Spell and Spindle

by Michelle Schusterman

  Penny marched up to it, yanked the door open, and stared inside.

  It was empty.

  Penny frowned, stepping inside and feeling around the dark corners just to be certain. But the cabinet contained nothing but a smell, one that vaguely reminded Penny of the buttery rolls Mrs. Bonvillain had served with dinner, but brighter and crisper. It was an odd smell for the interior of a cabinet, Penny thought. She started to climb out and slipped.

  Grabbing the door, she looked down and saw a piece of paper she hadn’t noticed in the darkness. She picked it up and turned it over.

  Penny read every word of the flyer twice. She didn’t need the Storm to tell her that this was a clue. In fact, it was such a perfect clue, it almost seemed too good to be true. As if it had been left on purpose.

  She folded the flyer and stuffed it in her pajama pocket. So the thief had taken Chance to the carnival through this cabinet. It made perfect sense—after all, hadn’t Fortunato always said the cabinetmaker’s creations possessed magical properties? Just to be sure, Penny investigated the rest of the museum, checking behind every shelf and inside every trunk. Then she went back up the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door to Fortunato’s apartment for several minutes. She considered picking the lock, but this door had a double bolt. At last, defeated, Penny trudged up to the Bonvillains’ apartment. She crawled into Chance’s bed and gazed at the ceiling.

  The guilt she’d felt earlier that day, when she’d experienced the joy of mopping while Chance was trapped and helpless, was nothing compared with this. This guilt washed over her in gradually increasing waves until she was drowning in it, and she opened her mouth to breathe in and out. She needed to focus.

  The man with the sharp face—for it had to have been him—had stolen the marionette. A kidnapping, Penny realized, like the episode where one of Madam M’s henchmen had taken the mayor’s child for ransom. Penny remembered how terrified the young actress voicing the part of the child had sounded. She wondered if Chance felt that terrified now.

  But she knew where to find him. The carnival. The man with the sharp face had wanted Penny to find that flyer; she was sure of it. Just like he’d wanted Chance to use that spindle, knowing it would cause them to swap.

  If this were Storm at Dawn, an exciting quest would ensue, in which Penny would set off on her own to the carnival and engage in an exhilarating fight scene with the villain before rescuing Chance.

  However, this was not a radio show. And Penny was far too logical to walk right into a villain’s trap alone.

  The smart, though less glamorous, thing to do would be to tell the Bonvillains the truth. Then they could go to the carnival together, perhaps with police accompanying them, and demand that the man return Chance. Afterward, they would find Fortunato, who would swap Penny and Chance back to their rightful bodies.

  This was Penny’s plan. It was not the most romantic of plans, but it was a smart one, and she drifted off to sleep feeling fairly confident.

  The next morning, though, things did not go according to plan.

  For starters, Mrs. Bonvillain woke her far earlier than Penny wanted to be woken. She had never slept before, and had dreamed of spinning and laughing on a dance floor while the band onstage played faster and faster. Her skirt had twirled and her shoes had tap-tap-tapped on the hardwood and her hair had been loose, black curls flying out as she spun. A melody had wrapped around her like silk: a woman’s voice, husky with laughter.

  In her dream, she had been back in her marionette body. But there had been no hands holding her strings.

  Now Penny sat up in bed and examined Chance’s arms, then wiggled Chance’s legs. This was a perfectly nice body too, but it wasn’t hers. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it didn’t quite fit right. Maybe that would make it easier to swap back when the time came.

  That was what she told herself as she dressed in Chance’s clothes. But deep down, the truth was that living inside this body was still infinitely better than a puppet shell.

  When Penny joined the rest of the family in the kitchen, she intended to launch right into the matter at hand. No sense wasting time. But Mr. Bonvillain was on the phone, and Mrs. Bonvillain kept darting in and out of the kitchen to check on the movers as they carried the furniture and boxes down to their truck. Penny sat across from Constance and ate cereal for the first time (crunchy at first, then mushy, and far too sweet). When a loud thud and muffled curse came from the stairwell, Mr. and Mrs. Bonvillain both swiveled around and stared at the door. Then they hurried out of the kitchen, muttering things about “better not be my fine china” and “not worth what they’re charging.”

