Up in the Air

by Ann Marie Meyers

  Sean walks over to the window, whistling Somewhere Over the Rainbow. “Wanna hear my latest song?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  He starts singing a rhyming, off-beat pop song. It’s not bad, actually, and he has a clear, melodic voice. When the guides join us, Sean is still singing. His wings have calmed down and seem to be dozing. Mine, too; they’re beat.

  “Great song,” Timothy says when Sean finishes.

  “Thanks.” Sean strokes his wings. “Her name is Sledgehammer.”

  Timothy taps him on the back. They both grin, like they now have this special understanding between them. Wait a second. Sean called Sledgehammer a “she.”

  I move my shoulders up and down to wake up my wings so they can tell me their name. Not even a flutter.

  We say goodnight soon after that. I have a room to myself, and after a quick shower in a bathroom big enough for only one flier, I fall into a large bed with a soft, bouncy mattress, and study the leprechaun jewel in my hand. The first thing I’ll do when I get home is rub it over Dad’s spine and legs, like Patrick O’Hara did to me.

  “Can you heal my father?” I whisper. The jewel goes hot. I drop it and it rolls as far as the edge. My wings hum da de da da da. I smell roses.

  Then everything goes black.

  I’m in the car, crying because Daddy didn’t buy me the most beautiful stickers I’ve seen in the entire world. “I hate you,” I yell. Daddy doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even say, “But I love you,” which he always does no matter what. I’ll show him.

  I press down on the seatbelt latch and slide out of the booster. Rain pounds against my window. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice car lights zooming past.

  “Look at me. Look at me. I’m not in my booster seat.”

  Daddy turns around. “Melody, buckle up right now.”

  The sound of thunder drowns out the rest of his words. CRASH. The car spins and slams me against the door. I grab the booster, but it slides from my fingers and I drop to the floor.

  Horns blare. Glass shatters. Thunder! It’s so loud I cover my ears. My whole body hurts. The car stops and I bang into the passenger seat. Sobbing, I pull myself up.

  “Daddy. Daddy.” My fingers are warm, sticky. They smell strange. “Daddy. Wake up.”

  He doesn’t move. The airbag has him pinned against the seat. I shake his shoulders.

  A policeman opens the door and pulls me, kicking and screaming, from the car. “Everything is okay. Your father will be fine.” He passes me to two men in white uniforms, who put me on a bed with wheels and tighten a belt around me.

  Daddy’s alive. Daddy’s alive.

  A thin, long strip of lightning flashes across the sky. Thunder growls in anger. RUUM . . . GRR . . . GRR . . . RUUUUUUMMM . . . RUUUUUUMMMBBLLLLE!

  When it fades, a woman shouts, “The young man is dead. Praise the Lord the little girl isn’t hurt.”

  Everything goes silent.

  I open my mouth to scream. Nothing comes out. The belt presses against my chest. I try to move. The belt is too tight. I can’t breathe.

  The man in the other car died. It was my fault.

  I killed a man.

  17

  Snake Encounter

  Next morning, my eyes are damp when I wake up. After I rinse off in the bathroom, they’re back to normal, but that still doesn’t hide the truth.

  I killed a man, they shout as clear as day.

  Sometimes, I think people can hear these words, too, but all I can do is turn away so no one reads what’s in my eyes.

  My wings rustle, sending me a whiff of sunflowers. Mom and Dad loved to practice their dance routines together. They’d kiss when they thought I wasn’t watching.

  I bump into my guide in the hall and glance at the floor when I remember my outburst last night.

  “Good morning, Melody,” Sara says. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “Pretty good.”

  I peek at her. “Then why do you have dark circles beneath your eyes?”

  “Are they as big as yours?”

  I try not to grin. “Bad dreams.”

  Sara nods like she understands, and we walk into the dining room together.

  Pancakes are for breakfast, with the thickest, sweetest syrup I’ve ever tasted. Afterward, Timothy and Sara give Sean and me an envelope.

  My clue is even more puzzling than the first:

  There’s a river and a lot of fish;

  And come to think of it,

  A lot of moss, too.

  What river? Where is it? And what am I supposed to find once I get there?

