The Missing Magic

by Kallie George

  Actually, it was hard for Clover to get a good look at the hippocampus because the creature was swimming up and down, side to side, around and around, the whole time Oliver was speaking and gesturing. All she could see was a swirl of blue and green scales, fins, and mane. It made Clover dizzy!

  “Are they usually this energetic?” she asked.

  “Not to my extensive knowledge. Wild ones are unpredictable, of course, but domestic hippocampi are generally calm and well trained,” said Oliver. “However, this one’s given us nothing but trouble. Although clearly he is a pet, for you can see he is wearing a collar. Only his name, Neptune, is on it, with no address. I had a difficult time reading it. He won’t stay still.” At this, Oliver dramatically raised his hand with his wand in it, and…

  WHOOSH!

  Neptune leapt out of the giant tank and back down again.

  SPLASH!

  A wave of water spilled over, right onto Oliver.

  “UGH!” sputtered Oliver, looking furious.

  Clover was about to laugh when she noticed the hippocampus was now nosing the side of the tank, tossing his blue mane in the very same way Tansy the fairy horse did when she was showing off.

  All at once, she understood. “Oliver, he’s not badly trained. He’s really well trained. Everything you’ve been doing with your wand, he’s doing too. When you raised your wand, that was his cue to jump. I bet…”

  Clover tried with her hands. She gestured to the left. Neptune swam to the left of the tank. She gestured up, and Neptune swam up. She gestured toward herself, and Neptune floated right against the tank, directly in front of them.

  “Well…” sputtered Oliver. “That just proves my point that pet hippocampi are well trained. My conclusions are sound.”

  Clover would have rolled her eyes, but she was too mesmerized by the magical creature. At last she could get a good look at Neptune. He was the most beautiful and bizarre animal she had seen yet.

  It wasn’t his tail or teeth, or his mane tangled with seaweed and shells, or even the strange flippers he had instead of horse’s legs that mesmerized her. It was Neptune’s eyes—glassy green like the sea. It felt like she could see right through them and into his heart. He misses his owner, she thought. She hoped someone called in for him soon.

  Now that they had learned that Neptune was trained, it was easy to feed him. Clover climbed the ladder at the side of the tank and gestured up. Neptune rose to the surface, and she fed him a bucket of sea-foam that Mr. Jams had left. Maybe she could convince Oliver to help her froth up some more later. Mr. Jams had told her what hard work it was to make—like mixing a really thick milk shake.

  At the moment, though, Oliver was nowhere to be found. He had conveniently disappeared, claiming he needed to update Neptune’s file. Clover assumed that, once again, he wouldn’t return and was amazed when he came back to help her feed the rest of the animals their supper. Well, sort of help. He used a wand (his “Culinary” one, he said) to mix the food, but instead of making mush for the unicorns, it made cinnamon-raisin oatmeal. Plum took a particular liking to it, but Clover ended up having to make proper mush for the rest.

  When she had cleaned up, she found Oliver sitting on the couch in the front room, his wand and bowls of different foods—mushy peas, mashed potatoes, soggy spaghetti, and even a bowl of soft strawberry ice cream—on the table in front of him. Dipity was in his lap. By Oliver’s side, a potato biscuit was slowly disappearing. Picnic was cuddling there too. For a moment, it was as if Clover could see the puppy’s little paws on either side of the treat. But, of course, she couldn’t.

  “What are you doing?” she asked Oliver.

  “My Culinary wand is quite the disappointment,” he said. “It really should be able to handle the animals’ meal preparation, but…”

  “You don’t need a wand to make unicorn mush,” she said.

  “Yes, but I thought…” he started. “Never mind.”

  He shooed Dipity off his lap and began gathering up the bowls. He was about to pick up the last one, the ice cream, when he said, “Would you like some?”

  Clover almost shook her head, but she was feeling strangely hot, whether from the mush-making or all the day’s excitement she wasn’t sure, and the ice cream was strawberry—her favorite. So she nodded, and he left it there, with a spoon that he drew from the pocket of his robes. She hoped it was clean. Before she could say thank you, he was gone.

