Magic Required, Page 3

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Sigi followed Ozzy down the hall and into the hidden space under the stairs that led up to the second floor.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “I got a box,” Ozzy whispered.

  “I see that. From where?”

  “I don’t know. Glenda said a red-capped delivery person dropped it off.”

  Ozzy set the box on the ground and pulled open the top flaps. He reached in and dug through the packing material. Grabbing the item at the bottom, he pulled it out dramatically.

  Sigi gasped.

  The two of them stared breathlessly at the object, both knowing that things were no longer in a holding pattern.

  Stuff was about to go down.

  Rin set the toolbox on the long wooden counter in the center of the odd-shaped room. Carefully, he opened the lid.

  “A sight for sorcerer eyes.” Rin looked around self-consciously. He was relieved that no one was there to hear the poor pun. Taking a second stab at it, he said, “A wonder to behold.”

  Rin pulled the small metal bird out of the toolbox and looked closely at it. He placed his hand over the silver strip on the back of the creature and took a moment to study what lay before him. Clark was a marvel, a miracle, a living bit of magic. His wings were an odd sort of pliable plastic stretched between thin wires. He had a tail of tin and a gold beak. Clark’s feet were sculpted, each talon tipped with copper. Wire feathers stuck out of the top of his metal head just above his closed eyes. He was approximately five inches long with a tube-shaped metal body.

  The wizard took his hand off the silver strip and placed the small artificial raven under a lamp on the table. Then he puttered around the workshop for a few minutes waiting for the bird to charge. Rin made sure to check on Clark every thirty seconds.

  “Hello?” the wizard said.

  The bird was lifeless each time.

  Just as Rin was contemplating switching the lightbulb to a higher wattage, he heard, “If I open my eyes and that Jon person is here, I’m going to go birdy on him.”

  “He’s not here,” Rin said happily, looking at Clark lying on the table. “We’re back in reality.”

  “Were we ever gone?”

  “Yes,” Rin said. “We were in Quarfelt for a spell.”

  “We were?” Clark said, his eyes still closed.

  “Sometimes people’s memories slip away during the trip to and from there,” Rin explained.

  “But I don’t remember anything,” the bird admitted. “Last thing I remember, we were on that boat and Jon was pointing a gun at everyone.”

  “Well, a lot has happened between then and now. You must have forgotten.”

  Clark opened his eyes and cocked his head to the left.

  “That sounds made-up,” the bird said.

  “It isn’t,” Rin insisted. “You were in Quarfelt and you did many amazing things to help defuse a number of dangerous situations.”

  “That doesn’t sound made-up,” Clark said, closing his eyes again as he continued to soak up the light.

  “Only because it wasn’t,” Rin said excitedly. “Now we’re back in reality and we have some things to do. I’ve got a whole list of stuff to check off.”

  The wizard pulled a piece of paper from one of the deep pockets on his robe. Written on it was a long to-get-done list.

  “I’ve already accomplished the first item,” Rin said proudly. “Collect the bird. Check.”

  “Where’d you collect me from?”

  “Not important,” the wizard said kindly. “Two—explain to Clark what has happened in the last three weeks. Check.”

  “I feel like you’ve fallen short on that one,” the bird protested.

  “I wouldn’t have to explain anything if you remembered.”

  “What else is on that list?” Clark asked. “Is one of the items ‘Take care of that Jon guy’? Because he was annoying.”

  “No, Jon’s not around. It’s just me.”

  “Oh,” Clark said, his eyes still shut. “Well, to be honest, sometimes you’re just as bad.”

  Rin gave an approving nod.

  “My eyes are closed but I bet you took that as a compliment,” Clark chirped.

  Rin patted Clark gently on the head and the small metallic bird opened his eyes again. He looked up at the wizard and tried to smile with his beak.

  “Where are we?” Clark asked.

  “In danger.”

  “Right,” the bird said, still lying still and soaking up the light. “We always seem to be in danger with you. But where in danger?”

  “We’re in my house.”

  “Whoa,” Clark tweeted. “This is where you live?”

  The metal raven swiveled its small head, taking in the rustic room. He had a bird’s-eye view of tools on a pegboard and loose lumber up in the open rafters. He could see a big fireplace at one end of the space and an old car at the other end. Using his talons and wings, he scooted like a metal worm across the table while trying to get a better look. When he came to the edge, he glanced down.

  “Dirt floors,” Clark said with wonder. “That’s not surprising.”

  “This is my work shed,” Rin said defensively. “There are wood floors in the house. Dutch pine.”

  Clark flapped his wings and flipped himself up on to his metal legs. He dug his copper-tipped talons into the table and then hopped back to the light. Standing under the glow, he stared at Rin and cocked his head.

  “Where’s Ozzy?”

  “He’s safe.”

  “Not very descriptive,” the bird said. “For someone who’s always blathering on and on about things, you could do better.”

  “He’s safe and sound.”

  “You’re really painting a picture with your words. Is Sigi with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, just let me charge a while longer and I’ll set off to find them.”

