Spell and Spindle

by Michelle Schusterman

  “She’s so pretty!” Constance cooed, kneeling down and beaming at Penny. “Here, I just want to fix her hair up.” And without waiting for permission from either her brother or his marionette, she began working the knots out of Penny’s pigtails. “I can’t believe Fortunato just gave her to you. Although she is a little damaged. Look at that scar on her chin! I wonder if I can fix that, maybe a little makeup….Really, though, she’s so realistic—just like in The Cabinetmaker’s Apprentice. Except I’m sure she’s not evil!”

  If Penny could have laughed, she would have laughed scornfully, right in Constance’s face. Penny had heard the old tale a hundred times over from museum patrons who pointed at her as they whispered and tittered nervously. The stupid story about the apprentice who had built demon marionettes so lifelike that all they were missing were souls. They would hypnotize children, then convince them to willingly give their own souls away so that the puppets could come alive. Because of that story, most visitors kept their distance from Penny, staring with varying expressions of amusement, curiosity, and fear.

  I don’t want your silly old soul, Penny would think loudly at them. You can keep it.

  Chance hovered behind his sister throughout her breathless stream of one-sided conversation. He looked impatient but did not attempt to interrupt her. Maybe he’d just learned that it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

  Penny focused her attention on Constance’s face. Up close, her features were still doll-like and perfect. Their eyes locked, and Constance paused.

  “Wow,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Her eyes are so real. It’s like she’s listening to me.”

  “Can you leave?” Chance blurted out.

  Constance looked at her brother. “Rude,” she said, but she was smiling. Penny had the distinct impression this girl smiled more often than not. She wondered if Constance’s mouth ever got sore.

  “Sorry.” Chance did not sound sorry. “It’s just that I’ve still got packing to do.” He gestured around his messy room.

  “That’s an understatement.” Constance stood and smoothed her dress. “May I visit Penny after dinner, though?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Thank you.” Constance patted Penny on the head. “Don’t let her steal your soul!” she added cheerfully on her way out. Chance closed the door behind his sister with a sigh of relief, then hurried over to Penny. He held his hands out, then hesitated.

  “I heard you,” he said finally. “I heard your voice in my head when I touched your strings.”

  Interesting, thought Penny.

  “So…so I want to try it again. If that’s okay with you.”

  Penny could not give him permission, so she just watched as Chance reached out and touched the string running from her wrist up the back of her arm. He looked nervous, and she wished she could smile.

  Hi, Fish Face, she thought, and if she could have laughed at his expression, she would have.

  Chance’s mouth opened and closed several times. “H-hello,” he finally managed to stammer. “Um…”

  He didn’t know what to say. But he wanted to hear her voice again.

  Actually, hear wasn’t the right word. He wanted to feel her voice again. It was soft and pleasant and resonated inside his head in a curious way, like the hammers gently tapping the strings inside a piano.

  I didn’t know you’d be able to hear me, Penny said. This is strange.

  “It is,” Chance agreed. “I wonder why Fortunato never mentioned this?”

  He never heard me, Penny told him. At least he never responded like you did.

  “Did he ever touch your strings?” Chance asked. “Because that’s the only way I can hear you.”

  He probably did at some point. He hasn’t taken me out of my cabinet for as long as I can remember, though.

  Her tone was very matter-of-fact, but Chance suddenly felt deeply sorry for her. How horrible, he thought, to be stuck up on a shelf for so long that you couldn’t recall anything else.

  Your family is moving, Penny said. Does that mean you have to pack me in a box?

  “No! I promise I won’t,” Chance assured her. “Besides, I’m not…” He paused, glancing at his closed door again, and lowered his voice. “I’m not going with them. I’m running away.”

  That sounds exciting! Where will you go?

  Chance had not discussed his plans with anyone yet, and now the words tumbled out. “There’s a carnival that sets up in the park every summer. They’re leaving in a few weeks to travel around the country. I’m going to see if I can get a job with them, help run one of the games or take tickets or—or even clean up horse poop. Anything! I just…I can’t move to Daystar Meadows, because…”

  He stopped, because this part was harder to put into words. After a moment, Penny finished his thought.

  Because your parents didn’t even ask if it was okay with you, because they were happy about the museum closing and didn’t care that you were upset, because all the things they hate about the museum and the city are all the stuff you love most, and because you’re tired of the way they want life to be perfect and safe and boring?

  Chance gaped at her again. “Well…yeah. How did you know that?”

  You told me. You always talk to me when Fortunato isn’t around.

  Of course he had. Chance felt incredibly embarrassed about all his confessions now that he knew Penny really had been listening. A flush crept up his neck as he tried to remember everything else he’d said while doing chores around the museum.

  Is your sister running away too?

  Chance snorted. “No way. She’s excited about the move. And she’d never do that to my parents. I’m going to write her letters, though,” he added hastily. “I don’t want any of them to worry about me. I mean, I know they will, no matter what. But I’ll let them know I’m okay.”

  Saying it out loud made him uncomfortable. In his mind, Chance had assured himself he had nothing to feel guilty about. He loved his family, and he wasn’t running away to hurt them. But he did not fit in. He wanted adventure and excitement and, yes, maybe a little bit of danger. Everything the other Bonvillains did their best to avoid.

