“It’ll be like they were never born,” Ridge said. “Anyone who ever laid eyes on you will simply vanish. All traces of their lives will be erased. It won’t change the past. What those people did will still have been done. But from this moment on, the world would go on without them. As though they never lived.”
Tina, Vale, and Ridge had all seen me. If I accepted the consequence, I’d suddenly find myself alone in the forest of South Dakota. But Thackary Anderthon would also cease to exist. In a way, I would have completed my quest. But it wouldn’t stop there. The Lindons and my previous foster parents would disappear. The unraveling would continue until there was no one left who knew me.
But I’d know my past. I’d know who my family was and where I came from.
I couldn’t believe I was actually considering it. If the wish were anything else, I would have turned down the consequence the moment Ridge explained it. But this was the only thing I’d ever truly wanted in life. What was I willing to pay to know my past?
“Your time’s almost up,” Ridge said softly. Obviously, he didn’t want me to take the consequence. Doing so would abruptly end his life.
My thirty seconds ran out, and I didn’t answer. The little hourglass collapsed back into a shiny disk on my wrist and I slumped to the ground.
“I don’t get it,” I muttered. “Wishing to know my past doesn’t have anything to do with stopping Thackary Anderthon. But that was the worst consequence yet!”
Ridge shrugged. “Maybe it is connected somehow. We just don’t see it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe Thackary is your brother, and that mean guy who talks like a pirate is your dad.”
I shuddered. “That’s a horrible thought.”
“But knowing it would change the way you see the quest,” answered Ridge. “If learning your past armed you with important quest-related knowledge, then it would make sense why the Universe would hold it at such a high price.”
“I guess.” It was frustrating. If a genie couldn’t even help me, then how was I supposed to learn the truth? “Wouldn’t they have recognized me?”
“Not if there was a wish in play,” Ridge said.
“Or maybe they just pretended not to know me,” I muttered. “Maybe they got rid of me and don’t want me back.” That was a depressing thought. In all the years I had imagined my family, I had never considered that they might not have wanted me.
“Hey, if those guys don’t want you to be part of their family, it’s probably because you’re too nice,” Ridge replied with a chuckle. But it didn’t make me feel better. He fell quiet, then cleared his throat. “This is my first quest,” Ridge said.
I turned my head to look at him, puzzled by this sudden admittance. “What?”
“You’re my first Wishmaker,” Ridge explained. “I’d never been out of the jar until you opened it.” He sighed, as though glad to have the truth off his shoulders. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
I grinned. “I’ve noticed.”
“I should have told you the truth before,” he muttered, “but I didn’t want you to think I was a bad genie.”
I shook my head sympathetically. “So, why did you decide to tell me now?”
Ridge shrugged. “That wish you just made? I know it was hard for you to talk about your past.” He reached out and handed me back my card. “It only seemed fair for me to tell you something that’s hard for me to talk about.”
I took the card from his hand, folding it along its familiar creases and tucking it into my backward pocket once more.
“I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” said Ridge. “I knew you were counting on me to get us through. But I don’t actually have any past experience. The only stuff I know is what the Universe told me before the jar opened.”
“But what about your name?” I asked. “I thought genies were named after the place where their jar was first discovered.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Ridge Lane. That’s the address of your foster home. I saw it on an envelope when I first appeared.”
Ridge Lane. The address didn’t sound familiar, but that was because a consequence had forced me to forget it. “I thought you were named after a mountain ridge or something. Not some boring street in the suburbs.” That seemed a little like cheating.
“Well, it could have been worse,” Ridge said. “Technically, I should have named myself Kitchen.”
We both laughed at that, and I settled my head back, looking up at the starry sky through interwoven branches. “We’re quite a pair,” I said. “A Wishmaker who doesn’t know where he came from, and a brand-new genie who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“We’re alike, me and you,” Ridge said. “Neither of us has a lot of memories to draw from. Maybe that’s why the Universe put us together.”
“Why?” I asked.
“So we could help each other forget about the past,” said Ridge. “And move on to make our own future.”
I didn’t reply, partly because I didn’t want to believe that my chance to learn about my past was over. Save the world from zombie pets, sure. That was a good thing. But the real reason I had gone with Ridge was to ask the question I had just asked. Now that I knew the consequence was too heavy to bear, I wondered what I had left.
Just a folded ace of hearts in my right pocket.
Chapter 17
Sleeping in the forest was not the way I liked to pass my nights. Sometime before dawn I woke up, freezing cold. I said hello a bunch of times, using that consequence to grow out my sleeves until they covered clear past my hands. I had hoped my newly grown shirt would be enough to warm me, but my teeth were still chattering.
So then I woke up Ridge and impulsively wished for a blanket. As a result, whenever I brushed my teeth, the toothpaste would taste like cauliflower. The consequence would only last the week, and I didn’t imagine I’d have a lot of time for teeth brushing before the quest ended anyway.
I accepted the consequence, and I think secretly Ridge was grateful that the blanket was extra large so he could curl it around himself, too. By the time I was finally warm and somewhat comfortable, the sun was up and it was time to get moving.
