Magic Sucks



  Magic Sucks

  By Susha Golomb

  Copyright 2016 Susha Golomb

  Table of Contents

  THE FAIRY GIFTS – BOOK 1

  MAGIC SUCKS

  PROLOGUE – Tefnut Remembers

  PART I

  THE FIRST JOURNEY

  Chapter 1 – Get a Life

  Chapter 2 – Follow that Cat

  Chapter 3 – Cats Rule

  Chapter 4 – Big Eyeball to Little Eyeball

  Chapter 5 – Poppy

  Chapter 6 – The Day Mom and Dad Flunked the Honesty Test

  Chapter 7 – Farthingale

  Chapter 8 – Things that Go Bump in the Dark

  Chapter 9 – Eau de Tefnut

  Chapter 10 – Wing Buds

  Chapter 11 – Cat Magic and the Flea Poofing Spell

  Chapter 12 – Four and a Half More Fairy Godmothers

  Chapter 13 – The Big Question

  Chapter 14 – The Wing Bud Ceremony at Speaking Rock

  PART II

  THE FAIRY GIFTS WHETHER YOU WANT THEM OR NOT

  Chapter 15 – The Keeping Part

  Chapter 16 – Problems with Parents

  Chapter 17 – The Mandatory, Too Cute for Words, Fairy Tea Party

  Chapter 18 – Monkey in the Middle

  Chapter 19 – Tefnut’s Request

  Chapter 20 – Not a Happy Queen

  Chapter 21 – Coffee Break

  Chapter 22 – Goodbye Mr. Good Girl

  PART III

  THE SECOND JOURNEY

  Chapter 23 – The Runaway

  Chapter 24 – The Sister Search

  Chapter 25 – Uncloaked

  Chapter 26 – Deceit and Denial

  Chapter 27 – Magic Sucks

  Chapter 28 – Evelyn X

  Chapter 29 – A Game with a Sister in It

  Chapter 30 – Growing Wings

  Chapter 31 – Winging It

  Chapter 32 – Her Name is Rose

  EPILOGUE

  THE FAIRY GIFTS – BOOK 2

  OUT OF PLACE

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1 – Wing Pockets

  Chapter 2 – Girl with Gills

  LETTER TO THE READER

  PART I

  THE FIRST JOURNEY

  PROLOGUE

  TEFNUT REMEMBERS

  It is not true that cats can’t see colors. It’s just not that important to us. A cat’s world is filled with exciting movements, sounds and smells. I mean, who cares what shade of gray a mouse is?

  This is why, for me, the charm of dragonflies is in their mouth-watering quick, darting movements and the appetizing crinkly noise I can hear their wings make. But I have to admit, watching the iridescent shine their wings take on in the light is one of the times that I do enjoy color as part of an overall food display. The group of dragonflies that I was watching that day, almost ten years ago displayed all of these qualities and were very pleasant to watch.

  I had been stalking my family. Fun, but not very challenging. They had no idea they were being followed. It was a warm afternoon and their walk had been hijacked by a nap under an impressively large oak tree. Baby Miriam was in her carriage, her parents, heads touching as they leaned against each other, were sitting on the remains of a stone bench that had once wrapped all the way around an ancient triple trunked oak.

  Because dragonflies are so much creatures of the open air, I noticed right away when several of them flew into the shade. I saw how even to me, the colors of their wings seemed to intensify in the shade. In fact, in the shade, instead of losing their sun-colors, I was able to see that each of the dragonflies was actually a different color.

  Soft snores came from Miriam’s parents who didn’t see another unusual dragonfly quality…Curiosity. The `dragonflies’ who, on closer inspection, looked suspiciously like tiny winged people, flew around the humans as if examining them and then flew over to see what was in the carriage. The faintest whisper drifted to my sensitive ears.

  “Look at her ears. She must have elf ancestry.”

  “Hush, Poppy. You’ll wake the humans.”

  “But Farthingale. She’s one of us. Can’t we keep her?”

  “Husshhh,” they all chorused together, like a rustle of falling leaves.

  “Elf ancestry,” I thought. “I knew I was right about this family. This is perfect.”