  It wasn’t that he never wanted to see them again. But it was all too much: a new house, a new school, leaving the city and the museum behind….If he moved to Daystar Meadows, there would be no break from the monotony.

  Penny’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Constance seemed to like me. Do you think she’d want to keep me while you’re gone?

  “What?” Chance blinked. “No, you’re coming with me!”

  Really?

  In retrospect, he wasn’t sure when he’d decided this. Probably the moment Fortunato had offered to give Penny to him. Leaving her behind had never been an option.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “Maybe…maybe we could even put together an act or something! There’s always magicians and clowns and ventriloquists at the carnival.”

  That would be wonderful! Penny’s voice was instantly brighter. Do you think you could be a puppeteer?

  Chance shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

  With great care, he untied the delicate knot of strings at the base of her neck. There were eight in total: one for each knee, hand, and shoulder, one on her back, and one coming from the top of her head. The strings glimmered strangely; they were wispy, yet Chance felt certain he could not break one even if he wanted to. Each string was seamlessly connected to Penny, as if it had been drawn directly out of the wood.

  We’re almost the same height, Penny pointed out. You’ll have to stand on something.

  “Oh, right!” Chance straightened up and hurried over to his desk. He dragged the chair to the center of his room. Then he returned to Penny and, very carefully, picked her up and sat her on the floor in front of the chair. He took the strings connected to her head
and right limbs in his right hand, and the strings connected to her back and left limbs in his left hand. Slowly he stepped onto the chair. Then he lifted Penny off the ground.

  I’m standing! Oh, I can see us in the mirror.

  Chance lifted his left hand experimentally. The whole of the left side of Penny’s body rose awkwardly in response, and he couldn’t help laughing. “Sorry. It’d be a lot easier with one of those wooden controller things most puppets have. Maybe I can ask Fortunato to make one.”

  That might help. You’re very bad at this.

  “Hey,” Chance said, but he was still smiling. He continued raising and lowering his hands, quickly realizing that smaller movements were easier to control. After a few minutes, he was able to move only her legs and then only her arms. A flick of his right hand and she bowed. Tilting both hands inward resulted in her waving both arms; tilting them outward caused her to kick both legs.

  I’m starting to look a little less ridiculous, Penny mused. Do you really think we can get a job at the carnival?

  Chance nodded eagerly. “I really do. And the move isn’t for another week, so—oops, sorry.” He winced, snatching up the string that had slipped from his hand. Penny’s left leg flailed wildly.

  Only a week? We’ve got a lot of practicing to do.

  And so they did.

  On Monday, Chance figured out how to make Penny walk without her arms swinging in tandem with her legs. He packed all the books on his shelf into a box his mother gave him, sneaking his favorite comics into the runaway backpack he kept under his bed. When he realized Penny had never read a comic, he propped one up in front of her to read as he packed, and turned the page for her every few minutes.

  On Tuesday, due to an overambitious attempt at a pirouette, Chance spent most of the morning untangling Penny’s strings while they debated whether clairvoyance was a better superpower than telepathy. The discussion was cut short when Constance arrived with her sewing kit and insisted on patching up the moth holes in Penny’s dress. (She informed Chance that invisibility was the best power. Chance and Penny later agreed that Constance had a lot to learn about superheroes.)

  On Wednesday, Penny managed a decent jig before kicking Chance so hard it left a purple bruise on his shin. She read more comics while Chance packed up his board games and action figures. That night he fell asleep still holding Penny’s strings as she described what little memories of performing she had, and his dreams were filled with fog.

  On Thursday they managed three successful pirouettes in a row. Chance hugged Penny and spun her around the room in his excitement, and then, deeply embarrassed by his actions, he spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning out his closet.

  On Friday they had a breakthrough.

  Chance stood on the chair, eyes closed, hands gripping the strings. He was attempting to make Penny execute a brief bit of choreography he remembered from his sister’s ballet recital last spring. His concentration was so intense he barely noticed the strange feeling creeping under his skin, like veneer coating his insides. Penny stayed silent as he worked. Until:

  Chance. Look at us.

  With great effort, Chance opened his eyes. He stared at their reflection. Penny was frozen in a graceful pose, her mangled hands poised delicately over her head, her left leg bent at the knee, toes touching her right calf. Her face glowed, her dark eyes alight with happiness. Above her hovered a boy puppet, his eyes glassy, his arms stiff.

  Not a boy puppet. Chance.

  The shock took a few seconds too long to hit. Then Chance gasped for air as if he’d just resurfaced after far too long underwater. He jerked his hands free of the strings, and Penny hit the floor in a clatter of wooden arms and legs.

  “I’m sorry!” Chance cried in horror as he jumped off the chair. Gently he sat Penny up and touched the string at her wrist. “Are you okay?”

  I’m fine, she told him. How did you do that?

  “I don’t know,” Chance said truthfully. He still felt odd, as if he’d just woken abruptly from a deep sleep. “I was imagining doing the move myself. But…but as you.”