I took a deep breath, stretched like a cat after napping, and stared off into the forest. Two days of my quest to save the world had passed. Five more to go.
“Did you make the wish yet?” Tina asked, coming over to check on us as she breakfasted on one of the peanut butter sandwiches from Ridge’s backpack. I knew she was talking about the second missing page from Thackary’s notebook. We were directionless without it, but I wasn’t looking forward to discovering what kind of consequence I’d have to endure.
“I’m getting to it,” I said, shrugging off my blanket and rolling up my extralong shirt sleeves. “I just want to be prepared for whatever the Universe is going to throw at me.”
“I don’t think any of us can ever truly be prepared,” Tina said. “It’s painfully random.” She adjusted her feather boa. It looked matted and gross after a night in the forest, but I still felt like I had things worse.
I gave Tina a flat stare. “You got a fashion accessory,” I said. “I forgot how to read.” I waved her off. “Besides, your genie can transform into a wolf, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”
“Yeah,” Ridge cut in. “How does she do that?”
Tina shrugged like it was no big deal. “It was a wish,” she said.
“But you didn’t say it,” I pressed. “I’ve seen Vale transform a couple of times and I’ve never actually heard you say the wish. She just does it when you say that weird word.”
“It’s called a pay-as-you-play wish,” Vale said, joining us with a sandwich of her own. “Ridge should tell you about those.”
I looked at Ridge. Judging by the look on his face, he was just hearing about pay-as-you-play wishes for the first time, too.
“It works like this,” Vale said, when it was apparent tha
t Ridge wasn’t going to explain it. “Sometimes you might want to wish for the same thing more than once. But when you’re in the heat of the moment, you don’t always have time to verbalize the wish and debate whether or not to accept a new consequence.”
Tina stepped in to clarify. “So, I made a single wish that allows Vale to transform between human and wolf anytime I say a certain word.”
“Paradiddle,” I specified. “What does it mean?”
“It’s the name of a drummer’s rhythm,” answered Tina.
“I didn’t know rhythms had names,” I said.
Tina nodded. “I took a year of percussion lessons. But it wasn’t for me. Now that I quit, I’m pretty sure that’s not a word I’ll be using in normal conversation. I needed something that I wasn’t going to say by accident.”
“I get it,” I said. “If you had picked ‘and’ as your trigger word, then Vale would have been transforming practically every time you spoke.”
“Exactly,” said Tina. “And while it’s good to have her in wolf form for protection . . . it has an ongoing consequence. This is why it’s called pay as you play.”
“What’s your consequence?” Ridge asked, but I had a feeling I already knew the answer.
“Every time Vale takes the wolf shape, I’m forced to hop around like a bunny.”
“You should consider something like that,” Vale said to me.
“Hopping like a bunny?” I asked. No thanks. I’d seen Tina do that a few times and she looked ridiculous and rather helpless.
“A pay-as-you-play wish,” Vale clarified. “Pick an animal or some other form of protection that Ridge can become. Think of a trigger word, make the wish, and take the time you need to consider the consequence when it’s not a crucial moment.”
I glanced at Ridge, trying to imagine him as a grizzly bear or a lion. It was a stretch of the imagination, watching the skinny kid pick absently at a scab on his elbow. “Hmm,” I mused. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Not to pressure you, but the point is that you don’t have to think about it,” Tina said. “When those rock creatures attacked, I didn’t have to make a wish, debate the consequence, and decide whether or not to accept it. That decision was already made. All I had to do was say the trigger word, and Vale sprang into action.”
I liked the idea of a pay-as-you-play wish, but I didn’t want to take another consequence right now. Especially when I was about to wish for something that the Universe considered highly important.
“While you’re thinking about it,” Tina said, “why don’t you ask your genie what was on the second page of that notebook?”
I couldn’t tell if she was just anxious to get on the road, or if she was gloating over the fact that she’d beaten me in rock, paper, scissors. Either way, I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I turned to Ridge. “I wish I could know exactly what was written on the second page of that black notebook we found in the Anderthons’ trailer.”
“You got it,” Ridge said, seeming pleased to be the middleman between me and the Universe. I had some sympathy for the new genie since our conversation the night before. Understanding that I was his first Wishmaker made it clear why, frankly, he wasn’t very good at genie-ing.
“If you want to know what was on that second page,” said Ridge, “then your left arm will go missing for a day.”
“Go missing?” I cried. “How does a person’s arm go missing?”
“It’s going to fall off,” Ridge said. “But it’ll be completely painless.”
“Then how do I reattach it?” I asked, horrified by the thought of my arm dropping off.
“Oh, you’ll just grow a new one in twenty-four hours.”
“What if I don’t like my new arm as much as I liked my old arm?” I asked. I couldn’t believe I was actually having this conversation.
“It’ll be identical,” Ridge said. “You’ll never know the difference.”
“I think you should do it,” Tina contributed.
Of course she did. It wasn’t her arm that was about to fall off. I glanced down at my hourglass watch, strapped around my right wrist. Luckily, that wouldn’t fall off with my arm.
“If you don’t accept the consequence,” Tina persisted, “then we’re basically stuck out here.”
