Spell and Spindle

by Michelle Schusterman

  Besides, she was looking forward to eating food for the first time.

  Chance had experienced helplessness before. Or so he’d thought. There was the time the Bonvillains’ dog, Pepper, had gotten very sick, and the veterinarian had said there was nothing he could do. There was the time a burglar had broken into several homes in the neighborhood, and Chance had become highly aware of how easy it would be for someone to climb the fire escape and smash a brick through his bedroom window.

  But being trapped inside a marionette was a new level of helplessness.

  It wasn’t just that Chance couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t feel. He was nothing but consciousness stuck inside a shell shaped like a girl. For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted action and adventure and mystery. He’d wanted to be a hero, like the Storm. This was an adventure, certainly. But it wasn’t at all the kind he’d wanted.

  All he could do was think and wait. That was it.

  In Fortunato’s apartment below him, the man with the sharp face was thinking and waiting too.

  Penny’s first meal was a peanut butter and banana sandwich. It was salty and sweet and made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. She did her best to control Chance’s facial expressions so that his sister and mother wouldn’t notice her shock at the texture of the peanut butter or her utter delight at the sweetness of the banana. Mrs. Bonvillain was too distracted with packing up the last of the dishes, but Constance watched Penny with a polite but curious smile.

  The moment they’d swallowed the last bites of their sandwiches, Mrs. Bonvillain whisked Penny and Constance to the study, and the three spent nearly two hours packing books and knickknacks into boxes. After that she set them to work dusting and sweeping and mopping. Thankfully, Penny had some idea of how to do these chores, after countless evenings spent watching Fortunato and Chance clean the museum. She took great pleasure in each movement, swinging the broom around like a dance partner when no one was looking, twirling the mop and letting the soapy water spray her legs. Several times she thought of Chance trapped and unable to move in his room, and her delight was momentarily overtaken by another feeling.

  Guilt, that rock that sinks from your chest down into your gut and expands into an immovable boulder.

  Logically, Penny knew that she could not take Chance to Fortunato now without raising his mother’s suspicion. But if she was honest with herself—which she always was—she wasn’t ready to give up having a real body just yet.

  The day passed into evening this way, with Penny alternating between joy and guilt. Dinner was spaghetti with tomato sauce, which Penny liked well enough, and steamed broccoli, which she found highly unpleasant in both flavor and texture. She wondered why anyone ever ate anything other than peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

  Once the last dishes were cleaned and boxed, Mrs. Bonvillain filled a tub with hot water and ordered Penny to take a bath. From her stern tone, Penny sensed that Chance was often reluctant to do this, so she put up a halfhearted fuss before acquiescing, so as not to arouse suspicion. But bathing turned out to be, frankly, the most fascinating experience of her entire life. She could not imagine how anyone could detest it.

  (She also figured out how to use a toilet, which was not as enjoyable as a bathtub but, as it turned out, very necessary.)

  The whole day, Penny experienced flutters of that one emotion she couldn’t name. The sense of familiarity. Marionettes did not bathe or wash dishes or sweep, but Penny had adapted to each activity as if she’d done them hundreds of times. Perhaps it was just Chance’s body operating on instinct.

  When she entered Chance’s room, a new emotion jolted through Penny. She knew the word for this one because she could tell immediately that this was what Chance had felt when he’d heard her voice for the first time.

  Shock.

  “Where is he?”

  She hurried into the room, looking behind boxes and under Chance’s bed. But the marionette was gone.

  Chance was gone.

  Penny marched into the hallway. “Mrs….,” she bellowed, then caught herself. “Mom? Where’s Penny?”

  From the living room, she heard Mrs. Bonvillain sigh in an exaggerated way. “I packed your doll, sweetheart. Like we discussed.”

  “But—”

  “Chance.” His mother appeared at the end of the hall, arms crossed. “It’s all boxed up. You’ll be able to unpack tomorrow when we get to the new house.”

  “But I—”

  Mrs. Bonvillain held up a hand, and Penny closed her mouth. “Go to bed, dear. We’ve got an early morning, and a busy day ahead.”

  And with that, she steered Penny back into Chance’s room and pointed to his bed. Penny lay down stiffly and stared at the ceiling. Mrs. Bonvillain pulled the sheets up to Penny’s neck, kissed her on the forehead, and left the room, turning the lights off behind her.

  Penny listened as the footsteps faded. Her eyelids were already beginning to droop, and she realized she was experiencing sleepiness. But there was no time for sleep now, not with Chance packed up in a box. Fortunately, puppets never slept, and Penny was able to fight off unconsciousness as she waited until the apartment was completely still and silent.

  She threw the sheets off and leaped to her feet. “Chance?” she whispered. “Don’t worry, I’m coming.” Quietly Penny opened the box by the dresser and found stacks of shirts and pants. The next two boxes were filled with books. The fourth seemed to be filled with nothing but winter coats and jackets, and Penny would have closed it back up had she not seen a familiar black shoe sticking out beneath a coat sleeve.

  “There you are!” She grabbed the marionette’s ankle and yanked it out. Chance’s voice spoke in her mind as soon as her fingers touched the string attached to the leg.

