She woke up to eggs too. Her mom had made hard-boiled eggs and toast for breakfast. The eggs made her immediately think of the hatchling. “I’ll eat later,” she said. “There’s something I want to check on.”
“I’ll pack an egg for you,” said her mom.
“It’s okay, Mom. There’s lots to eat at the Agency.”
“By the way,” said her dad, looking up from his plate, “we’ll be late again tonight. Phone us if you need anything.”
“I will,” Clover said, though she knew she couldn’t. The Agency had to stay a secret. Still, they meant well. She kissed them both good-bye and headed out the door.
The sun was beaming down on the Agency when Clover arrived. It was going to be another scorching day. Hot as dragon’s fire, thought Clover, wiping her forehead.
Even the gnome looked hot. His mustache was drooping.
“Did you see anything?” she asked.
The gnome blinked.
“I’ll take that as a no,” said Clover. Then she added, “You should really be in the shade. You can move, now that I’m here.”
The gnome didn’t budge.
“But you have this,” she said, patting his pointy hat, “so I guess you won’t get sunburned. At least not on the top of your head.”
The gnome blinked again.
“I wish it was easier to understand you. But I think you understand me, right?”
This time the gnome didn’t blink. His eyes were shut—he was sound asleep.
Once inside, Clover plopped her bag down on the couch and hurried to the stables to check on the trap.
Even from outside the pen, she could see that the box had fallen. The stick lay toppled beside it.
The trap had worked!
Clover’s heart pounded. She grabbed an empty oats bag from the tack room to scoop the creature into, then entered the pen. She crept toward the box, knelt down, and, moving as slowly as a fire salamander, lifted it with one hand. At last she would see the baby magic animal….
It was…
Empty.
There was nothing in it at all.
Clover dropped the box and tossed down the bag. She stayed on her knees, staring at the floor in disappointment, listening to her own breathing. And then…she heard something sniffing. Something very close by. She held her breath, but she didn’t hear the noise again. It must have been the baby animal!
Clover took heart. She couldn’t really expect her first attempt to catch it to be successful. And at least now she knew the animal was definitely still inside the Agency. And all the formula had been lapped up, so it wasn’t going hungry either.
It’s too smart for that type of trap, thought Clover. I need a better plan.
She let Dipity out of the small animals’ room and tried to think of something while she checked the Agency. There was no sign of the hatchling anywhere, but the unicorns seemed spooked, their ears back and their tails swishing. Maybe they saw something, she thought.
So, along with their morning mush, she gave them each a sugar-beet biscuit as a treat to calm them down, except for Coco, who had a sugar-beet allergy and got a crunchy carrot instead.
In fact, Clover gave all the animals treats. A thimbleful of applesauce for the fairy horses, who immediately pranced over to it, dipping their muzzles in, and a pepper stick for the fire salamanders, who poked their heads out from under their log, sniffing the air. For Dipity, she opened a tin of star salmon. He purred and rubbed up against her ankles, as though to say everything was forgiven for yesterday’s bath and his night locked up.
Clover had just finished putting out another bowl of the formula in the pen, for when the hatchling was hungry again, and was feeling hungry herself now, when she heard a loud sneeze.
Achoo!
It was coming from Coco’s stall.
Coco was the youngest of the unicorns, and named so because her mane and tail were a very light brown, instead of pure white like most unicorns. Even her horn was a dusty cinnamon color. Clover thought she was especially beautiful, but the princess who dropped her off last spring didn’t. The princess wanted a different unicorn, all silver or gold, but Mr. Jams had refused to give one to her. “Princesses, pah!” he said with a humph when he was telling Clover the story. “All they care about is what glitters.”
Well, Coco was certainly glittering now—from her nose.
The rims of Coco’s nostrils were red, and from them dripped the strangest snot Clover had ever seen. It was sparkly! Coco’s eyes, usually bright, were red and watery. Clover had been careful not to feed Coco a biscuit, so it couldn’t be her allergy. And besides, this was all glittery. Maybe Coco was sick. Clover listened to the unicorn’s breathing, but she wasn’t wheezing or coughing. That was good.
