Dedication
To Maggie Maple—
May you have friends
wherever you go.
WHAT IS YOUR MAGIC POWER?
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. Problems in Bramblycrumbly
2. Spookety Forest
3. A Warning from Granny Cabbage
4. 10 Wigglyrambly Way
5. The Invis-O-Friend Spell
6. Winnie
7. Izzable Dizzable
8. Lenny
9. Trials and Ordeals
10. Priscilla
11. Ghost Train
12. Spookety Cave
13. Brownies!
14. Advice and Sorrow
15. Magic Powers
16. A Surprise for Baddie Longlegs
About the Author
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Problems in Bramblycrumbly
Marigold had a star above her head.
That’s right, a real, honest-to-goodness star.
Her parents were delighted. “It’s a sure sign that Marigold is marked for greatness!” they often said. Everyone in the entire town of Bramblycrumbly thought so too.
Marigold walked slower than usual down the path with her pet dragon, Lightning. He had watched her practice the Flying Spell all morning till she had finally given up. “I’m not great at anything,” she said with a sigh.
“You’re great at making friends,” Lightning said helpfully. This was true. Everyone liked Marigold Star—even the goblins and the trolls who didn’t like anybody.
Marigold’s sky-blue dress was covered in grass stains. Her pink leggings were ripped at both knees. Even the normally bright orange petals on her head had lost their luster and seemed to have wilted. She kicked a pebble out of the way. “It’s easy to make friends.”
“Not for everybody,” Lightning replied.
“It’s easier than flying,” she muttered. Marigold wished that Lightning could say something to make her feel better, but she had to admit it didn’t seem likely she would ever learn to fly. She couldn’t even blame the dragon when he said, “You’ve got a problem.”
She did have a problem—there was no denying it any longer. Everybody her age was flying by now—except for her. A spotted owl landed on her shoulder. “Hello, Mrs. Moon,” Marigold said. “I’ve got a problem!”
“Nonsense!” The owl flapped to a low branch. “That star over your head is a sure sign—”
“Of greatness. I know all that, Mrs. Moon,” Marigold said impatiently. “But I’ve still got a problem—watch.” Marigold crouched as low as she could to get plenty of spring like she’d been taught, flung her arms in the air, and just before she leaped, said the spell. “Spoket! Spoket! Magic poket! Fly!”
Lightning winced. It was always the same whenever Marigold tried this.
Thud! She landed in the dirt.
“OH!” Marigold shouted in exasperation. “What am I doing wrong?”
The owl was an expert on flying and knew exactly what Marigold was doing wrong. “It’s simple. You need to leap with a sense of conviction, Marigold.”
“Conviction?” Marigold had no idea what that meant.
“Confidence!” Mrs. Moon exclaimed. “Like you are sure you will fly—like you’re not afraid!”
Marigold scrunched up her nose. “But I am afraid.”
“That’s your problem!” the owl said, and flew away.
Marigold got up slowly and dusted herself off. “Now I have two problems, Lightning. What am I going to do?”
The dragon stared. “Um, Marigold? Your . . . star . . .”
“What about my star?” Marigold raised her eyes and gasped. Her star, which had glowed for as long as she could remember—every day and night of her entire life—was blinking.
Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On.
Lightning couldn’t take his eyes from it.
Marigold was scared even to move. “What do you think it means?” she whispered.
The dragon whispered back, “I have no idea.”
“Now I have three problems!” Marigold cried.
“This isn’t good,” Lightning said with dismay. A chilled wind blew, and the dragon shivered. “We should go home. Aren’t you supposed to be practicing the Invisibility Spell right now, anyway?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to go home, remember?” Marigold replied.
“Oh yeah, that’s right—Petal,” Lightning said knowingly. “It’s just not the same at home anymore, is it?”
“It’s not, and that’s a problem.” Ever since Marigold’s new baby sister had arrived, things had changed. Marigold sat down hard on a lumpy log with her chin in her hands. “Now I have four problems!”
“Look on the bright side. . . .” Lightning hesitated.
Marigold knew that her dragon always liked to look on the bright side, but in this case, he was having trouble finding it. He’d probably never known anyone with four problems.
“What are you going to do?” he finally said.
Marigold shook her head. She felt awful, and even though she had Lightning, she looked around for another friend to tell her problems to.
Just then, Bob the Woodcutter’s Son came around the corner. He waved the green hat with the four-leaf clover in it that he always wore and called to her. “Hi, Marigold! Want to help me gather wood in the forest?”
It was a chore Bob had to do all the time, so Marigold tried to help whenever she could. But not today. “I can’t, Bob.”
“Marigold has four problems,” Lightning explained.
Bob gazed at the spot over her head. “Your star is blinking.”
“And it won’t stop,” Marigold said. “That’s only one of my problems.”
“I know how you feel, Marigold,” Bob said.
“You do?” Marigold was surprised because Bob never seemed to have any problems.
Bob nodded. “Everyone calls me Bob the Woodcutter’s Son, but no one knows if my name is Bob or if I’m the son of a man named Bob the Woodcutter!”
Marigold and Lightning exchanged perplexed glances.
“You see?” the boy exclaimed.