  Constance drained her glass of milk and wiped her mouth primly on a napkin. Then she smiled at Penny.

  “So,” she said. “Who are you?”

  Penny swallowed another mouthful of sugary mush too soon and coughed. “Huh?”

  “Who are you?” Constance repeated. “I know my own brother when I see him.” She leaned across the table, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Or is it that your soul is missing? Like in The Cabinetmaker’s Apprentice? Did Penny take your soul, Chance?”

  “I most certainly did not,” Penny said indignantly. “We swapped. And it’s his fault, if you want to know the truth.”

  Constance tilted her head. “Swapped?”

  “Yes. I’m Penny. Chance’s soul is in the marionette.”

  “Ah.” Constance nodded. “Okay, I understand. Sorry about that. I didn’t realize marionettes had souls.”

  “I didn’t say I have a soul.”

  “Well, you must,” Constance said matter-of-factly. “Some part of you is in my brother’s body.”

  Penny had not even considered this, and she mulled it over for several seconds. She had to admit, it was a logical conclusion. “Well,” she said at last. “If marionettes do have souls, then that dumb old story makes even less sense. Because the whole point was that marionettes needed souls in order to come to life.”

  “That’s true,” Constance agreed. “And Chance’s soul didn’t bring your marionette body to life, did it?”

  “No.”

  “Interesting.”

  Penny stared at the girl. Her face was so earnest and open. “Aren’t you upset? Your brother is trapped inside a puppet.”

  “I was upset yesterday,” Constance admitted. “I knew something was wrong.”

  “You didn’t seem upset.”

  Chance’s sister smiled. “Yes. I’m good at hiding it. I’m very upset right now, in fact. But now that I know what happened, I can work on fixing it.”

  Penny returned the smile. She was struck by the sudden need to win this girl’s approval.

  “I will tell your parents about this,” Penny said magnanimously. “I tried already, but they’re very busy.”

  Constance laughed. “Now, why would you do a thing like that? They’ll never believe you.”

  “Why not?” Penny asked. “You knew as soon as you looked at me that I wasn’t Chance.”

  For the first time, a shadow passed over Constance’s cheery face. “Yes, well. I don’t think my parents would see the difference. They don’t look at us that closely.”

  “Oh,” said Penny. “I hope we can convince them. We’ll need their help to get Chance back.”

  At this, Constance sat up straight. “Get him back? Where is he?”

  And so Penny told Constance the whole story. She half expected the girl to fall to pieces when she learned her brother’s soul had been stolen by the villainous man with the sharp face. Constance was very nice, but her sweet voice and girlish looks reminded Penny strongly of the simpering female characters on Storm at Dawn, the pretty ones who broke down and cried when the slightest bit of danger presented itself. But Constance just listened intently. And when Penny showed her the flyer, Constance’s face lit up.

 
“So the man with the sharp face took him to the carnival!” Constance exclaimed. “It says right here—puppet shows. All we have to do now is rescue him.”

  “Exactly,” Penny said. “Do you think you can get your parents to believe us?”

  Constance waved dismissively. “Oh, we aren’t telling them. They can’t know anything about this.”

  “But—”

  “Penny,” Constance interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “You don’t know my parents. They were very upset that my brother wanted to keep you in the first place. If they hear him talk about swapping souls with a doll by using some piece of a magical spinning wheel, they’ll think you’re loony. No, really, they would take you to a head doctor. Trust me. They’ll never help us with this. We have to do it alone.”

  “Okay.” Penny clasped her hands on the table. “I think the man with the sharp face left that flyer for me to find. See? He included my name, and Chance’s, to make sure I knew it was deliberate.”

