A Tale of Highly Unusual Magic Read online

  Kai giggled and the blonde woman finally looked over in her direction. “Let’s go, Petty,” she said.

  Pettyfer Senior stared hard at Kai’s great-aunt. “Sister Lavinia, nobody will ever learn to stand on their own two feet if people just give them money.”

  “Oh, I see. And what about people who inherit their money? How do they learn to stand on their own two feet?” Lavinia asked, but the dark window was making its smooth way back up. The Lincoln’s tires screeched as it made the left turn.

  Lavinia planted her hands on her hips, then looked up at the sky. “Forgive me, Jesus!” she shouted.

  “What? Why?” Kai asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just asked him to help with a project.”

  “Hmm.” Lavinia lifted the eyebrow over her big eye. Her gray hair was twisted up and fastened with a beautiful carved comb. In her hot pink tunic and white slacks, she looked elegant and more than a little intimidating, and Kai was—frankly—slightly surprised that Pettyfer Senior had barely given her the time of day. “Oh, there isn’t any Places for People project, I just asked him that so that he’d have to turn me down right in front of the church,” Aunt Lavinia replied. Her smile was half embarrassed, half proud of her mischief. “I told a lie on a Sunday! Oh, I’m so bad!”

  “Well . . .” Kai wasn’t sure what to say. It was kind of bad. But it was better than smashing a violin over someone’s head.

  “Sometimes, I think I should learn to be more kind.” Lavinia glanced up at the church tower. “But then I think—forget it; I’m too old to worry about being nice to someone like that Pettyfer.”

  Kai reached out to touch her aunt’s elbow. “Me, too,” she said.

  Doodle, as usual, didn’t knock.

  The next afternoon, Doodle didn’t even slow down when she saw that Kai was playing the violin, she just strode right into Kai’s room and plopped herself onto the unmade bed saying, “Don’t mind me.”

  Kai didn’t—she just kept right on playing through the piece, which was one of her favorites, Beethoven’s Violin Sonata No. 4. The final note ran through the room, skimming the walls and shimmering at the window. Kai opened her eyes.

  “Wow,” Doodle said. “You’re . . .”

  “Rusty.”

  “I was going to say incredible.”

  Kai huff-snorted, as if the compliment had been an insult. “I’m rusty. Did you hear how I was sharp there, near the end? It sounded awful.” Kai tucked the violin into its case and, with three quick twists, loosed the bowstring.

  “I thought it was amazing,” Doodle replied. She peered over at the peanut butter jar. “How’s the patient?”

  “Nothing new to report.”

  Doodle cocked her head. “How long have you been playing?”

  “About an hour. I really should do two, but I don’t—”

  “No, I meant in your life.”

  “Oh. Since I was three.” Her thumbnail picked at the calluses at the tips of her fingers. They had softened in the months she had stopped playing, but now the strings were wearing familiar grooves in the tough fingertips. “I haven’t practiced much lately.”

  “Really?” Doodle grabbed a rumpled pillow and shoved it behind her back, so that she was half upright. “Why not?”

  “What’s the point?”

  “What do you mean? Isn’t music the point?”

  “I mean, what’s the point of practicing? I’m never going to be a concert violinist, so . . .” Kai slid her bow into the sleeve. Then she placed the violin into the velvet-lined case and snapped it closed. The windows were shut, and the room was hot and still. It was too hot to open a window, and too hot to leave it closed.

  “How do you know?” Doodle asked.

  Kai sat cross-legged on the wood floor. It was cooler there than anywhere else, but the wood quickly absorbed the heat of her body. “I know because I know. Because I don’t have what it takes, okay?”

  “Really? What does it take?”

  Kai thought it over. “More.”

  “Well, you could still just play. For fun.”

  “I don’t think it would be fun without . . .” Kai searched for the words. “. . . without the dream.”

  “What dream?”

  “The dream to be—” Kai shrugged. “My dad always dreamed of being a concert violinist.”

  “Oh, so, wait. Was this your dream? Or was it your dad’s dream?”