“So, what is your name?” Marigold asked, thinking all this time she’d had it wrong.
He waved his hand and smiled. “It’s Bob.”
“And the Woodcutter?” Lightning asked.
“He’s Johann,” Bob answered. “So that’s my problem, but what are yours, Marigold?”
Lightning ticked them off one by one. “She’s marked for greatness, but she can’t even fly because she’s afraid, and we really should go home but she doesn’t want to go home—”
“Petal!” Bob exclaimed. “But why do you need to go home right now?”
Marigold lowered her eyes. “Because I’m supposed to be practicing the Invisibility Spell.”
“Wait.” Bob pulled his magic wand from a back pocket, stood on one leg, rubbed his stomach in a circular motion with one hand, tapped his head with the wand in his other hand, crossed his eyes, and said, “Magic wand, make me invisible.” Poof! He disappeared. “You don’t know the Invisibility Spell yet?” came Bob’s voice, although he was nowhere to be seen.
“I know the spell.” Marigold lowered her eyes and bit her lip. “It’s just that it never works when I do it.” She reached for her wand to show Bob what she meant, and that’s when she realized she’d left it at home. “At least I think I left it at home,” she said. “Or maybe I put it down while I was talking to Mrs. Moon. . . .” But she didn’t remember doing that either. “Oh! I’m always misplacing the silly thing!” She turned to her dragon for help. “Lightning, di
d you see it?”
“It’s right here.” Lightning produced the wand—it had become one of his jobs to keep track of it for Marigold.
“You know, Marigold,” Bob said—and even though he was still invisible, Marigold could hear the concern in his voice—“I’ve heard bad things can happen if you lose your magic wand and it gets into the wrong hands.”
Marigold’s face grew hot with embarrassment. She couldn’t even hold on to her own magic wand without losing it. “I’ve heard that too,” she mumbled. “It seems like I’m always losing my wand. You don’t think that’s another problem, do you?”
“Don’t worry, Marigold,” Bob said more cheerfully. “You’ll always have Lightning to look after it for you.”
“That’s true,” Marigold replied. But Bob hadn’t made her feel any better because she still couldn’t get the Invisibility Spell to work right—and it was the easiest spell of all to do. “How will I ever be a fairy god-doctor like my mom or a weather wizard like my dad if I don’t even know the Invisibility Spell?”
Bob materialized. “Now that’s a problem,” he admitted.
Marigold had never been so upset. “I have five problems! What am I going to do?”
“I’ll help you with the spell, Marigold,” Bob offered.
“You will?” Marigold brightened. “Thanks, Bob!”
“But it won’t solve your other problems,” Lightning reminded.
“Lightning’s right. Maybe you should talk to Baddie Longlegs instead,” Bob suggested.
“The good troll.” Marigold knew him well.
“It’s not easy being a troll,” Bob said. “He probably has lots of problems!”
“I hope not,” Marigold said. Baddie was one of her best friends, and she hated to think that he had lots of problems. Still, maybe Baddie could help—it was worth a try. Marigold and Lightning waved goodbye to Bob and set out to see Baddie Longlegs.
As soon as they were in sight of the bridge, Baddie Longlegs came running out of his shack to meet them. He was nice looking for a troll, which probably wasn’t saying much because he had the standard enormous nose and ears, but he had lovely, long, wavy green hair and dazzling emerald-green eyes. He also kept himself trim—unlike the other trolls who just lay around letting themselves go to pot. Plus, he was an expert knitter and had made himself a jaunty striped scarf that he’d knotted around his neck.
He waved them inside, where brightly colored balls of yarn were stuffed into the many cubbyholes that lined the walls. Everywhere you looked, wicker baskets overflowed with skeins of yarn. Cherry reds to rosy pinks, lemony yellows to burnt oranges, sea greens to rich purple blues—they were all arranged by color. Marigold always loved to see Baddie’s latest creations. He knitted socks, sweaters, and scarves on Sunday, mittens and hats on Monday, and the rest of the week he made things for his shack. Everything from the tea cozy over the kettle to the curtains at the window had been knitted by Baddie.
“I’m sorry.” Marigold showed him her empty pockets. She visited the troll once a week and always brought him a ball of yarn for his collection—but not today.
He laughed it off. “I don’t care about that—I’m always happy to see you, Marigold!” He offered her a seat while Lightning curled up on the checkered, knitted rug beside her. Then the troll settled into his favorite armchair with the carrot-orange knitted slipcovers.
Marigold knew Baddie wanted to talk, but she was too distracted to say anything. The star had never behaved this way before. Was it going to stop blinking? Was it going to disappear? What was it going to do? It was annoying and worrisome at the same time.
Baddie leaned over his knitting basket to pick up a long scarf he’d been working on. Even when he had company, he liked to keep his hands busy. For a while all Marigold could hear was the click, click, clicking sounds of his knitting needles, until he finally commented, “If you don’t mind my saying, Marigold—and don’t take this the wrong way—but you seem a bit . . . off . . . somehow.”
If she raised her eyes as far as they’d go, she could see the light from the annoying blinking star. She muttered, “Off? How?”