  CHAPTER 1

  GET A LIFE

  Yesterday may have been my tenth birthday, but today was still a school day. I left my wet sneakers and socks at the front door and tiptoed down the hall. The Do Not Disturb sign was hanging on the door of Mom’s study. Good. She was still working. That meant there was just Dad waiting for me in the kitchen. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  “Miriam, get in here,” he bellowed. The risotto is ready NOW.” He noticed. I sighed and followed Dad’s voice into the kitchen. Having a TV chef for a father is not as great as my friends think it is.

  “Here, try this.” Dad held out his silver tasting spoon.

  I put my school bag on the kitchen table and looked in the pot. Your basic rice, little pieces of tomato, and ‘other vegetables’, mixture, but I knew better. Nothing Dad makes is ever ordinary.

  I forbade him from making me any more school lunches when I was in the second grade. It’s bad enough I have to eat this stuff at home, but in the school cafeteria, Dad’s fancy food is a recipe for ongoing public humiliation. Of course, he’s always allowed to slip a little of any desert he’s working on into my lunch bag. That’s different. In my world, sugar is power.

  I brought the spoon a little closer and sniffed. Nothing terrible yet. I sipped a little. Still acceptable and not too hot or too spicy. I’ve been burned plenty of times. I ate the spoonful and pursed my lips.

  “So, do you like it?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Perfect. I’ll use it for Sunday’s show.” ‘It’s okay’ is the highest rating I ever give to sugar-free food.

  “Do you want some more?”

  “Mmmm. I guess,” I said diffidently, looking around to see if there was anything better going. He ladled some of the rice stew into a bowl, added a fork and handed it to me with a dishtowel. Dad always anticipates the worst.

  I wandered back to my room, bowl in hand, my homework-filled knapsack accidentally-on-purpose left behind.

  Mom was finished working and out in the hall, waiting to pounce.

  “Hi, Mom.” I tried not to sound too resigned. From the time I get off the school bus, to the moment I open the front door, my life is my own. But that’s about it.

  “Did you taste the risotto?” she asked. “How did you like it?”

  “Fine.” I said carefully keeping my voice as flat and noncommittal as possible. Any hint of enthusiasm and she demands details.

  Mom is a syndicated newspaper cartoonist. Everyone in my class reads Ishtabibel, Mom’s cartoon, every day. Everyone knows that the skinny kid with the frizzy hair is me. Some days it’s really hard to make myself get on the school bus.

  On the other hand, some days it’s really hard to make myself get off the school bus. Mom is always waiting for me to do something funny. She hovers without mercy around deadline time. Both of my parents work at home. They are there ALL the time.

  I could feel Mom staring at me as I carried my rice-bowl the rest of the way to my room full of new stuff that was already old. Hard to believe that yesterday was my birthday. Even turning ten had already lost its zing. I had made my usual birthday cake wish. The one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world. And as usual, it didn’t come true. I don’t know why I bother.

  Good, she’s here. I jumped off the beanbag chair, let my claws sink into my favorite carpet, the one I’m not supposed to scratch, and relaxed into a good,
long, spine-tingling stretch. I was ready.

  Miriam put her food dish on the floor, went to the closet and took out a couple of old Barbies. Must be The Sister Game. That’s the only thing she does with those dolls any more. It’s a cute game, but I think she plays it too much.

  It was The Sister Game, all right. Very private. I’m the only one allowed to watch. This is a major point in her favor. She’s a kid who instinctively knows that cats can be trusted.

  While Miriam taped cutout cardboard wings to the backs of Barbie and Kelly, I lurked over to the bookcase. Silently, I jumped to the top shelf and stationed myself next to a big, heavy flashlight ready to push and jump.

  CHAPTER 2

  FOLLOW THAT CAT

  I put Dad’s risotto on the floor and got out a couple of old Barbies to play The Sister Game: two sisters go for a picnic. They eat; they talk. Little sister talks; big sister listens. There are no secrets between these two. Big sister always understands. After lunch, little sister gets into trouble; big sister comes to the rescue. That’s it. Simple, but satisfying.