  How long have I been in here?

  “All day,” Penny told him. “I’m very sorry. Your mother made me mop, and I didn’t know she’d packed you up. Are you okay?”

  Yeah, said Chance. It was scary at first, but then I remembered the episode where the Storm gets locked in a coffin. Did you hear that one?

  “Yes!” Penny exclaimed. “He woke up and realized Madam M had drugged him and was going to bury him alive, so he went into a meditative trance.”

  Exactly. He said the biggest danger was running out of air, and when you panic, you start breathing heavily. Meditating helped him control his breaths.

  “But marionettes don’t breathe,” Penny said. “It wouldn’t matter if you ran out of air.”

  I know, Chance agreed. I figured that out while I was meditating, and it helped me not to panic. Actually, after a while it was kind of nice.

  “It was?”

  Yeah. It was peaceful. Besides, it was better than mopping, he added, and Penny could hear the smile in his voice. She smiled too.

  “I liked mopping,” she said. “It’s wonderful being able to move around. Baths are nice too.”

  You took a bath?! He sounded horrified.

  “Don’t worry, I pretended I didn’t want to,” Penny reassured him. “Your mother doesn’t suspect anything.”

  That’s not what I…Wait, really? She can’t tell at all?

  “Well, she’s really distracted with all the moving.” Penny frowned, because even though Chance didn’t respond, she felt his fear. “I’m not going to keep your body,” she told him firmly. “I’m not a demon or a thief. I told you—that story about the apprentice is made-up nonsense.”

  I know. I trust you.

  She could tell he wanted to mean it.

  “Everyone’s asleep now,” Penny said. “Are you ready to have Fortunato switch us back?”

  Are you?

  At this, Penny faltered. Because in truth, she was not ready at all. She should have been grateful to have had a whole day in a real body. But she wanted more.

  T
his wasn’t her body, though. She had to do the right thing. Penny grabbed the spindle, then lifted the marionette and looked him in the eyes.

  “I’m ready,” she told him firmly, and carried him out of the room.

  Chance had not been entirely honest with Penny.

  It was true that he had tried using the Storm’s meditation technique to calm himself during those first few minutes in the box. But realizing that marionettes didn’t need air had not made him feel better. If anything, it had made him feel even more suffocated. Because breathing was the most basic form of movement he could imagine, something he’d done every moment of every day without thinking. And now he couldn’t even do that.

  He recalled watching his mother open the box of coats and pull a few out, and he’d known what she was about to do. When she’d reached for him, Chance had had only a few frantic seconds to decide whether or not to speak to her. But it had turned out not to matter. Mrs. Bonvillain had taken the marionette by the braid, nose wrinkled as if she were taking out the garbage, and tossed it into the box. She had not touched the strings.

  Chance had never felt so helpless in his life. Or so terrified. But he couldn’t tell Penny, because…well, this was the reality of her entire existence. And he couldn’t even handle a few hours like this? Shame mingled with his fear.

  Penny was the one who had to descend back into that fog and cage herself forever, just so he could be free. Chance wouldn’t blame Penny if she never wanted to swap back. That thought did little to ease his anxiety.

  Now he stared over her shoulder as she crept down the hall to the front door. Don’t forget my keys, Chance told her. We’ll be locked out.

  “Where are they?” she whispered.

  Hanging on the wall to the left of the door. Mine’s the one with the blue key ring.

  Chance heard a muffled jingle. “Got them,” Penny said. She slipped quietly out to the stairwell, and Chance watched his front door get smaller and smaller as they descended the steps.

  On the second-floor landing, Penny knocked on Fortunato’s door. They waited in a hushed silence for several long seconds. She knocked again.

  “It’s not that late,” Penny said suddenly. “He’s probably still down in the museum.”

  She carried Chance down the last flight of stairs. He glimpsed his family’s mailbox in the foyer and wondered for the millionth time about the man with the sharp face. How did he know Fortunato? More importantly, did Fortunato realize the man was a villain?

  Penny shifted the weight of the marionette as she pushed through the door and stepped onto the street. “He might not be able to hear me knock over the radio. Live from Club Heavenly Blues might still be on. Do you ever listen to that? I—”

  She stopped abruptly in front of the museum’s entrance. Chance, who was still gazing out at the street over her shoulder, desperately wished he could turn around. What’s wrong?

  “It’s open,” Penny whispered. “Fortunato never leaves the door open.”

  Is he in there?

  “I don’t know.” She fell silent for a few seconds. “I don’t hear anything. No radio.”

  Maybe he finished cleaning early.

  “And left the door unlocked?” Penny shook her head. “Something’s obviously wrong. We’ll have to be careful.”

  Easy for you to say, Chance thought. I can’t exactly do anything if something happens. He tried not to sound too bitter.

  “Then I’ll be careful enough for both of us.”

  Penny opened the door so slowly that the bells overhead didn’t even jangle. Instinctively, Chance wanted to inhale the familiar, musty museum smell, but he was reminded once again that he could not breathe at all. He watched shelves pass as Penny tiptoed down the narrow aisles toward the back. He had never heard the museum this quiet and felt a wave of foreboding.