“Let’s just say you’re not altogether yourself,” the troll replied.
Marigold pried her attention from the pesky star. “I’m not altogether myself,” she admitted. “I have five problems, Baddie—five!” She explained them all and sighed. “It’s just not the same at home anymore either. Right, Lightning?”
“It’s definitely not the same,” Lightning agreed.
“But on the plus side . . .” Baddie paused to fix a dropped stich. “At least you don’t have eleven brothers and sisters to contend with.”
“You had that many growing up?” Marigold said, surprised.
“Yes, and they were always hiding my knitting needles and switching my balls of yarn for rotten goblins’ eggs.”
“That’s awful, Baddie!” Marigold felt terrible for her friend, who was always so kind. Now she knew why he lived alone. But it made her wonder what it would have been like if she’d been born a troll like Baddie, growing up in a crowded shack under a bridge with almost a dozen troll brothers and sisters who teased her all the time. Marigold wondered if she would still be as nice as Baddie or if she would be cross like most of the other trolls and never want to share or be friendly.
“Oh, I know I shouldn’t complain,” Marigold said. “It’s just that my baby sister gets all the attention—if I lived in the forest with Lightning and never went home, my parents wouldn’t even notice.” Marigold suddenly got an idea. “I know! You could help me build a shack. We could be neighbors, and I could keep you company!”
Baddie was excited. “And I could knit you some curtains and rugs and blankets and slippers and whatever you needed.”
“But it still wouldn’t solve all your problems,” Lightning pointed out. “Like your star.”
Marigold raised her eyes and frowned. It was still blinking. “What am I going to do?”
“Maybe you should go see Granny Cabbage?” Baddie said.
“What a good idea!” Marigold’s spirits rose. The cabbage lady was one of her best friends.
“It’s a long way to Granny’s, but maybe you’ll get lucky and catch a train,” the troll added. “If she can’t solve your problems, no one can.”
Before she left, Marigold asked him shyly, “Have you ever had five problems, Baddie?”
“The most I’ve ever had is one.” Baddie looked down. He didn’t say anything for so long that Marigold thought he might not tell her at all, when he finally said softly, “My only problem is . . . I’m lonely.”
Marigold gently touched the sleeve of his cable-knit sweater. “You shouldn’t ever be lonely, Baddie. You’re such a good friend, and you’re a great knitter too—the best in all of Bramblycrumbly.”
The troll smiled because he loved to be complimented on his knitting.
Marigold thanked him for the advice. As she set off for Granny Cabbage’s cottage, she wished that she could find a way to help Baddie solve his one problem.
2
Spookety Forest
The only way to Granny’s little cottage was on the other side of a deep, dark wood called Spookety Forest, which was named after a family of ghosts who had lived there for as long as anyone remembered. Spookety Forest was a gloomy place filled with strange creatures. Marigold was always careful because you never knew who (or what) you would meet there, but she also felt protected because she was best friends with the Spooketys and their kids, the ghost children, who flew through the woods all the time.
Marigold and Lightning hurried over Baddie’s bridge. On the other side was a wrought iron gate. With a push the gate creaked open eerily. They entered a twilight world of brambles and moss along a path that led under a canopy of trees into Spookety Forest. If you walked, it could take hours to get to Granny’s. Of course, Marigold could have hopped onto Lightning’s back and they could have flown—her parents had gotten the dragon for this very purpose, to hel
p their daughter get around—but Lightning was slow, and for the most part it was quicker just to walk.
“Do you think a train will come?” Marigold asked.
Lightning shrugged. “Who knows?” He was right. The Spookety family ran the only public transportation system in all of Bramblycrumbly, and it was completely unpredictable. There was no schedule for the ghost train (as it had come to be called), and only the Spooketys could make it rise out of the mist. But if you were lucky and caught one, it was the fastest way to get anywhere in the land.
“Maybe we should call Big Flying Bird?” Marigold suggested.
Lightning grimaced. “Remember the last time we called him and he got mad and left us in the swamp?”
Marigold did remember. It had taken forever to get home, and her boots had never been the same. “At least he could get us to Granny’s faster than walking.”
Lightning talked right over her. “All I said was that he was as big as an elephant—which he is. . . .”
Marigold huffed, “You know how sensitive he is about his size, Lightning. Say the spell.”
“I don’t want to say the spell,” Lightning replied peevishly. “You say the spell.”
“You know when I say the spell it never works, and besides, you’re the one who made him mad in the first place, and—”
“All right, I’ll say the spell!” Lightning waved his hands and recited so quickly Marigold could barely understand the words. “Twinkle, twinkle, Big Flying Bird. Come to me with these few words. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the bird I wish tonight!”
Bop! Pop! Shroosh!
Before them stood a magnificent bird. He had long golden legs and a pointy beak. He had lovely black and white feathers and a majestic plume on top of his head. He was as big as an elephant.
The bird gave Lightning a stony stare. “You again!”
“Can you take us to Granny Cabbage’s, please?” Lightning asked in his most polite voice.
The bird pointedly ignored the dragon. He folded his wings in front of his chest like a person would fold their arms and stared at Marigold. “What’s with the blinking star?”
Marigold Star Page 1