  I don’t use names, because I don’t know my big sister’s name yet. She’s a real person with a real name. I just don’t know what it is. It would be too weird if I thought of her as one person and after I met her she turned out to be another.

  This time, I skipped the picnic and got right to the adventure. I twisted Kelly’s wings so they pointed straight down and put her into my inflatable wastebasket. Then I put Barbie next to the miniature picnic basket that I use with this game.

  Barbie has just finished putting the picnic things away when she realizes that little sister isn’t there.

  “Where are you, little sister?” she calls out. Little sister doesn’t answer, because she’s too far away. Her teeth are chattering. Her wings are soggy and useless. She can’t keep treading water much longer, but the steep slippery mud bank is like glass. Again and again, she digs and pushes her fingers into the mud and tries to pull herself out. But each time clumps of mud come away in her hands and she slides back into the water.

  Big sister is getting worried. Her dear little sister who she loves more than anything in the world is gone. Her heart pounds. My heart pounds. She starts to sweat…

  Just when I was getting to the good part…

  …my cat fell off the bookcase.

  She hit the floor with a crash and a bloodcurdling yowl that stopped my heart-pounding in mid-beat.

  “Oh my god! Tefnut!” I gasped. “Are you okay?” Apparently not, because she raced out of the room so fast her gray stripes blurred to plaid.

  “Tefnut. Wait. I’m coming.” Tefnut threw herself through the cat door into the warm spring drizzle, held up one paw and mewed pitifully.

  “Ooooh,” I said using the squeaky tones of my best cat-talk voice. “Tifi-poo, you’re hurt. Let me see.” Pushing open the screen door with one hand, I reached out to pet her with the other.

  I always suspected Tefnut didn’t really like my mush-talk. That cat was halfway down the street before the screen door swung shut behind me. Three feet, moving at top speed.

  Run, run, run. Hop. Run, run, run. Hop. If I hadn’t have been so worried, I would have been impressed.

  “Hey, Tefnut, not so fast,” I hollered. I broke into a barefoot jog, trying to keep up and watch where I put my tender toes at the same time. We crossed over to the next block where the creek started.

  Her tail started to twitch with excitement and she raced ahead like a kitten.

  No limp.

  Suddenly, Tefnut cut a sharp right and bounded with all four paws onto a little bridge.

  I slid to a halt and stared at my cat. She was sitting at the center of a small, wooden footbridge over the creek, concentrating on her rear end, which apparently was in immediate need of a bath.

  I could feel my jaw dropping into fly-catching position. There had never been a bridge or a path through these woods before. I knew that. “More importantly,” I thought. “Why did it look so familiar?”

  There was a moldy-but-nice smell in the air that I almost recognized. And the bridge. I loved that bridge because of the wonderful clacking sound the planks would make when the wheels went over it. Wheels? What wheels? I was barefoot and bike-less.

  Past the bridge, the new path kept going straight through the trees, making the woods look a lot bigger than I remembered.

  Tefnut stopped cleaning and walked over, rubbing my ankles and purring her approval. I barely noticed her. I was so surprised by the bridge, not to mention my cat, who was acting like Lassie Come Home, that my brain had fuzzed over. I walked distractedly through the woods, herded along by Tefnut with an occasional ankle rub that kept me on the path and moving.

  The bright sunshine that hit me when I stepped out of the woods put a brake on the whole process.

  Miriam is basically a nice kid. A big mouth and a rotten temper, but a good heart. That’s why I like her. Also, she lets me sleep on her feet at night. That counts for a lot when you’re a cat.

  Now if I can just get her moving again. Years of planning and just when we get to the important part, the one thing I want more than anything else in the world, she acts like she’s been super-glued to the ground.

  CHAPTER 3

  CATS RULE

  When I was eight years old, I found a big pile of plastic-covered photos on Dad’s desk. My parents always made two copies of photographs to send to grandparents. One copy each was sent to Mom’s and to Dad’s parents. The third was covered with clear plastic to keep the water out, and put aside for my adopted grandparents.

  “You told me these pictures were for Grandma and Grandpa Mermaid,” I said to Dad. “Why haven’t you sent them?” I was suspicious.

