into an alternate reality, perhaps? I’m sure she’s doing deep research on the matter now. And then, who knows? She’s coming to get me tomorrow.” The corners of his mouth drooped.

  I gasped. “You didn’t tell her that Watermelon has returned, I hope?”

  We Bramblewoods leaned over our plates in anticipation of his answer.

  “No.” He looked down. “You know I gotta, though. I swore an oath when I became her apprentice. Besides, we can’t leave a dragon loose to wander the world.”

  “But we won’t.” I reached across the table and plucked his sleeve. “Listen—we figured out another way.”

  I went to the mantle and pulled the drape off the picture propped against the wall. “Now, take a deep breath, Bob, and try to keep an open mind.”

  Everyone gazed at the landscape painting I’d uncovered.

  “Very nice brushwork in the water, Mother,” Cornelia said. “I meant to tell you earlier.”

  Bob propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. “It is nice, quite nice, but what am I supposed to keep an open mind about?” He eyes squinted. “That’s a funny green smudge there.” He pointed. “It looks like—No, it couldn’t be.”

  He rushed to the painting and pushed his face close. “Oh, no. It’s not…not Watermelon?”

  I took his arm. “It is! It is! Mother, and everybody, sent him into it. It wasn’t an easy spell, bending dimensions like that, but Watermelon lives in the painting now in a little world of his own! Isn’t that cool?”


  A miniature Watermelon frolicked in the grass. I pressed my hands over my lips and watched him cavort. It did my spirit a world of good to see him so happy. I pointed to the forest-covered mountains in the distance and the clear blue lake. “Plenty of game and fresh water. Plenty of room to roam. The weather is always fine. There’s even a tiny castle for me, if I ever get to visit.”

  “I—” Bob looked bewildered. “I’m dumbfounded. Aunt Rose—?”

  “Aunt Rose doesn’t need to know, does she? This way, everything works out perfectly, don’t you think?”

  “You mean, don’t tell Auntie?” Bob stiffened. He scrunched his freckled face and shook his head. “I don’t know—she’s my boss. I swore to preserve and protect ancient and endangered species. I’m honor-bound.”

  “Look at Watermelon.” I pointed at the painting. “He’s preserved. He’s protected. He’s happy!”

  Grizzwald adjusted his glasses and leaned over the table. “I think Apple’s idea was a reasonable solution to this unique conundrum. Watermelon isn’t like the other dragons anymore.” He tapped his fingers together and took a breath. “This dragon has been to the future and back. Or maybe, he went to the future and we’ve caught up. I must have time to study this phenomenon. We hope you will consider this as the best option for him right now. If not, we can’t stop you from doing what you think is right. You and Rose will find it a very, very difficult spell to reverse, however.”

  Three female Bramblewood heads nodded in agreement.

  Bob loosened his collar and tore off his tie. He studied his place setting for a long time. The family held its united breath.

  When Bob looked up again, he grinned. “Here’s how I see it. Watermelon vanished into another world. We all saw it; we all know it’s true. Auntie doesn’t think the little fellow is ever going to show up again. And she needs me urgently—like yesterday—to handle the twenty other irascible beasts at her ranch. When I go, I won’t tell a lie—I just won’t tell her anything at all.”

  I exhaled and then opened my arms wide. “Yes! Hurray! Come on everybody, group hug!” We Bramblewoods, even Corny, tackled Bob Bibbetty in a crushing heap.