Coco sniffled and looked at Clover woefully.
“Oh, you poor thing,” said Clover. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get you some help.”
She found the number Mr. Jams had left and phoned the vet, but only got a message. “You’ve reached Dr. Nettie Nurtch,” said a gruff voice. “I’m either out on a call, or I’ve finally been stomped to death under the hooves of a hofflepoffer. Leave your name and number after the beep and I’ll get back to you if I return alive.”
Clover wasn’t sure what to make of the message. She left a stammering reply, then hung up the phone—hoping the vet hadn’t been trampled—and went into the kitchen to check the medicine cabinet.
On the UNICORN AND PEGASUS shelf there were bottles that read FEATHER GROWTH STIMULANT and HORN HELPER PILLS, and more of the sugar-beet biscuits. But nothing for a cold. So Clover grabbed a towel for the sparkles and went to rub all the glittery goo away. But it didn’t help! More sparkly snot dribbled from Coco’s nostrils, pooling on the floor in a diamond-bright puddle—and leaving glittery snot all over Clover’s dress.
Clover wiped away what she could with the towel, then hurried back to the front room, planning to ring Dr. Nurtch again.
She knew someone was in the room before she reached it. The smell of strawberry cupcakes floated down the hall, making her stomach rumble. But she was surprised to find it wasn’t just delicious smells that were floating in the Agency.
The new visitor was floating too, in the middle of the room, a foot above the floor.
He was floating because he wasn’t a woodsman, a wizard, or even a giant.
He was a ghost.
A very rosy-looking ghost. Probably this was because of his big red apron. It covered most of his round body and was tied with a flourish around his large waist. A long white mustache wisped down to the apron’s pockets, like trails of whipped cream. From the pockets stuck spoons and spatulas. His cheeks were round too, but slightly transparent. Clover was surprised to see him holding a basket—could ghosts lift things? Clearly this one could. From the basket the most delicious smells drifted—not just strawberry but also vanilla and chocolate.
“Ooooo,” he said. His voice had a whoosh to it, light as a breeze. “Perfect timing. I was just about to ring the bell. My name is Monsieur Puff.”
“I’m Clover. What can I help you with?”
“It is this.” Monsieur Puff opened his basket. Tiny cupcakes, small but perfect, began to float from the top. Before they drifted away, he gently pulled them back down and closed the basket lid.
“Cupcakes? They smell delicious,” said Clover. “But this is an animal adoption agency, Monsieur.”
“Yes, yes,” replied Monsieur Puff. “My cupcakes are so fluffy they float, and so light they lift off the tongue. I knew they were delicious, but I didn’t expect this kind of popularity. It all started with a Moonlight Picnic.”
“A Moonlight Picnic?” puzzled Clover.
“Have you not heard of them? Moonlight Picnics—why, Midday ones too—are quite popular in the summer season—for magic folk, of course.”
“Oh,” said Clover. “Of course.”
“I was supposed to deliver my usual frog-eye pies, but I ran out of frog eyes and made these ligh
ter-than-air cupcakes instead. They were a hit! Why, even the ogres are ordering them now. I need help with my deliveries. My flying is not what it used to be, and I am quite exhausted. I was hoping to adopt a creature to help me. Perhaps a winged horse? I have heard they are generally sweet in temperament and can fly like me.”
“We don’t have any winged horses at the moment,” said Clover.
“What about a creature that floats?” asked Monsieur Puff.
Clover shook her head. “Sorry.”
“One that has recently passed, perhaps? A ghost horse might be quite like a winged one, after all.”
“Um, we don’t have any dead animals here, Monsieur. Only living magical ones.”
Monsieur Puff sagged. “I never had a pet, you know. Not even during my life. I was always too busy baking. I know food, but not animals. Maybe this was a…an undercooked idea of mine.”