  “There’s no mail under the water,” he explained. “We usually bring them when we visit.”

  “When can I visit?”

  “When you can swim like a fish,” he replied.

  I asked for and got swimming lessons that year but I never got invited to visit Grandma and Grandpa Mermaid. There are no pictures of them in the family album either, and underwater cameras have been around for years.

  It took a whole year and a major discovery for my youthful suspicions to grow into full-fledged disbelief. I can be awfully naive.

  Recently, I discovered that if I yawn a lot, whenever one of them tries to tell me another boring Grandma and Grandpa Mermaid story, they will stop and talk about something else.

  Most of my friends think their parents are weird. But I know mine really are. Nice people, but not all there when it comes to the parent thing. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Mom dressed up as the Tooth Fairy every time I lost a tooth. Now it looks like the family curse of extreme weirdness extends to my cat.

  I don’t know how Tefnut did it, but I was looking at a dandelion dotted meadow. Big patches of queen-anne’s-lace and purple chicory, where there used to be houses. A new path is one thing, but these are whole houses that are missing. I don’t think yawning will bring them back. My feet, no longer willing to work unsupervised, waited for instructions.

  I guess Tefnut was beginning to lose patience with me. She bounded ahead, and went into her limping act again. It was too ridiculous, but she probably knew that. I started to giggle.

  “Hic.”

  My own giggles had turned on me. I was trapped in hiccup mode.

  “Tif-hic…Tif-hic…Tif-hic…” Now it wasn’t just my feet that were out of order.

  Giggles, hiccups, whatever… it worked. I seemed to have hiccupped myself back to sanity, or as close as I could get under the circumstances. As long as I didn’t try to talk, the hiccups stayed quiet. I gave up on my voice, took charge of my feet and followed the cat.

  Tefnut trotted down the path, head erect, tail straight up. No limp. I had to move fast to keep up as I dutifully followed that cat through the tall grass that was driving my ankles crazy with tickling.

  There has to be some kind of explanation for this, I thought, trying to make what I
saw fit with what I know.

  All right, so my cat is a little smarter than I thought she was. That’s okay, she’s not really doing anything that a very smart cat, like Tefnut is, couldn’t do.

  It’s sort of a Homeward Bound kind of thing, I thought. Yeah, that’s it. Cats rule and dogs drool. Except, that I’m the dog here.

  I guess I can live with that, I thought, gumming around for some spit, so I could look the part. I was taking aim at an extra big dandelion, when my nose…I’m really getting into this dog thing… noticed a change in the air.

  The moldy-but-nice smell was losing ground to a serious flower smell. Roses, and lots of them.

  I did a little hop-skip through the grass, holding onto a recently prickle-wounded toe, and trying not to lose ground to Tefnut who was still plowing ahead through cat-high meadow grass.

  I found the roses, a few minutes later. Roses in bushes, roses in bowers, roses pruned like little trees. They were all over the place in a fancy garden that was on the other side of a tall hedge at the far end of the meadow.

  Tefnut led me down the garden path to a broken stone bench that went partway around a huge old tree. When she jumped up and began cleaning her face, I took the hint and sat down next to her.

  We waited.

  Looking around at the tidy paths and flowerbeds. I had to admit that this was a big improvement on the houses that were here yesterday. But that didn’t change the fact that this place was not supposed to be here at all.

  I fished through my brain for something, anything that would make it okay and keep me out of the loony bin. Time travel? Dimension hopping?

  Face it, dumdum, you’ve been watching too many Star Trek reruns. There had to be a simple explanation. Something that worked in my world. Not the bedtime-story world. That was not where I lived. Not anymore. Those dumb stories went down the drain with Grandma and Grandpa Mermaid and the Tooth Fairy.

  I had it! It’s because I had been worried about Tefnut. Of course! I was so focused on Tefnut, that I didn’t notice how far we had come.

  Therefore, I am not where I think I am, but somewhere further out than I usually go. That’s why I’ve never seen the bridge or the meadow. There never were houses here. I’m confusing this place with a spot closer to home.