A Snicker of Magic (16 page)

Biscuit cocked her head sadly.

“You’re right,” I groaned. “We’re doomed.” I flopped back on the floor. Biscuit snuggled against my arm and fell asleep.

I should drop out of the Duel. I should pack my bags and give in to my rambling fate. I knew the facts: Pickles are cursed with wandering hearts. We’re cursed to fail at everything we try.

But I also knew this fact: Once upon a time, Midnight Gulch was a magical place. And the Brothers Threadbare were two of the most magical people who ever lived here.

I shared Stone Weatherly’s gypsy fate. Did I share his magic, too?

“There’s still magic here,” I dared to whisper, even though nobody was awake now except me and the midnight moon.

I’ll bet the midnight moon had a good laugh over that. Because the kind of magic that found me the next morning is definitely not what I was expecting.

“Let me in, quick!” I banged my fist against the door of Oliver Weatherly’s mansion. I could feel the rain beading on my face and dripping off the tips of my bangs. “Hey-yo!” I hollered again.

Charlie Sue Hancock swung the door open and pulled me inside. “Felicity!” She helped me out of my jacket, which was so wet that it popped and snapped like rubber bands against my arms. “What are you doing out in this mess?”

“I have to see Oliver now,” I sniffed. My nose sucked in a mix of rain and snot. “Is he home?”

“He sure is.” Charlie Sue wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. She led me up a swirly, spiraled staircase to the second story of Oliver’s mansion.

“Hey-yo, Miss Felicity!” Oliver’s voice seemed as surprised as Charlie Sue’s when she first saw me. “I wasn’t expecting you today. Is Jonah with you?”

“Just me,” I said. “I’ve got a big problem that only you can help me with. I woke up this morning and found this …”

I pushed back my sleeve and flipped my hand so Oliver could see the inside of my wrist and what appeared to be the freshly drawn image of a dove. The very same dove that had been on Oliver’s arm only a few days ago.

“It won’t come off,” I hollered. “And I have no idea how it got there!”

Frannie Jo had noticed it before I did. We were eating a healthy breakfast of Cheetos and Pop-Tarts when Frannie pointed to my arm and said, “Don’t let Mama see that. She gets mad whenever I draw on myself.”

I nearly spewed milk all over Cleo’s table when I realized what she was talking about: Oliver Weatherly’s tattoo. On
my
arm. I ran down the hall, hurdled over Boone — who was still snoring in the hallway — slammed shut the door of Cleo’s bathroom, and tried to scrub the bird away. The skin of my wrist turned blotchy red, but the bird stayed put.

“I can’t get it off!” I hollered at Oliver.

But Oliver didn’t look perplexed, despite my yelling. Charlie Sue patted my shoulder. “Why don’t I make the two of you some hot cocoa?” she said. And she shuffled back down the hallway.

“Fine idea,” Oliver said. And then he nodded to me and smiled. “You don’t need to worry about getting it off. The bird comes and goes as it pleases.”

“This isn’t a bird,” I said. “It’s a …
tattoo
.”

And I gulped as I remembered what Mama had said when I saw the tattoo on her shoulder. The word
peace
, in such tiny letters they looked like a sparrow’s footprints. My mama was the only person whose words I had never been able to see. I told her how much I liked it and she said she liked it, too. And I told her I wanted
peace
on my shoulder, too, and she said if I ever got
anything
tattooed on me before I was at least forty years old, she’d ground me for life.

“It’s not exactly a tattoo,” Oliver said, leading me to the big stuffed chair across from his desk. He settled across from me. “The bird first showed up on my arm the same morning I saw the hot air balloon. You remember that story, right?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Hope came down.”

“Exactly!” Oliver’s eyes sparkled. “Hope came down. But the bird came first. Most of the time it stays put, right here on my arm. But sometimes the bird ends up on somebody else for a while. Seems like it knows when people need it most, when they’re most fearful, most uncertain, most unsure. When the bird shows up, that means hope’s coming down.”

“The bird tattoo is a snicker of magic?” I asked.

“Exactly!” Oliver clapped.

Charlie Sue came back into the room and handed me a steamy mug of cocoa and smiled. “Better than my family’s snicker of magic.”

“Your people used to go invisible, right?” I asked, remembering Oliver’s story from the Lube & Dye.

“Used to.” Charlie Sue propped her hand on her hip. “But now we just go blurry in pictures.”

Oliver chuckled.

I looked down at the inky dove on my wrist. “I could use a little hope,” I admitted.

Oliver nodded. “You mean for the Duel, I reckon. When Jonah told me about that, I had a feeling the bird might show up on you. It’ll sure stay with you through the Duel. That bird means good is coming your way.” Oliver grinned. “You got nothing to worry about now!”

“I guess that’s okay, then.” I finally touched my finger to the bird’s wings. It didn’t feel feathery or magical; it just felt like my skin.

“That bird doesn’t attach itself to people for nothing,” Oliver said. “You must have something good worth saying if the bird showed up on you. Wear it well, you hear?”

I breathed easier then, first because the tattoo would be gone in a few days and that meant I wouldn’t be grounded for life. But I also couldn’t help but wonder if that meant everything would be okay, maybe better than okay.

Yes
, my heart agreed.

Yes,

Yes,

Yes!

The rain let up long enough for me to run to Jonah’s house on Chicken Bristle Lane.

As soon as he opened the door, I held out my wrist. “Look,” I said, “I got a tattoo.”

“Spindiddly wicked!” Jonah grinned. “You got Oliver’s bird!”