  “ ‘Penny Arcade and Other Games of Skill and Chance,’ ” Constance read from the flyer. “Clever! Good catch.”

  “Thank you,” Penny said, pleased. “But this means the man will be expecting a rescue. He’ll be waiting for us. This is going to be dangerous. Are you sure you want to come?”

  Giggling, Constance began clearing away the dishes.

  Penny stared at her. “Well?”

  Constance blinked. “Oh, you weren’t joking?” Penny shook her head. Constance tossed their paper bowls and plastic spoons into the trash, then came around the table.

  “The man with the sharp face might be expecting you, but he’s not expecting me. And there is no villain in the world scary enough to stop me from getting my little brother back.”

  She said this with an easy smile, as if declaring her intent to pour another bowl of cereal rather than embark on a dangerous mission. And at the words little brother, Penny experienced another new emotion. A pulling in her chest, like a hand gently tugging at her heart, trying to get her attention.

  “So,” Constance continued, lowering her voice, “should we sneak out now, while my parents are distracted?”

  “Yes,” Penny agreed, and she followed Constance into the living room.

  They were immediately confronted by a harried-looking Mrs. Bonvillain. She took each child by the arm and led them back to their bedrooms, her words spilling out so fast they left no room for protest.

  “The movers have emptied your rooms. Please do one last check for anything left behind, and be sure to look in the closets. Don’t forget to use the bathroom before we go—your father would prefer not to stop on the way to Daystar Meadows, and there might be traffic. Be in the foyer in five minutes.”

  “Okay! Would you mind if Chance and I got a bottle of soda for the car ride first?” Constance asked politely. “We can just run across the street; we’ll be right back.”

  “Your father’s already taken care of snacks!” Mrs. Bonvillain gently pushed each of them into their separate rooms. “Hurry, now!”

  Sighing, Penny checked Chance’s closet, then took a quick glance around his room, which was barren. She was about to head over to Constance’s room when her gaze drifted to the window. More specifically, to the alley across the street, where the silhouette of a man was visible. When Penny moved forward, the man stepped back into the shadows. But not before Penny recognized him.

  “Constance, hurry!” she called, running out of the room and down the hall without waiting to see if Constance was following. Penny thundered down the stairs, burst through the door, and plowed right into Mr. Bonvillain. A second later, someone slammed into her from behind.

  “Whoa there!” Mr. Bonvillain laughed, stepping back. “Glad to see you two are so ready to go.” Penny glanced at Constance, who was breathing heavily but still smiling at her father as if nothing were wrong. He handed each of them a bottle of soda—root beer for Penny, cherry cola for Constance—then gestured to the blue sedan pulled up along the curb in front of the moving truck. “Our chariot awaits!”

  “But…we…” Penny cast a desperate glance at the now-empty alley, then at Constance. “Can I just, um…”

  Mrs. Bonvillain spoke up from behind her, her voice bright in a forced way. “Are we all ready?”

  “All ready!” her husband replied, his tone matching hers. He marched over to the sedan and pulled the back door open, gesturing grandly. “After you, my dear,” he said to Constance, who let out a tinkling little laugh. Penny shot her a look, hoping her expression conveyed the urgency she was feeling. But Constance just slid into the backseat, looking as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Come on, Chance!” she called.

  Gritting her teeth, Penny forced herself to get into the car. As soon as Mr. Bonvillain closed the door, she rounded on Constance. “I saw Fortunato,” she hissed. “He’s here! He’s right over there, and he saw me. We can’t just leave! He can—”

  “We have to.” Constance leaned forward, watching as the Bonvillains spoke to the movers. “It’s too late. But don’t worry, Penny. I have an idea.”

  Before Penny could respond, Mr. and Mrs. Bonvillain slid into the front seats and slammed their doors in unison. They both turned, beaming at their children.

  “Ready for an adventure?” Mrs. Bonvillain asked.

  “Yes!” Constance cried, clapping her hands.

  “I guess,” Penny mumbled.