  “It was—mine,” Kai said. “Both.” But Kai knew that this wasn’t quite true. Her dream wasn’t to be a concert violinist. Not exactly. It was more like, her dream was to fulfill her dad’s wish. To make it come true. Because he wasn’t around to do it himself. Because it seemed like the thing that had to be.

  “Anyway, I blew it,” she said. “I ruined everything.”

  “How?” Doodle asked.

  Kai sighed. She looked up at the ceiling. How could she explain? It was about having a father that was dead, and a mother who worked too hard for years to make up the difference, and then lost her job, anyway. It was about how, no matter what you did, sometimes things didn’t work out. She closed her eyes and said, “I didn’t get into Susan Laviere’s studio.”

  “Who’s Susan Laviere?”

  “She’s a violin teacher. She’s the best in the country. My dad—my dad wanted to study with her.”

  Kai looked over and Doodle nodded, not like she understood, but like Kai should keep going.

  “My dad loved the violin, and when he was in high school, he got into Susan Laviere’s studio. But his father, my grandfather, wouldn’t let him go. He wanted my dad to be a doctor.”

  “Did your dad give up the violin?”

  “No—he was a professional musician. He played weddings, art receptions, and stuff like that, but he really wanted to be a true concert violinist. He always thought he could have been, if he had studied with Susan Laviere. That’s what my mom says. He wanted me to have the chance that he missed out on.”

  “Isn’t she still teaching, though?”

  “Yes. She’s old, and she only takes three new students a year. Usually, she only takes people who are in high school. But my violin teacher submitted a tape, and I auditioned.” Kai spoke up to the ceiling. It was easier to talk without looking at Doodle.

  “And you didn’t get in?”

  “No. We found out the same week my mom lost her job. It was a disaster.”

  “Your mom got fired?”

  “No way.” Kai shook her head. There was no way her mother would ever get fired. She had been the top regional salesperson for the past three years, and even got to drive a shiny silver Lexus as a reward. “Her company was reorganized, and her job didn’t exist anymore. They offered her something new, but it was less money and a lot of travel, and she’s a single mom, so—”

  “So forget it.”

  “Right. And now I’m here while she looks for work and takes a three-week course on computer skills—social media, all that stuff. It just stank because it was like we both failed majorly in the same week after working like crazy for . . .” Kai shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe after that, it was better to be apart for a while.”

  “But you just said Susan Laviere usually only takes people in high school.”

  “She took a middle school kid this year.” Kai reached for the fringes of the rug that lay beside her bed. She let the silk strands dangle over her fingers, then let it go. “It just wasn’t me.”

  “But you can try again next year. You’ll be better by then.”

  “So will everyone else.”

  “Are you . . . you’re really just giving up?” Doodle couldn’t believe it. She was honestly trying; she just couldn’t quite manage it.

  “I’m telling you, I heard those other players. They’re better than I am.”

  “So—you’re not going to play? At all?”

  “Every time I play, I think about my dad, and how I let him down.”

  The other thing Kai thought of each time she opened her violin case was her mot
her’s face as she read the rejection letter, and her expression when she turned to Kai.

  “So—is that what you were thinking of, just now?” Doodle asked. “Your dad?”

  “Well . . . I was. The first couple of times. But then, something happened.”

  “What?”

  Kai nodded at the peanut butter jar.

  Doodle bolted upright. “Has it moved again?”

  It had twitched the first night, and then lay still, no matter what Kai or Doodle did.

  “It moves every once in a while,” Kai explained. “I think it depends on what I play.”

  “Does it like the music?”

  “Yes, but it’s particular. It only likes when I play the . . . uh . . . buggy music. Watch.” With a shrug, Kai opened her violin case, tightened her bow, picked up her violin, and nestled it into position. She paused, nodding at the jar with the cocoon, which still sat on her bedside table. Then she began to play the night music, the sounds of the crickets and rain on the leaves, the rattle and hum of the insects and worms as they burrowed into the earth.

  Kai stopped and both girls stared at the cocoon. Once more, the white bundle jumped and dangled.

  “It did it,” Doodle whispered.

  “It doesn’t always happen.” Kai played a few more notes. The cocoon was still, and then jumped.