  “Good luck, Melody,” Sean says, before leaving with his guide.

  “You too.”

  “You and Sean are friends now?” Sara asks.

  “Um . . . he’s okay.”

  She nods. “Good enough.”

  My wings hum when I look straight ahead, so I leap off the hill and go in that direction. We haven’t been in the air long when a huge something bursts through the trees. At first I think it’s one of those ugly swans again. But it’s a woman in a bright blue dress and square hat. On a green broomstick. With a tabby cat perched in front of her.

  A WITCH!

  I scream and try to turn, but my wings are sluggish. I think the witch put a curse on them. “Sa-Sara!”

  “Melody, it’s okay,” she says. “This is a good witch, not a Jibber Jabber. I recognize her outfit.”

  “Are you sure?” Did I just squeak? I’m changing into a mouse.

  “Positive.”

  I dig in my pocket and pull out my leprechaun jewel. Just in case.

  When we get close, I gasp. The witch is in tears. Yellow eye shadow runs down her cheeks. Smudges of red lipstick smear her mouth and sleeves.

  “I’m Sara,” my guide says. “This is Melody. Can we help?”

  “I’m Tr-Trish,” the witch sobs. “Hoarders spat on my guide, Gabby, and captured her. I don’t know enough witchcraft to stop them. I overheard one say they plan to leave once their pals arrive.”

  Sara fiddles with her earphones. “Glenn. Kaytrina. This is Sara. A witch from the Goody Two Shoes coven has been attacked by hoarders. Tune into my earphone signal and tell the elves we need their help.”

  I can’t hear what Glenn or Kaytrina say, but I’m so happy I don’t have to use my jewel. Help will arrive soon, then Sara and I can hightail it out of here. My wings are silent, and I get the impression they’re waiting for me to decide something.

  “When will the elves get here?” I ask.

  “It depends on how far away they are,” Sara says.

  The hoarders’ poisonous spittle works fast. Unless the elves are nearby, they won’t come in time. My mouth is dry. “Are you sure she’s a good witch, Sara?”

  “Of course, I’m a good witch. How dare you?” Trish pulls a wand from her sleeve and thrusts it at me.

  Her cat swipes out with its sharp claws. I flash my leprechaun jewel.

  “Calm down, Trish,” Sara says. “Last night Jibber Jabbers camped in this area, so Melody—”

  “Jibber Jabbers?” Trish screams. “You mean the ones that do awful experiments on people?”

  It feels like something’s stuck in my throat. “They do what?”

  Trish twists from side to side as if expecting to see Jibber Jabbers popping up all over the place.

  “The elves confirmed they left early this morning, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Sara says.

  “Oh, what a relief.” Trish leans over and cuddles her cat. “I’m sorry, Melody.”

  “It’s okay.” Now that I’m close to her, I realize she’s about thirty or forty. It’s not because of the bad makeup that she looks old.

  “Melody, how generous of you to offer to heal Gabby with your leprechaun jewel,” Sara says, sounding surprised.

  What? The jewel is still in my hand.

  Trish’s mouth forms a perfect ‘O’. “I’ve heard about those. They’re magic, aren’t th
ey? We can heal Gabby and escape. Thanks, Melody.” She turns to Sara. “The hoarders won’t guard Gabby if she’s paralyzed, will they?”

  Sara’s wings fan out and she glances at me. “I-I don’t think so.”

  Which means she doesn’t know. Just great. I hadn’t planned to help, but I can’t leave a defenseless witch in the hands of those awful hoarders.

  “Come on,” Trish says and heads back down, bumping into branches along the way.

  Sara goes next. My wings arch back as I maneuver the narrow space between the trees.

  When we land, Trish points to a gnarled tree. “That’s where we were collecting berries. I was on a higher branch than Gabby, so the hoarders’ spit didn’t reach me.”

  I must be out of my mind. I’m on my way to confront hoarders. Again.

  Trish mutters a few words and a powdery glow wafts over to us from the left. “They went that way.”

  It doesn’t take long to find them and their disgusting odor. A group of eight hoarders bicker with each other in a small clearing, haggling over who actually caught the witch and who will get to keep the wand. It’s hard to tell if they’re the same ones I ran into yesterday. And I don’t want to find out.