  You imagined you were me?

  “Sort of, yes,” he replied, wishing he could explain it better. “I don’t know. It was almost like…like I was under a spell.”

  Ah. Penny’s tone had changed to something more guarded. Well, I wasn’t trying to cast a spell on you. I’m not a soul thief.

  “I know!” Chance said hurriedly. “That’s not what I meant. I just felt…weird.”

  He couldn’t help glancing at his reflection again. His eyes were wide, and he was a little paler than usual. But he looked real, much to his relief.

  “Chance?” Mrs. Bonvillain’s voice interrupted the awkward moment. Chance dropped the string and turned around, blocking his mother’s view of Penny. “Can you run to the hardware store? We’re almost out of packing tape.”

  “Okay!” Chance waited until Mrs. Bonvillain had left before touching Penny’s string again. “I’ll be right back, all right?”

  All right.

  Chance hesitated because he felt like he should say something else. Reassure Penny that he knew she wasn’t a soul thief, that she would never do such a terrible thing. But the image of what they had looked like in the mirror was vivid in his mind, and the memory of his own glassy eyes reflected back at him caused his stomach to turn. So he just nodded, let go of her string, and left his room.

  The moment he closed his door, the man who’d been crouched on the fire escape stood to his full height, quietly opened the window, and slipped inside like a shadow.

  Penny heard the soft padding of footsteps behind her. A moment later, a man knelt down and looked her in the eyes.

  She had seen him before, many times. He had visited Fortunato frequently in the last few weeks, and his oddly sharp face was memorable. Penny had thought perhaps he was the man who was buying the museum.

  But seeing as he had just broken into Chance’s room, he clearly had intentions much more sinister than purchasing real estate.

  “You don’t remember me,” the man murmured, “do you.”

  It was not a question. Penny watched him curiously, because she sensed he was referring not to his museum visits but to something further back. And the sound of his voice had dislodged a memory that had been trapped long ago by the fog….Penny couldn’t quite grasp an image, but she could hear cheers and whistles.

  The man with the sharp face reached for her head. He was going to steal her, Penny was certain. But instead, he pulled up the string connected to her head and held it taut.

  With his other hand, he took a pair of scissors from within his cloak. Smiling coldly, he whispered:

  “This won’t hurt a bit.”

  Snip.

  The man, the boxes, Chance’s bed and dresser…everything vanished, and Penny fell through dense, impenetrable fog. Seconds passed like centuries. The world was muted and colorless and endless. Penny was nothing, floating in nothing.

  It was fine, she told herself. Memories of Chance and dancing and the idea of a carnival life were fading fast, disappearing in the gray. And it wouldn’t have mattered even if they had run away together. In the end, this was Penny’s fate, the fate of all marionettes.

  The worst had finally happened. But that was fine. She had prepared herself for this.

  It was a very good thing, Penny thought vaguely, that wood could not feel the pain of loss, because hers would be too overwhelming to endure.

  Glue wouldn’t hold. Tape wouldn’t stick. The stapler seemed too cruel.

  Chance had done everything he could to reattach Penny’s string. But it was impossible. He’d even snuck his mother’s sewing kit into his room and threaded the string on a needle, intending to sew it right into Penny’s scalp. But sewing, as it turned out, did not work on wood.

  Penny’s voice was gone. Whe
n Chance touched her other strings, there was no response, nothing. He’d thought she was ignoring him, until he spotted the loose string spread neatly across her lap. It was as if someone had plucked it out and left it there for Chance to find.

  But who, who would do such a thing? And why just one string? And how had it been done so quickly? Chance had been gone for only ten minutes at most, and his mother and sister had been home the whole time. His first thought was that perhaps Constance had come in to brush Penny’s hair, but she had been in her room, still wrapping her delicate figurines in newspaper, when Chance returned. And besides, if Constance had accidentally pulled Penny’s string out, she would have told Chance. She was honest that way.

  Chance fretted silently all through dinner and his bath. Fortunately, his parents were too distracted with the move to notice any difference in his behavior. He climbed into bed and stared at Penny and wondered if this meant she was dead.

  Well after midnight, Chance drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the loose string still clutched in his fingers.

  He awoke late the next morning to find his mother packing Penny into a box.

  “Stop!” Chance leaped out of bed and grabbed Mrs. Bonvillain’s arm. His brain felt covered with cobwebs. “Don’t pack her! I…um, there’ll be room in the car. I’ll take her on the drive.”

  His mother’s lips twisted in a funny, tight smile. “Now, Chance,” she said, “it’s safer for it to be in a box. The car is going to be full. What if it gets damaged?” Her eyes flickered from Penny’s mangled hands to her scarred face. “Er, damaged further?”

  “I’ll put her on my lap.”

  Mrs. Bonvillain’s smile hardened even more. “Like Constance did with her dollies when she was little?”

  Chance did not move, but he dropped his gaze to the floor. He didn’t like the way his mother was looking at him. As if she were waiting for him to realize he had something to be ashamed of.

  Which he did. But it certainly wasn’t trying to keep Penny safe. It was the fact that he’d allowed her to break in the first place.