  “I know,” Penny whispered, apparently in response. “In Storm at Dawn, this would be the suspenseful part when you realize that Madam M is lurking in the shadows but the Storm hasn’t noticed her yet.”

  Do you think anyone’s in here?

  Penny shrugged, and the marionette’s head moved up and down with the gesture. “Maybe. But the worst has happened, hasn’t it? We’re swapped.”

  Things could be worse.

  “How?”

  I don’t know. But they could always be worse.

  “That’s true—oh!” Penny stopped abruptly. “Fortunato’s office.”

  Is he in there?

  “It doesn’t look like it,” she replied. “It’s all locked up. But I bet I can get in.”

  Penny set Chance and the spindle on top of a short glass case filled with medieval medical tools and started feeling around the top of the marionette’s head. “Remember how Madam M unlocked the box that held the Storm’s secret letters? With a bobby pin!” She pulled one triumphantly from the marionette’s hair. “We’ll have to thank your sister later. I’ll just take a quick look around—maybe there’s something in there that will tell us where he went.”

  Don’t leave me here, Chance thought frantically. But Penny couldn’t hear him because she wasn’t touching his strings. On purpose, maybe. He had the distinct feeling she was enjoying herself and didn’t want to feel guilty about it.

  No, he was just being paranoid again. Breaking into an office would be a lot harder holding a life-size marionette. She was being practical, that was all. Chance watched Penny kneel in front of the office door and begin jiggling the pin around in the lock. The resulting rattle sounded unusually loud in the silent museum.

  It’ll be fine, Chance reassured himself. Even if she doesn’t find anything now, we can just talk to Fortunato in the morning. Mom and Dad will be busy with the movers, and they won’t—

  A shifting in the shadows halted Chance’s thoughts.

  The man with the sharp face stepped forward silently, any rustle or footstep lost to the sounds of Penny fiddling with the lock. The way he moved was slightly stilted, like his bones ached.

  PENNY, LOOK OUT! Chance could scream in his head all he wanted, but she would never hear him.

  Besides, it wasn’t Penny whom the man was walking toward.

  He leaned over until he was nose to nose with the marionette, and fear seized Chance in a way that would have rendered him paralyzed if he’d had the ability to move.

  Up close, the man’s face was even more striking. His eyes were a blue so light that when he tilted his head just so, they almost appeared white. The structure of his face was all sharp angles, the skin pulled tight over a skull with no curves. An ugly wart stood out on his otherwise smooth neck, like a gnarled knot on a tree. Gently he reached out a long, slender finger and touched the string at Chance’s wrist.

  Who are you? Chance thought as loudly and bravely as he could.

  The man smiled.

  I am your puppeteer.

  Chance barely had time to register the fact that the man had spoken without opening his mouth, before he lifted the marionette and the spindle off the case and carried them over to the sealed-shut oak cabinet. When he touched the door, the wood shimmered and glowed as if lit up from within, and it opened.

  It opened.

  For a fraction of a second, Chance forgot his plight. Fortunato hadn’t been lying—this cabinet really was the cabinet, the one that held the cabinetmaker’s chambers! Chance stared eagerly, fully expecting to see a maze of cabinets spread out to infinity.

  Yet inside was nothing but darkness.

  The puppeteer stepped into the cabinet and turned around to face the museum. Chance caught a final glimpse of his own body—an eleven-year-old boy in his pajamas, loudly jiggling a bobby pin in a lock, oblivious to the horrors behind him.

  As the puppeteer closed the cabinet door, Chance wondered if he would ever see himself again.

  “It’s not working.” Penny s
tood and studied the bobby pin, which was now crooked and useless. The Storm had never actually explained how Madam M used a pin to unlock the box. Apparently, shoving it into the lock and randomly wiggling it wasn’t the way. “We need a new plan,” Penny decided, turning around and walking back to the case. “I think…” She stopped and blinked.

  The marionette and the spindle were gone.

  Instinctively, Penny glanced up at her old spot on the shelf. It too was empty.

  Chance was gone.

  But that was impossible. Penny turned full circle, listening and looking. The museum was as still and silent as ever. Wait, there was a sound: a rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump….

  Her heart. Well, Chance’s heart. She could feel it pounding hard and loud in his chest. This, Penny knew, was a moment when a real person would experience fear and panic. And because she was in a real body, she was feeling the symptoms. A racing heartbeat, a sinking sensation in her stomach, cold sweat dampening her palms.

  All these feelings made Penny want to run. And so she did.

  She sprinted to the front of the museum, leaping over boxes and knocking over a stack of books. She burst through the door and stood panting on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street.

  It was deserted.

  Penny gritted her teeth. She was not a panicky, irrational boy. She was a marionette, capable of calm and rational thought.

  If someone had taken Chance, that person had not left the museum. Yet.

  Penny turned and walked back inside, pulling the door closed and locking it. Then she headed back to her shelf.

  Penny had spent all the life she could remember staring at this area of the museum from her spot. She knew every inch of it. So a quick assessment of her surroundings was all she needed to see that the missing marionette was not the only thing out of place.

  The door to the oak cabinet, which had always been sealed shut, was now open just a crack.