  “Holy grasshoppers,” Doodle said. “You have to do a demonstration at the Lepidoptery Fair!”

  “You think so?”

  “Kai, I swear, this cocoon is like—who knows how old. Maybe as old as Edwina Pickle! And your music is waking it up!”

  Cold fear washed over Kai. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  “Maybe it isn’t! Maybe these cocoons need a certain kind of music—a certain frequency—to open!” Doodle jumped up and danced around the room, jigging madly.

  “It may not even be a cocoon . . .”

  “Don’t you see it?” Doodle pointed. There was a tiny tear in the long white lumpy pearl, a scar running from end to end. It was opening. “Don’t you see?!”

  Kai’s fingers felt thick and heavy. What did it mean—that the cocoon was hatching (molting? Kai wasn’t sure of the word) after being frozen in resin all of this time? It frightened her.

  “Play!” Doodle urged. “Play! Don’t stop now!”

  Kai forced her fingers to move, slowly at first, then more quickly as Doodle kept on dancing. The cocoon was quiet now, perhaps resting after its efforts, or perhaps frightened into stillness by Doodle’s frantic dance. But Kai played on and—for the first time in four months—saw something other than her mother’s disappointed face just beyond the violin strings.

  At dinner that night, Aunt Lavinia wore a strange expression. “I heard you playing that violin tune. Where did you learn it?”

  “I . . .” Kai wondered how much she should say. “I read it in an old book.”

  “Yes; I think it’s quite old. I’ve heard it before . . . long ago. . . .” Lavinia’s eyes were far away. “Somewhere.”

  “Have you ever heard of someone named Edwina Pickle? We think she wrote the music.” Kai’s words came out all in a rush.

  Lavinia shook her head. “Pickle? No, sugar. I think I’d remember that name.”

  “What about Ralph Flabbergast?” Kai asked.

  “Ralph Flabbergast?” Lavinia repeated. “Why, yes, I’ve heard of him.”

  Kai gasped. “Did he live around here?”

  Lavinia had taken her hair down from its twist, and the silver waves hung loose around her face. Her eyes met Kai’s. For the first time, Kai realized that her aunt’s irises were a very similar color to her own. An unusual light brown ringed by black. It was strange to see her own gaze reflected back by someone else. It was disorienting and comforting at the same time. “He lived exactly here,” Lavinia replied at last. “He was my dear old uncle.”

  THE EXQUISITE CORPSE

  Ralph crutched his way out to the wide lawn, beneath a sky soft with clouds. Despite the awkwardness of his movements, he managed to hobble quickly. The notes fluttered and floated, shimmering like soap bubbles, as he shouted, “Edwina!”

  “Mole!” she shouted, as she removed the bow from her violin and then ran—ran!—toward him. She looked as if she wanted to throw her arms around him, but instead she reached for his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

  “I’m well! I’m quite well!” Edwina twirled, and her serge skirts swirled about her ankles.

  “I can see that,” Ralph said. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes sparkled. Her joy made her almost radiant.

  “She gave the doctor quite a shock.” A young man with an earnest expression stood up from a wicker chair and walked over to join them. He held out a hand. “I’m Edwina’s brother.”

  “Parker,” Ralph said. “Good to see you. I don’t suppose you remember me, but we met long ago.”

  “I do remember.” Parker’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “And even if I didn’t, Edwina has told me so much about you that I feel we’re friends.” Parker’s words were kind, but his face was troubled, and Ralph felt his joy evaporate a bit, like steam in cold air.

  Edwina plucked a few notes on her violin. “The doctor says I may be able to go home as soon as next week,” she told Ralph.

  “Yes,” Parker said. “But Edwina, we mustn’t be hasty.”

  “Dear brother, we’ll see how hasty you are to leave a hospital once you’ve spent six weeks there.”

  “I do hope the company hasn’t been too dreary,” Ralph said.

  Edwina smiled. “On the contrary, dear old mole, the company is all there is to recommend the place.” She narrowed her eyes as a figure in white strode purposely toward them. “Oh, bother. Here comes Lucille. I’m sure the doctor wants to listen to my lungs again with that dreadful cold stethoscope. I’ve been avoiding him all morning. Can’t he see I’m well?”