  “Actually, you and I need to do something else first,” Rin insisted. “Things are ratcheting up and there’s great danger on the horizon.”

  “Don’t mention ratchets,” Clark said sadly. “Brings back bad memories. I had my heart broken by one once.”

  “Sorry,” Rin apologized. “How about: things are getting heated and the fate of the world is in our hands?”

  “That’s better,” Clark said.

  Clark spotted an object sitting on the end of the worktable. He glanced at Rin and whispered, “Is that hammer taken?”

  Rin looked over at the tool. It was made completely of metal and had been polished recently. Clark tended to fall in and out of love easily and often. He was attracted to things made of metal, but there were a few real birds that he had longed for in the past.

  “I guess you’re over the ratchet,” the wizard said happily. “Tell you what—I’ll introduce you to that hammer if you help me first.”

  “So it’s not in a relationship?”

  “No,” Rin assured him, “it’s quite available.”

  Clark took three hops closer to the hammer. Rin reached out and picked the tool up. He put it into the toolbox and shut the lid. Clark looked dejected for a moment and then perked up.

  “What’s the toolbox’s story?”

  Rin slapped his forehead.

  “Okay,” Clark said, “tell me what you need me to do.”

  “How about I show you?”

  “I am a visual learner,” Clark admitted.

  “Well, I think you’ll like the look of this.”

  Rin pulled a wooden box out from under the table. He placed it next to Clark and opened the lid. Clark jumped up onto the edge of the box and looked in.

  The bird whistled. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Who knows?” Rin said solemnly. “Y
ou think a lot of unusual things.”

  Clark blushed, his cheeks turning a metallic rose color. “I guess it’s my turn to be complimented.”

  “Now that we’re both sufficiently full of ourselves, how about we shake things up?” Rin asked. “Ready to be improved?”

  “As if that’s possible,” Clark tweeted.

  “Ready to check off list item number three?”

  Clark nodded.

  Rin reached into the box and pulled out the molded black plastic pieces.

  “You’re like that one guy,” Clark said reverently. “You know, the one with the tall monster.”

  “Frankenstein.”

  “No, I think his first name was Marvin,” Clark said. “Marvinstein?”

  “How about we stop talking and get working?”

  Clark spread his wings and Rin pulled out more pieces.

  “Nervous?” the wizard asked.

  “I’m alone with a madman in his creepy woodshop,” Clark chirped. “What’s to be nervous about?”

  Rin ignored the compliment and took a picture so that he could post a before-and-after later on Instagram. Then, without further ado, the wizard went to work.

  Ozzy and Sigi were in awe as they hid beneath the stairs, staring at the item Ozzy had pulled from the box. He held up the pants and unfolded them so that Sigi and he could get a better look. The pants were made from a red-and-gray tartan fabric. They had pockets and finely finished cuffs at the bottom of each tapered leg.

  “He told me to watch the mail,” Ozzy said, referencing some of the last words that Rin had spoken to him.

  “So he’s alive,” Sigi whispered happily.

  “Alive and purchasing pants.”

  “Good luck matching those with anything,” Sigi said seriously. “You already struggle with getting dressed.”

  Ozzy looked worried. “You think I have to wear them?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what pants are for.”

  “Can’t I just put them on a shelf like a trophy?”

  The two of them carefully studied the pants. They were made from a heavy cottonlike material and stitched together beautifully. There was no label indicating the size or brand—just a small white tag on the inside of the waist that read:

  90% magic

  10% polyester

  Wash with like magical clothing.

  “Who delivered them?” Sigi asked.

  “Ms. Stalk said it was a short man with no beard.”

  “I guess this means you’re officially a wizard,” Sigi said, her voice 90 percent excited and 10 percent jealous. “You did pass the five challenges.”

  “Only because I didn’t know what they were until they were over.”

  “You need to put them on,” Sigi whispered fiercely.

  “That doesn’t sound like something I need to do.”

  “Yes,” she insisted. “He sent them to you for a reason. You’re no longer the apprentice. You’ve earned these pants.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Ozzy asked. “These are pants—and not particularly cool ones. I don’t know fashion, but I know these aren’t it. Also, I’ve never been to Quarfelt—I’m still not ready to say it even exists. But if it does, their system of using pants to signify rank or importance is unsettling.”

  “Of course it is,” Sigi said. “They’re wizards. Now go try ’em on before first period ends and the halls are filled with confused teens like us.”

  Ozzy shook his head.

  “You have to,” Sigi insisted. “I’ve only gotten one piece of clothing from my dad in my entire life. I was six and he sent me an Andre the Giant T-shirt that would have fit Andre the Giant. I wanna see if he’s gotten better at guessing sizes.”

  Ozzy stared at Sigi. Her dark eyes were like spells he couldn’t guard against and her voice was an incantation that made the air around him thin. He both feared and favored the effect she had on him.

  “Please,” she said.

  Ozzy gave up. He sighed, turned, and walked toward the bathroom.

  Sigi remained hidden beneath the stairs.

  In less than two minutes Ozzy was back, wearing the pants, the red in his face an exact match of the red on his pants.