  Clover pulled Dipity and Picnic close, noticing all the crumbs the puppy had made on the couch. She would have to clean them up later. But right now, the ice cream was surprisingly good, and Dipity snuggly, and so things seemed, for a moment, strawberry sweet.

  Clover’s parents were working that night. They were often busy at the mayor’s office, which was good because it meant that they didn’t have time to pester Clover with questions about the Agency.

  After fixing herself a tomato-and-cheese sandwich, Clover got ready for bed and noticed she was still wearing the necklace. She had forgotten to return it! She tried to take it off, but the clasp was still stuck.

  In the light from her bedroom lamp, she saw that the sun charm looked shinier…prettier. Like a piece of dragon treasure. Clover wished she could show Emma. Emma would like it.

  Too bad she would have to put it back. Tomorrow she’d have to find a way to undo the clasp and sneak it into Oliver’s room.

  When Clover arrived at the Agency in the morning, all thoughts of the necklace quickly disappeared. The door was still locked. Oliver hadn’t opened up yet! And he hadn’t turned on the lights or fed the animals either! Clover knew because Picnic jumped on her the moment she stepped inside, his collar bobbing in the air. “Down,” said Clover as he sniffed at her bag, looking for food. Dipity rubbed against her, meowing hungrily.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll get you guys some breakfast,” she said, heading through the swinging door and into the hallway. “Humph, where is Oliver?”

  At that very moment, he strode out of the phoenix rookery.

  “There you are,” he said to Clover.

  “You know, you really should feed the animals right away,” Clover replied. “Picnic’s practically chewing on my leg. And open the door too.”

  “I was going to, but there’s a bit of a situation…” he said.

  Clover noticed Oliver was still wearing his pajamas (covered in a pattern of green-and-blue speckled eggs). His hair was sticking up all over the place, and his eyes were wide with worry.

  “What do you mean, ‘situation’?” asked Clover. “Is it Phoebe? Did she have her Ash Day?”

  “Technically, yes,” said Oliver. “But…”

  “But what?”

  “I think there’s something you should see.” He headed back inside the rookery.

  Picnic and Dipity tried to go with him. “Sorry, guys,” said Clover. “I promise I’ll get you breakfast in a moment.” She shooed them away, then warily followed Oliver.

  The room smelled faintly of burning and was very quiet. So quiet she could hear her heart beating. What would she find in the tiled nest? She was almost too afraid to look. She peeked nervously inside.

  Ash. There was only a pile of ash.

  “Where is she? What happened?” Clover demanded.

  “By my estimation, based on the smoke, the bird flamed shortly after midnight.”

  “Bird? You mean, Phoebe.”

  “Yes, Phoebe. I checked on her as soon as I woke up. But…” he continued.

  Clover gulped, “Oh no, is she…?”

  “No, no, she’s not dead,” Oliver said quickly. “Observe the ashes closely.”

  To Clover’s relief, there was a faint glow coming from the center of them, pulsating like a heart.

  “The ashes are most decidedly alive,” said Oliver. “But the magic in them is faint, as though there is not enough to revivify the bird.”

  “Revivify?”

  “‘Revivify’ means ‘to bring back to life,’” replied Oliver, pushing up his glasses.
“It is a very exact way of explaining the complex process—”

  “Never mind,” hurried Clover. “When will the ashes re…revivify?”

  “I must admit,” said Oliver, “I’ve never witnessed the process myself. I can’t be entirely sure.”

  If only Mr. Jams were here, thought Clover. Why was he always gone when things went wrong? She took a deep breath and reminded herself that whatever mission he was on must be important since it required a helmet and sword. “Maybe Dr. Nurtch can help. She’s a magical-animal vet and Mr. Jams’s friend. I think we should phone her.”

  “No need,” said Oliver. “I will find the cause, and the solution. I was about to head upstairs to consult my texts when you came in.”

  Clover bit her lip. She stared at the faint orangey-red glow in the center of the ashes. “Okay,” she said. But it wasn’t really okay. It wasn’t okay at all.