It was time to make a choice. “Fine,” I said, shooting a piercing glare at Tina. “I’ll do this. But you’re taking the consequence for the third page.” She stared blankly at me and I knew my hourglass time was about to expire.
“Bazang,” I said. There was a thud on the ground beside me. When I looked down, I saw that it was my arm.
The whole thing had come detached at the shoulder and dropped right out of my extralong sleeve! I was mortified by the sight of it, and for a moment I was seized with fear that the Universe could have lied, and my arm would never grow back.
At that same moment, my mind was flooded with the knowledge of exactly what was written on the second torn-out page of the notebook.
All I had to do was open my mouth and the Universe practically spoke for me. “‘The second task lies to the west, in the state of California. You must enter an amusement park known as Super-Fun-Happy Place and eat the green cotton candy, sold by a man with a pink mustache.’”
I paused, staring into the anxious faces of my three companions.
“And?” Tina prompted.
“That’s all of it,” I answered.
“We’re just supposed to eat some green cotton candy at Super-Fun-Happy Place?” Ridge said. “That’s weird.”
“Weirder than poking a stone statue of President Roosevelt in the eye?” I reminded him. Nothing about this week was shaping up to be very normal. And, talk about weird . . . now I only had one arm!
We stood in a small circle, silently pondering the absurdity of our task. I’d never been to Super-Fun-Happy Place. At least, not in the last three years that I could remember. Kids were always raving about how fun the rides were, so maybe our trip there wouldn’t be too bad.
Yeah, right.
Chapter 18
We were becoming expert hitchhikers. Once we finally staggered out of the forest and found the road, it took only a half hour before Tina made a wish for a nice mom to pick us up and take us farther west.
The consequence seemed small. For the rest of the week, anytime Tina took a drink of water, it would be warm. Not scalding, just unpleasantly warm in this July heat.
We must have seemed an odd quartet of passengers to the mom driving us. Tina screamed when she sat down, and I found myself saluting every white vehicle that we passed. Then there was my missing arm, freaky yellow eye, and backward pants. I probably looked like a zombie. Gratefully, the Universe shielded those unsightly consequences from suspicion, and the driver talked to us like we were on our way to soccer practice.
Just to be clear. You should never hitchhike. It’s a risky and rather dangerous mode of transportation, and the only reason I even felt remotely safe doing it was because I was traveling with a genie who could grant my any wish.
By early afternoon we were on our own again. Tina hadn’t been specific enough in her wish, and the driver suddenly seemed to realize that she had gone several hours past her exit. She dropped us in the middle of southwestern Wyoming—the middle of nowhere! So we decided to pause and have some lunch.
With one arm missing, I couldn’t open the zipped bag without Ridge’s help. His supply of sandwiches was dwindling, and I knew the four of us wouldn’t make it to the end of the week unless we found my backpack.
The scenery here looked pretty bleak and barren, without even a spot of shade for us to eat our lunch. The landscape was so monotonous that I found myself getting excited to watch a freight train slowly approaching from behind us.
A white car drove past and I jumped up to give a swift salute, slamming my half-eaten peanut butter sandwich into my forehead. As soon as lunch was over, Tina or I would have to make a wish to get us on the road again. But I was dreadi
ng another consequence. What if my other arm fell off and I had to spend the rest of the day running around like a pencil with legs?
“Hey!” Tina stood up, her gaze directed over her shoulder to a car approaching from behind.
Her comment got my hopes up at first, like maybe someone would pick us up without wishing for it. But I quickly realized that the vehicle speeding toward us had no intention of slowing down. The four of us were standing a safe distance off the highway, but the car was swerving like there was a first-time driver at the wheel.
Then I recognized the car.
“Hey!” It was my turn to shout. “That’s the old Oldsmobile! That’s Thackary Anderthon’s car!”
I didn’t know how we had possibly gotten ahead of Thackary and his dad. But there was no mistaking the vehicle. As it drew closer, I could see the pirate man in the driver’s seat.
The Oldsmobile zoomed past us and the driver turned his head, the look of surprise on his face matching my own. In the passenger seat, I saw the boy we were after. He ran a hand through his slick blond hair, the collar of his black leather jacket turned up. I didn’t spot his genie in the car, though if he was still a Wishmaker I knew she had to be within forty-two feet of him.
“We have to stop them!” I bellowed, breaking into a sprint, my single arm pumping for speed. But I knew my legs would never catch up to the speeding car. I opened my mouth to make a wish, but Tina beat me to it.
“I wish that Oldsmobile would run out of gas right now!” Tina yelled to her genie. I stopped running, turning back to hear what the consequence would be.
“If you want that car to run out of gas,” answered Vale, “then every time you pass through a doorway for the next year, you have to say ‘alley-oop.’”
“Bazang,” said Tina, without even asking any further questions. Tina glanced at me, her face flushed from the intensity of decision-making. My attention turned up the highway to the Anderthon Oldsmobile.
“It didn’t work!” Ridge shouted as the vehicle continued to move away from us.
I squinted. “It’s coasting,” I said. “But it’s slowing down.”
The Wishmakers Page 9