I told Jonah all about my crazy morning as I followed him into the kitchen. “Oliver says it’s a little snicker of magic, my good luck charm for the Duel. Kind of like a lucky rabbit’s foot but way less disgusting —”

I stopped so abruptly that my sneakers squeaked against the black-and-white kitchen tiles. Toast Terry sat at Jonah’s kitchen table, with a carton of Dr. Zook’s in front of him. Two thick books were fanned open on the table. Since no words were spinning up out of them, I figured they were math books. Numbers tell all sorts of stories to some people, but they’ve never done so much as whisper at me.

Toast nodded in my direction. “How goes it, Pickle?”

“Okay.” I smiled.

Jonah wheeled around me toward the refrigerator. “Toast is helping me with math stuff.”

“
You
need tutoring?” I flopped down in the empty chair. I didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but Jonah didn’t look offended. He just laughed.

“Decimals are my kryptonite. We were talking about the Duel when you walked in. Tell her your talent, T.”

“I can make grilled cheese with a clothes iron.” Toast grinned proudly. “That’s how I got my nickname, Toast. Someday I’m going to be a chef and make gourmet grilled cheeses. The space llama will be my trademark.”

“That’s a spindiddly life goal,” I said.

Toast raised an eyebrow. “Spin-whatty?”

“
Spindiddly
is Felicity’s word for ‘awesome,’ ” Jonah clarified, coming to join us. “Toast has a good luck charm, too.”

“Yeah, I do!” Toast beamed. He leaned in and pointed to a lone whisker squiggling out of his chin. “I named it Goliath.”

“You named your facial hair?” I asked.

“Course he did.” Jonah beamed, reaching across the table to give Toast a fist bump. “That’s a monumental achievement.”

Toast laughed as he stood up and stretched his long arms. “I need to use the facilities. Be right back.”

Once I knew Toast was out of earshot, I said to Jonah, “I’ve never seen him so laid back. I’ve barely ever heard him talk. Honestly, I didn’t think he liked me very much.”

“He’s just shy,” Jonah said. “The two of you have a lot in common, actually. Toast is self-conscious about his voice and you’re afraid to use yours.”

“So you got a know-how over Toast? He’s a Beedle project?”

“No,” Jonah said quickly. “He’s not a Beedle project. He’s a friend. You’re a friend, too. If I get a know-how over my friends, that’s just a bonus.”

I flicked at the lid of my Dr. Zook’s carton. “Does he know you’re … pumpernickel?”

Jonah shook his head. “Nope.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I looked down at the bird on my wrist again, traced my finger along the tips of its inky-black wings.

“He’ll do great in the Duel,” Jonah said. “That grilled cheese thing is pretty darn spindiddly, right?”

“Better than reading poems,” I sighed, tracing the pointy tip of the bird’s beak.

“You
are
still competing in the Duel? Right?” Jonah’s eyes looked all swampy green and sad. “Because I thought after you figured out the Threadbare connection, you might not …”

“You knew my family was cursed? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I must have figured it out at the same time you did. Mama told me your family was kin to the Weatherlys.” Jonah shook his head. “But you heard Oliver. Nobody knows if that curse was even real.”

“After all I’ve told you about Mama’s rambling habits, you don’t think the curse still exists?” I swallowed. “
Not even a little bit?
”

“Maybe you only have a snicker of it,” he conceded.

“A snicker’s enough to do plenty of damage.”

Jonah moved his hands closer to me and I thought he might touch the bird on my wrist, but he didn’t. “You know,
if you don’t want to do the Duel, I won’t be mad. It’s not like we’d stop hanging out or anything.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Jonah nodded. “I only want you to do the Duel because —”

“Something good will happen there,” I sighed. “I’ll do the Duel. I already told Mama and Cleo I would. I don’t want to disappoint them by backing out. Plus … I have a plan B.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “Plan B?”

“I thought maybe I … maybe
we …
could figure out Isabella’s riddle. Then we’d break the curse.”

“You’re not a Threadbare, Felicity. Even if you’re related to them, so what? You’re related to lots of other people. You’re part Pickle, part Harness, part … who knows what else. They’re a part of who you are but you are the only
Felicity
. I think Oliver’s right; the curse only matters if you let it.”

“But all the same,” I said, trying not to sound like I was begging, “there’s a chance we could break it. The last Duel was when everything went wrong. What if this is the Duel where we make everything right? I’m part Threadbare. What if I’m here for a reason? What if I could do it?”

Maybe Jonah didn’t believe in a curse, but I could tell he was interested. Just as he started to answer, we heard Toast bellow from somewhere in the house:

“Pickett! Okay if I play your piano?”

“Sure,” Jonah yelled back. His yell must have woke up the storm, because suddenly the clouds split apart and the rain fell, hard and heavy against the roof.

Deluge

Waterwall

Silver, stormy, star curtain

I wrote down the words dripping down the windows of Jonah’s kitchen.

“Let’s focus on you doing the Duel,” Jonah said. “But maybe we could look at the riddle, too, if that makes you feel better.”

“Yes! I made you a copy.” I ripped the page I’d written for Jonah out of my book. He just sighed and shook his head. “Have you written any poems yet?”

“Not yet,” I admitted. “But Florentine says she’ll help me.”

As Jonah popped open the container of Dr. Zook’s Mean Gene’s Mocha Coconut, the sound of soft piano music drifted through the house. As I listened, I wondered if there was any story in the world better than music, a wordless and weightless lullaby wind, prone to fly right off pages and strings. No wonder people in Midnight Gulch could put their problems aside back when the Brothers Threadbare were around. No wonder it was the happiest town in the world.