  While Oliver buried himself in his books, Clover fed the animals breakfast, starting, of course, with Dipity and Picnic. She gave them extra-big helpings and took a second bucket of sea-foam to Neptune, who was drifting in circles in his tank. She rubbed the hippocampus’s wet muzzle for a while. It felt smooth and cool, the way she imagined a whale’s nose might feel. In the stables, the unicorns looked out of sorts, and Clover swore their horns seemed duller and smaller than usual. They really do need to be polished, she thought. Maybe she could persuade Oliver to help. First, though, she needed her own breakfast. She was feeling a little out of sorts herself. She made some toast and sat down on the couch in the front room to cuddle with Dipity. Dipity always calmed her down. That was the kitten’s magic.

  But not today. Clover didn’t feel calm. She felt worried. Something was wrong with Dipity. The tip of his tail seemed less green. In fact, it wasn’t green at all. It was white!

  Clover leaned closer and rubbed her eyes. Then she rubbed the kitten’s tail. But the white didn’t go away. Dipity mewed plaintively.

  “Oliver!” Clover shouted. “You’d better come here—quick!”

  He arrived in the front room, out of breath, in his robes now, and holding a massive tome in one hand and a wand in the other. “I found my Wellness wand. Thank goodness I packed it. But it will take me time to—”

  “It’s not that. It’s this!” Clover pointed to Dipity’s tail. The kitten flicked it this way and that, and she struggled to hold it still. “Look.”

  “Hmm…” puzzled Oliver, peering at the white fur. “Perhaps it’s a case of transformatitis, or maybe chameleonitis.”

  “I think we should phone Dr. Nurtch,” said Clover.

  Oliver shook his head. “The kitten doesn’t seem bothered by it, and I would much prefer to look it up myself, just as soon as I’ve solved our phoenix conundrum.”

  Clover was about to argue when…BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  The loud knocks shook the Agency from top to bottom. She knew at once who it was.

  “Better go get Picnic,” she told Oliver. Before he had a chance to ask questions, Clover opened the door, tucking Dipity’s tail into the crook of her elbow, out of sight.

  It was Clover’s friends the giants, rising a little higher than the Agency’s roof.

  Prudence was wearing an enormous frilly shirt that had I ♥ PUPPIES on the front in big pink letters. Her husband, Humphrey, was holding a bone the size of Clover’s leg. It was nice to see that they were so eager about adopting Picnic. They had already filled out the paperwork, but because Picnic was still so young and such a rare animal, he couldn’t be adopted yet. Luckily, the giants were willing to wait.

  “Clover!” boomed Humphrey. “How delightful to see you. You’re looking very”—he paused and squinted through his glasses—“bright today.”

  “Have you been getting too much sun?” Prudence broke in, peering at Clover’s face too. “You should use some of my sunscreen. Humphrey, do you have that bottle?”

  “Of course, my jewel box.” Humphrey began to fiddle with his fanny pack, but Clover shook her head.

  “I’m okay. I’m not sunburned. I’m just hot. Have you come to visit Picnic?”

  “Yes; we were nearby, and we thought we’d bring him a treat.”

  “It was my idea,” said Prudence petulantly.

  “Of course it was, my bunny burrow,” said Humphrey. “And such a good one too.”

  “Yes,” agreed Clover, though she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t like to think where a bone that size had come from.

  “Where is my puppy-wuppy?” cooed Prudence. “I do hope he’s growing quickly. I will feel so much safer at night once he is guarding our beanstalk.”

  “It’s only been a week,” said Clover, “but he seems to be growing fine. He’ll be ready to start bravery training when Lulu gets back.” Lulu had helped Clover find Picnic, and she was really good with the puppy.

  “Those leprechaun families are always off chasing rainbows,” said Prudence. “So much traveling would tatter my nerves….”

  Just then, Oliver appeared in the doorway holding Picnic, the puppy’s collar bobbing in his arms. “Um, Clover, I think there’s something you should see…” he whispered. Before Oliver could explain, however, Prudence pointed to the collar and gave a happy shriek.

  “Oh, there he is! Our darling!” She bent down and opened one hand, leaving Oliver no choice but to set Picnic down on her palm, which was as large as a coffee table.