  They’ve left Gabby beneath a tree, face down in the dirt. Her cat, a grey and white tabby, lies on its side next to her. They’re both unconscious.

  Good thing the tree trunks are thick, so it’s easy to hide. The hoarders are making so much noise, they don’t hear the crackling sound of the twigs we step on. In no time at all, we reach the tree where Gabby is.

  Trish gives me a not so gentle push. “Hurry, while those awful creatures aren’t looking.”

  My wings hum, feathers fluttering like how Sean’s did last night. Sara’s wings are acting the same and she puts a finger to her lips. I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Suddenly, a bunch of witches burst into the clearing. One waves her wand and the hoarders crumple to the ground.

  “Jibber Jabbers,” Sara says. “Keep still.”

  “That won’t do you any good,” a crackly voice from behind us squeals.

  Something cold jabs me on my shoulder. I turn my head slightly and make out the brown tip of a wand. My wings do a sort of drum roll beat: dum bra dum bra dum, dum bra dum bra dum.

  Trish’s cat scrambles up a tree.

  “Coward,” Trish snarls.

  “Move,” the crackly voice says.

  Trish, Sara, and I stumble forward. The other witches swivel in our direction. I do a quick count. Thirteen, plus the one behind us.

  Help!

  As hard as it is to believe, Trish is pretty compared to them. The Jibber Jabbers have on the typical black witch robes. Their grins are more like sneers, showing broken black and green teeth. They have noses as long as Pinocchio’s after a couple of lies. Their hair is dark purple, red, or blue. And their pockmarked faces remind me of the rock desert Sara and I flew over. I wonder if their skin is as hard as it looks.

  Something scratchy and hot rubs against my leg. I drag my eyes from the witches’ ugly teeth and look down. A black cat flicks its tail and gives me the coldest, meanest stare I’ve ever seen a cat make. Then it joins its friends, and they all settle down in a tight circle, hissing at us.

  Trish’s cat was smart to flee.

  A Jibber Jabber flicks her wand. Sara, Trish, and I slump onto the hard dirt. I land on top of my wings, which are now silent. My head faces right, and I get front view of the action.

  “Now, let us see what we have here.” The witch with the crackly voice taps her pointy chin with the wand. “Two Goody Two Shoes and two prize fliers.” She marches up to me and Sara. “Do you know how I’ve longed to experiment with flier wings?”

  Sara moans. The leprechaun jewel is warm in my hand. Can I summon Patrick without speaking? Patrick O’Hara, come. This is Melody who rescued you from the hoarders. We’re in trouble.

  But no rainbow appears through the trees, no leprechaun hops off brandishing a red ruby. Nothing but a coven of evil Jibber Jabbers, arguing over what they could turn the hoarders into, and whether it’s worth their while to trade the Goody Two Shoes.

  Several Jibber Jabber Guided line up in a row. They aim their wands at the hoarders, eyes narrowed in concentration, lips pursed. Then, they utter words that sound like “glubetty glook knobbly wook.”

  Poof! The hoarders vanish and in their place is a mix of tailless rats, earless pigs, and squirrels with tufts of hair that resemble ponytails all along their bodies. Squeals, oinks, and tchrring tchrring noises fill the air as the unfortunate ex-hoarders struggle to escape.

  “You Guided need more practice,” a witch yells, snickering in amusement. “Now, try again, and this time, center your mind, see the picture of the animal you want, say the words and then wave your wands. Got it?”

  “Yes, Riella,” the Guided chant.

  Carefully, they do as Riella instructs. No luck. The tailless rats become furless, the pigs develop chicken heads, the squirrels now have six legs, and . . . cold shivers slide down my spine. One has turned into a snake.

  “This is so haaaarrrrrd,” a young Guided screams, stamping her foot in frustration. “I want to practice on the Goody Two Shoes. Or the fliers. It’s just too difficult with these ugly hoarders.”

  “All in good time, my sweetie,” the witch closest to me snorts. She sits on the ground and brings her face to within inches of mine. “All in good time.”