  “Seriously,” he said insecurely, “where do you think he got these?”

  “They fit perfectly,” she replied. “And they’re way less obnoxious than that T-shirt he gave me. In fact, they look all right. How do they feel?”

  “Amazing,” Ozzy answered, embarrassed that he had used the word to describe pants. “I hate to say it, but they’re really comfortable. Still, I should go change. I don’t want . . .” Ozzy slipped his hands in the front pockets and stopped talking. With a look of excitement, he pulled something out of the right pocket. It was a small folded piece of white paper.

  Ozzy opened it as Sigi leaned in to see.

  There, in front of their eyes, was a message from a wizard. His handwriting was familiar, and the words were written in a dark brown ink.

  Congratulations, Ozzy!

  You have earned these trousers. Wear them with the kind of pride that only a wizard understands. There is magic everywhere, and these trousers make that more than obvious. Wear them well. You have passed the test and your life will never be the same because of it. Act accordingly. I will see you where the ashes settle and when the wind whispers that the time is right, or whatever.

  Most magically, Rin.

  They both stopped reading to look at each other in awe.

  “There’s a PS,” Sigi whispered.

  PS—Make sure Sigi’s recording Project Runway.

  “He loves that show,” she explained.

  “Really?”

  “As you can tell,” Sigi said while looking at Ozzy’s new pants, “he thinks fashion is magical.”

  “I think I’ll get beat up if I keep these on.”

  “No one’s going to beat you up,” Sigi insisted. “No one’s even going to talk bad about you. I mean, maybe they’ll say some things behind your back.”

  “I have a feeling they already do.”

  “See,” Sigi said, “you get it.”

  “There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” Ozzy said. “Where’s Clark? I mean if your dad’s somewhere that he can send these to me, it seems like Clark would be able to dash in and let us know he’s okay. I think—”

  A door opened in the hallway and the sound of someone walking farther down the hall created soft echoes in the air. Ozzy leaned out from under the stairs to make sure the coast was still clear. As he did so, Sigi said, “Have you checked the back pockets?”

  Ozzy put his hands in his back pockets—the left one was empty, but the right one had a small slip of paper in it. The paper was no bigger than a fortune from a fortune cookie. Written on it were the words:

  Marsh and Meadow Motel

  Room 213

  Salem, Oregon

  “Maybe that’s where they are?” Sigi said with a large dose of excitement.

  “Or that’s where the pants were made.”

  “In a motel?” Sigi asked. “People don’t make pants in a motel.”

  “Maybe that’s where people make illegal magic pants. Seems like a motel would be a fitting place for that.”

  She ignored Ozzy. “No, it’s got to be where they are.”

  “Why would they be—?”

  The bell rang, interrupting them and indicating that first period was over. Doors opened down the hallway and students began to spill out.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Ozzy said.

  “I agree,” Sigi replied. “So, what’s the plan? We can’t just walk away—there’s a cop at the front and locked gates everywhere else.”

  Ozzy thought hard as people continued to climb up and down the stairs. He glanced out at the kids ma
king their way to second hour. Two students he didn’t care for caught his eye.

  “Do you remember last week when those guys called you that name?”

  “You mean Adam and Jonas?” Sigi said. “The stupid, racist seniors who like to wind me up? Sure, I remember.”

  “Is that them?” Ozzy asked as he pointed.

  Sigi looked and nodded. “But now’s not the time for you to be chivalrous. I can fight my own battles. Look, I get that kind of crap all the time. They pick on everyone. They’re just a couple of—”

  Sigi stopped talking because Ozzy had stopped listening. He stepped out from under the stairs and motioned for her to follow.

  The two meatheads in question were coming down the hall, surrounded by other students. Adam was tall with fat shoulders and a moon-shaped face. Jonas was taller than Adam and had more muscles than any three other students combined. The two were known for making school extra painful for those who were different.

  Ozzy looked at them and plugged easily into their simple minds.

  With a jarring halt, Adam and Jonas turned to look at each other. Some students bumped into them but quickly scattered away. The two seniors stood there like a lumpy roadblock. The expressions on their dim faces made it clear that they were as surprised by their own actions as everyone else.

  “What are you doing?” Adam barked at Jonas.

  “I’m not doing anything,” Jonas growled. “Why are you staring at me?”

  Instead of answering the question, Adam swung his left fist, connecting with Jonas’s jaw. Jonas twisted and threw his right fist squarely against the side of Adam’s face. Both boys screamed frantically as they unwillingly pummeled each other.

  “What’s happening?” Jonas yelled.

  The students in the hall went wild, most of them enjoying the satisfying scene of two jerks dishing out their own comeuppance.

  “I don’t know . . .” Adam screamed before taking a punch to the gut.

  “I can’t . . .” Jonas yelled back as he received a swift kick to the right leg.

  The chaos in the hall was deafening. Teachers burst out of their rooms and tried to break things up. But their actions were halted by Ozzy’s thoughts. Instead of breaking things up, the teachers just stood there, unable to move. One of them managed to scream, “Get security!”