  The engine roared to life, Mr. Bonvillain pulled the car away from the curb, and they were off.

  Penny watched out the back window as the Museum of the Peculiar Arts disappeared. This should have been exciting. She was in a car. After spending her whole life never leaving the museum, she was about to leave the city. But Penny was too upset to feel any other emotion. When she faced the front again, Mrs. Bonvillain was fiddling with the radio knobs.

  “How about a little music?”

  A few seconds later, the reedy, familiar sound of a saxophone filled the car. Penny’s eyes widened, and she squeezed her hands in her lap. She recognized this song. She heard it often on Live from Club Heavenly Blues, and it was her favorite. When the singer joined in, Penny’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven.

  Don’t you know each cloud contains pennies from heaven?”

  The woman’s voice was husky yet sweet, the same voice Penny heard every night on the radio. The same voice from her dream.

  A hand on her arm made her jump. Penny stared at Constance, who was watching her with obvious concern.

  “Are you okay?” Constance whispered, softly enough that her parents couldn’t hear.

  “Yes.” Penny was surprised at how Chance’s voice came out, all cracked and hoarse. In fact, his throat was very tight. And his eyes felt as though they were on fire. She wondered briefly if she had broken Chance’s body somehow.

  Blinking rapidly, Penny turned to watch the city pass by through the window. As the song ended, a tear, her first real tear, slipped down her cheek.

  Dreamland Traveling Carnival had a way of feeling permanent despite its name. Perhaps it was the speed with which it was set up and torn down. It would arrive the first Saturday morning of June, rides and vendors speckled throughout the park as if they had always been there. Then the last Sunday morning of August, the sun would rise over a quiet, empty park, the heady smells of hot oil and sugar and popcorn still lingering in the air.

  The puppeteer’s trailer did not appear until the second week of August, and it caused a fresh wave of excitement. It had no windows, but an impressive stage jutted out in front, its shiny dark red curtain, which fluttered in the breeze, ready to rise at any moment. The walls were covered in doors of all shapes and sizes: round, oval, square, rectangular, even a hexagonal one so small a cat would have a hard time squeezing through. Th
e trailer was made of all sorts of wood: spalted maple and mesquite, sycamore and holly, Russian olive and Brazilian cherry. It was a random patchwork of beiges and reds and browns, and no matter how long you stared at it, the pattern never quite settled, a subtle kaleidoscope that shifted when you blinked. Children stopped and gaped as if under some spell. Adults made jokes about its odd appearance to cover the fact that it made them feel vaguely uncomfortable, like a house made of candy with the silhouette of a witch lurking on the other side of the spun-sugar window.

  Some remembered the puppeteer from their youth, although no one had laid eyes on him in ages. Many of them, young and old, had heard the rumors. Children peered around their parents’ legs to gaze longingly at the stage, and the older ones dared each other to run up and peek behind the curtain. When the puppeteer emerged from around the back of the trailer, carrying a sign, a hush fell momentarily. Then the whispers began.

  “He looks so young! Doesn’t he?”

  “Exactly how my grandpa described him!”

  “That’s not him, though. It can’t be the same one—he’d be ancient.”

  “Do you think they’re related?”

  The puppeteer’s lips curved upward as he walked to the stage. His bones and joints were stiffer than ever, but he ignored the discomfort and moved as elegantly as he could. The pain would be over soon enough. He hung the sign below the stage, then stepped out of the way to let the crowd read it.

  The children’s eyes lit up, and the excited chatter began. Satisfied, the puppeteer walked around to the back of the trailer. Once away from prying eyes, he grimaced and stretched his aching arms. Then he pushed a small patch of ash wood, and a door concealed by the mishmash pattern opened.

  The puppeteer stepped inside and closed the door quietly. The real Penny, he knew, would soon be on her way to rescue the damsel in distress. It would take some time for her to arrive, but the puppeteer had endless patience. And besides, time was necessary for Penny to come to terms with what she needed to do, and for Chance to accept his fate.