  “Please do as the doctor says, won’t you?” Parker asked, putting a gentle hand on his sister’s arm.

  She looked appealingly at Ralph. “Don’t look at me,” Ralph told her. “You’ll never escape Lucille. She’s like a dog after a rabbit, and the rabbit is you.”

  Lucille truly did look like a bulldog, and—with a sigh—Edwina called, “All right, all right. You’ve found me at last! I surrender,” and trooped toward the nurse.

  Ralph and Parker watched her go for a moment. “Her recovery is truly a miracle, isn’t it?” Parker asked.

  Ralph nodded, unable to contain his joy. “It’s magical.”

  “Yes . . . that’s the word that Edwina used.” Parker cocked his head, and placed his hat at a jaunty angle. “Mr. Flabbergast, you are my sister’s friend. May I trust you with a—private matter?”

  “Of course.”

  Parker gazed off toward the woods. “Mr. Flabbergast, you are aware that our guardian is a man with a certain reputation.”

  Ralph hesitated. He didn’t want to say anything unkind about Edwina’s guardian. “I have always heard it said that he was a good man of business.”

  Parker looked at him plainly. “I will say that he is not a kind man. In fact, I have met spiders that are kinder.”

  “And less bloodthirsty,” Ralph agreed before he could stop himself.

  But Parker just nodded. “Good. So we understand each other. While it grieved me that my sister was ill, I always felt there was a certain . . . security here. At the hospital.”

  “Security—from your guardian?”

  “In short, my sister and I are heirs to a large fortune. I believe, though I cannot prove, that our guardian has been poisoning her.”

  Ralph gasped as bile burned through his stomach, churning up muck and acid. “Poisoning her?”

  “I know it sounds impossible—but he makes her work at the casket factory, and the place clearly makes her ill. And then, the very same day that he comes to visit her here, she falls ill again?”

  “But why aren’t you ill?”

  “I don’t know! I can’t explain it! But my sister h
as always been sensitive. And you’ve met my guardian—his very presence is poison!”

  “Can’t you explain to Mr. Jonas that the factory makes her unwell?”

  “He knows. I’m convinced that is why he continues.”

  “Yes . . .” Ralph frowned. “But you don’t seem to fear him.” His voice held the unspoken question: Why?

  “I fear him. But not for my own sake. Our parents died when I was quite young, and they never altered their will to include me. The will states very clearly that Edwina is the heir, and, after her, Melchisedec Jonas.”

  “But surely you have a claim?”

  Parker’s smile was wretched. “Melchisedec knows that no one is likely to challenge him in court. Not any of the courts around here—he has paid off the judges. And I certainly won’t dare if something happens to my sister. Ralph . . . I don’t want her to return to our house.”

  “But what will she do?”

  “I have been offered a teaching position. A prestigious one, teaching at a new mission school. There’s a place for Edwina, as well, teaching small children, if she will come. Now that she’s well, we have the opportunity to get away. The voyage might even do her good, but it can do her no more harm than being forced to work in the factory or live with our guardian.”

  “Voyage? Where?”

  “To India. The Punjab. Mr. Flabbergast, you will convince her to come, won’t you? As her friend, you must. I beg of you.”

  India? Ralph wanted to say. But India is full of dangers! She cannot leave me!

  He looked up at the evenly pale gray sky, like an ocean of mist. He felt lost in it as his mind spun, trying to find a new answer. How could he keep Edwina here? What option did he have? He could not ask her to marry him—he was barely seventeen, he had no money, and her guardian would never allow it.

  “It’s for her sake,” Parker said.

  A single raindrop, cold as a pinprick, fell against Ralph’s arm, as he thought of the vial in his pocket. The cruel vial that granted wishes—wishes that were granted, but with a disappointing end. A tree hit by lightning. Delicious sauerkraut that almost made them rich. Ralph looked into Parker’s eyes, eyes that were so like Edwina’s, and yet so different, and although he opened his mouth to say no, no she could not go, not even to save her, no, the word that came out was, “Yes.”