  I stare into the gloating eyes of a wicked teenage witch. Though I know it’s no use, I try to move my wings. Not even a feather stirs. I want to cry. The Jibber Jabbers will steal them. I won’t be able to solve the second clue. And they’ll take away the leprechaun jewel and my ring.

  “Look at that snake,” a witch Guided howls with laughter.

  The Jibber Jabber in front of me shifts to the side.

  The snake is coming straight at me. Stop, I try to scream. Stooooop! It doesn’t slow down but goes for my face.

  It’s heavy.

  And cold.

  Luckily, my lips are closed. The snake rubs against my nose as it glides over my chin and mouth. It smells of stale mud. Only when it disappears from sight do I realize it’s on my stomaaaach!

  “Do you like snakes, my pretty?” the witch asks.

  Noooooooooooooooooo! The snake slithers over my left leg. I’m so glad I’m wearing tights. It crawls off my calf, and I want to cry with relief. It’s gone.

  Wrong.

  I don’t need the loud cackling of the witches to tell me what I don’t want to know, what my knees don’t want to feel—the snake snuggling in between them.

  “This is too funny,” a Jibber Jabber sniggers.

  Just when I think things can’t get worse, the witch next to me shifts back into view.

  “What do we have here?” She grabs my wrist. “A unicorn ring. Now that’s a prize worth taking.” She tries to pry it off, but my fingers are clenched around the leprechaun jewel. “I’ll break your fingers. Then I’ll cut off your wings and turn you into a snake so you can join your squirmy friend here. What do you think of that?”

  She aims her wand at my face. I try to close my eyes so I won’t see when she waves it and my finger and wings fall off. And I become a ssssnake. But my eyes remain wide open.

  Without warning, cats meow and hiss in terror. Witches scream, shout, screech commands. The one next to me springs to her feet, then falls flat on her face after two steps. Her pals are out cold. Their cats are on their backs, paws pointing to the treetops, darts stuck in their necks.

  I want to cry when I see an elf walking up to me. He’s wearing a tight-fitting brown and green outfit, and black shoes with two-inch square heels.

  “You’re safe now,” he says and sits down next to me.

  He places his hand behind my neck and pours a bitter tasting liquid into my mouth. I splutter as heat spurts through my body and wings. Gradually, the pain lessens to a slight, numbing sensation.

  I sit up. The snake doesn
’t move. “Get it away from me!” To my horror, I croak worse than a witch.

  A long, slender hand picks the snake up by the head. Another hand grabs its tail. The body sags like a thick jump rope.

  It’s black and orange, which makes it worse because orange is my second favorite color.

  “This is a mud snake, and it’s more afraid of you at this point,” the elf says. “Touch it.”

  “Why?” I’ve never imagined a snake being more afraid of me than I was of it.

  “Trust me.”

  There’s that “T” word again. Maybe it’s because I’m still in shock by all that’s happened, but I lift my arm. My fingers inch forward, quivering nonstop.

  “Run your hand along its body,” the elf says.

  “It’s not slimy.” I’m so surprised I press my fingers against the skin. It’s soft and smooth.

  “Most snakes are not poisonous and want to be left alone.” The elf puts the snake on the dirt and it squirms its way into the bushes. Then he helps me stand.

  “Are you all right?” Sara asks. Her face is way too pale.

  “Yes. You?”

  “Now I am. So how was your snake encounter?”

  “Awful.”

  I inhale the fresh smell of sunflowers and reach over my shoulder to stroke my wings. The witch would have stolen them if the elves hadn’t come.

  Sara should have warned me that Chimeroan was a dangerous place. I’m about to tell her when I hear a familiar voice.

  “Melody, is that you?”

  18

  Andrew

  An elf is grinning at me. There’s only one person I know with dimples as deep as his.

  “Andrew?” I’m so happy to see him I run up and take his hands. He turns pink. I’m definitely blushing. I let go of his hands immediately.

  “Hi, Melody. I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  He’s at least six inches taller than me; two days ago, we were the same height. His freckles are gone and his voice is louder. In school I have to strain to hear him speak.

  “I thought I’d spotted you in the field with all the guides and Guided, but it was someone else. I even thought you were an elf, which is strange because you are, and—” I can’t believe I’m babbling.