“I didn’t mean YOU shouldn’t have a pet—I just don’t think there are pets that are ghosts. But…that doesn’t mean there aren’t good pets for ghosts,” Clover said.
“I don’t think so….”
A loud ACHOO! interrupted him.
“Oh dear,” said Clover. “One moment, please, Monsieur. I have to check on Coco.”
“Cocoa?” He perked up at the name, floating a few inches higher. “Now that I understand. Cocoa, cinnamon, vanilla.”
“Coco is one of our unicorns. But she is sick with a cold. Perhaps you should stay here. I don’t want you to get sneezed on.”
Monsieur Puff followed her anyway, after setting his basket on the desk. Clover noticed that a light dusting of flour trailed after him. She would have to clean it up later.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she cried upon seeing the little unicorn. Rivers of sparkly snot flowed from Coco’s nose. Clover picked up the towel she had left in the stall, but it was soaked through. “One second, Monsieur. I need a dry cloth. Please stay here.”
Clover hurried to the washing room.
When she got there, she froze. In the center of the room, a cleaning bucket was toppled on its side. Rags streamed across the floor. One had been chewed to ribbons! But there was no animal chewing on it now. No animal behind the counter or in the sink. Where could it be?
Was that sniffing again? She crouched down to listen, but heard nothing.
When she returned with a fresh towel, the ghost was inside Coco’s stall, rubbing some snot between his wispy fingers, while Coco nosed his apron, probably looking for treats.
“Don’t touch that,” said Clover. “You might get sick too.”
“Sick? No, no,” said the ghost. “This little creature is not sick. She is allergic. All magic folk know that certain allergies cause sparkly snot.”
“Oh,” said Clover, blushing. “Well, I’m not magic….But I do know about Coco’s allergy. She’s got a sugar-beet one. But I was really careful not to give her any of the sugar-beet biscuits this morning. Are you SURE this is an allergic reaction?”
“Entirely,” replied Monsieur Puff.
“I know allergies well. Why, half my customers are allergic to one thing or another. Most elves can’t eat carrot cake. Fauns have a hard time digesting strawberries, so their cupcakes are always blueberry. And one little witch I know is so allergic to slugballs, she sneezes if they are even in the room.”
“Well, there were lots of sugar-beet biscuits in the stables today. Maybe she was reacting to those? But the other unicorns have eaten them around her before without Coco having a problem.”
“Allergies can worsen over time,” said the ghost.
“She’ll get better now that the biscuits are all gone, won’t she?” said Clover.
Monsieur Puff nodded, but added, “She really shouldn’t come in contact with anything made with sugar beets, though. I bake with cane sugar and honey myself.”
That gave Clover an idea. Monsieur Puff knew about allergies. He would be able to keep Coco healthy, and Coco seemed to like him.
“You know, although unicorns can’t fly or float, they are sweet in temperament, like winged horses,” said Clover. “They’re fast and light on their hooves. And they rise to the occasion when they’re needed.”
The ghost smiled. “Rise to the occasion—I like that,” he said. “And I like Coco too. Yes, yes. I will make special treats, just for her.”
To that, Clover smiled. Maybe she wasn’t magic, but she still could make a good match.
After all the paperwork was filled out, Monsieur Puff left Clover one of the magic cupcakes—weighting it down by adding a gigantic jujube to the top that he pulled from his pocket—and a card in case she wanted to order more.
Then he floated away, leading Coco behind him. All that was left was a trail of hoofprints in the flour on the path, and heart prints inside Clover, who always felt sad to see an animal go. Sad, but this time, also inspired. The prints had given her an idea.
Clover spent her last hour at the Agency sprinkling the floor with stardust. There was no flour but the stardust, used for shining the unicorns’ horns, was a fine powder that glowed slightly. If the little loose animal stepped in it, it would leave footprints wherever it went. It was a perfect way to find it, Clover thought.
Luckily, they had lots of stardust, kept in the tack room in the stables, and Clover was sure Mr. Jams wouldn’t miss a little. The bottles were hard to open, though, and every time she tugged out a stopper, a poof of the dust escaped.
When she was done, there was powder in her hair, on her dress, even in her ears! Clover admired herself in the Agency’s bathroom; her hair was glowing and her cheeks glittered. Her whole body twinkled like a star. But she knew she couldn’t keep the dust on. She tried to brush as much off as possible. What she really needed, though, was a bath.
After checking the animals and locking up, she hurried home, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted by the neighbors, and stuffed her dress under her mattress (she would wash it later). It would be hard to sleep if she was glowing, and even harder to explain to her parents.
Thankfully, they weren’t home from work yet, so she filled the tub extra full and used her favorite bubble bath. She noticed that it smelled just like the floating cupcake she had brought home with her.
Clover eased herself into the warm water. As the magical stardust washed away, she felt a pang of longing. With the stardust on, she had felt sparkly—special, almost magic. Now just the soap bubbles twinkled. If only she really did have magic. If she were a fortuneteller, for instance, she’d be able to predict where the animal would be next. But then she thought of Miss Opal, who hadn’t even been able to find her own pet. Maybe a fortune-teller’s magic wouldn’t work. But a witch’s spells could surely help to find the animal. And even a princess had handmaidens who could search day and night. If only she weren’t so ordinary…perhaps the hatchling would be safe and warm in a pen back at the Agency by now.
She worried about the little loose animal. Didn’t most baby animals make noises? She was sure a baby dragon would grunt or roar, and a baby griffin would probably peep like an eaglet. But a magic salamander might be silent, so maybe some other creatures would be too. Her worries eased after the bath, when, clean and in her pajamas, she ate Monsieur Puff’s cupcake before her spaghetti. It was delicious—like eating a cloud. That was a good thing about her parents working late. She could have dessert first.
Clover knew something was wrong at the Agency the moment she noticed the gnome was not at the gate. He was standing beside the Agency’s front door.
From the downward tilt of his mustache, she could tell he was not happy. Beside him stood none other than Cedric the centaur.
Cedric was wearing his blue cap, and a cluster of bags full of envelopes and boxes hung from his back. One box was sitting on the steps, near his hooves. There were holes in the lid, and it was taped and tied up in all directions. Silvery frost covered one corner and a black scorch mark another.
“I wish all my company was like you,” Cedric was saying to the gnome, who was als
o standing on the front steps. “You can’t imagine the princesses. They love to go on and on—and they are always ordering the most awful stuff too. Once a perfume bottle burst in my bag and dripped onto my tail. I smelled like Strawberry Delight for a week—and let me tell you, it was NOT delightful.”
Clover wondered how long the gnome had been listening to Cedric. The centaur was a talker. He waved upon seeing Clover.
“Hi, Cedric,” she said. “Mr. Jams is away right now. Did you bring that for us?” She pointed to the box.
He glanced at it, and to her surprise, shook his head. “That was here when I arrived. No, no, I’ve brought some fresh feathers for the nest.”
He handed her one of the bags from the bottom of the cluster.
“Thank you,” she said—though feathers, fresh or old, weren’t much use now that the egg had hatched.
“Well, I’d love to stay for some toast,” said Cedric, “but I probably should get going. I’ve got to visit a sea queen today—and I need to meet her before the tides rise.”
With a wave and a whinny, he was off, and Clover turned to the package.
“Where did this come from?” she asked the gnome.
The gnome, as usual, did not respond. But his mustache was still tilting downward.
“Do you know what’s inside?” Staring at the frost and scorch marks, she added, “Is it dangerous?”
To her surprise, this time the gnome responded with a loud mew. Or at least, she thought he had. But when more mewing filled the air, she realized the noise was coming from the box.
It sounded just like Dipity. MANY Dipities! Clover had to see what was inside. She untied the twine, pulled off the tape with difficulty, and lifted the lid.
Inside, in a tangled heap, lay four fuzzy black creatures. They were very small, with itty-bitty pink noses and tiny twitching tails.
The Enchanted Egg Page 3