  Prudence raised Picnic up to her face. But her coo quickly turned into a gasp. “Oh my!”

  “What’s wrong, my treasure trove?” Humphrey asked. Examining Picnic, he exclaimed, “Oh dear!” He dropped the bone, and it landed with a loud thud that caused the ground to shake. “There, there. I’m sure it’s merely a trick of the light.” Humphrey rubbed his glasses on his shirt and peered at Picnic again.

  “I do hope so,” said Prudence. “Clover, what is the meaning of this?”

  “Of what?” asked Clover, confused.

  “Of this! Of these!” Prudence cried, setting Picnic back on the steps by Clover’s feet. Clover looked down. There, beside her own feet, were paws. Golden-colored paws. Picnic’s paws. They were visible!

  “We want an invisible guard dog, not a visible one!” exclaimed Prudence. “What’s the matter? Is he sick?”

  Clover stammered, “He’s…he’s…”

  “Yes, sick indeed,” Oliver interrupted, stepping forward. “I’m a magical animal expert.”

  Prudence looked at him doubtfully. “Expert? Why, you look like a boy.”

  “I am a boy—Oliver Von Hoof the Third.”

  “Oh!” gasped Prudence. “Your family has been featured many times in Magical Living magazine.”

  “Then you must know that I come from a long line of magical animal experts.” Oliver took out a wand, as if to prove his point.

  “Is that a Wellness wand?” Prudence asked, seemingly impressed.

  “Of course,” said Oliver. “Picnic will be fine in no time.”

  Clover crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief. Oliver was making things up! She opened her mouth to say so, but saw that Prudence and Humphrey had relaxed.

  “See, my flower field,” said Humphrey, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders, “there’s nothing to worry about with both Clover and an expert taking care of our puppy.” He turned to them. “We’ll leave the bone here, then?”

  “I don’t know…” started Clover.

  But Oliver broke in again, “Yes, of course.”

  Clover glared at him.

  “Do let us know when Picnic gets better,” said Prudence.

  “I will,” said Clover quickly, not wanting Oliver to have the last word. “I promise.”

  And so with a good-bye to Clover and Oliver and a wave to Picnic, the giants left, striding over the gate, leaving the bone in the middle of the front lawn, like a bad omen.

  As they disappeared into the Woods, Oliver spoke. “I’ve come to the conclusion that we must call the veterinarian.”

  “Really?” Clover replied.
“You’ve come to the conclusion? That’s what I—”

  She stopped herself, distracted by four golden paws bounding down the steps toward the gigantic bone.

  “Picnic, not now! Come here!” she cried. But Picnic was already at the bone, and Clover swore she could see a little black nose sniffing it.

  Clover and Oliver waited anxiously in the front room for the vet. Oliver pulled out his Wellness wand. “This should help,” he said, waving it vigorously over Dipity and then Picnic. But all the wand conjured was some chicken noodle soup. It didn’t seem so helpful, especially since it was too hot for soup. Who ate soup in the summer anyway? Apparently, Oliver did. He was on his third bowl when they heard a strange sound outside.

  There was a loud whooshing of wings, and bleating that sounded like a goat. Clover opened the door to an astonishing sight. It was a goat—sort of.

  Just below the Agency’s steps stood a very large, very white mountain goat with two pointed black horns and two wings that spread out above it like small fluffy clouds. It wore a saddle and a bridle, and Gump was standing beside it, holding its reins. The gnome didn’t look too happy with the situation, especially since the goat was busy nibbling the tip of his hat.

  The goat’s rider wasn’t paying this any attention. In fact, it seemed she was used to the goat’s behavior, for her clothes were nibbled and possibly her hair too. It was hard to tell about the hair, though, because it looked like a scraggly patch of moss on a rock. Actually, everything about the woman reminded Clover of a rock. Her skin was grayish, her nose large and lumpy, and her shoulders square. Was she a troll?

  Mr. Jams had never said. Clover had met all types of magical folk at the Agency, from ghosts to leprechauns. Troll or not, this was definitely the veterinarian. Around her neck was a large stethoscope, and her bag had a patch on it that read MAGICAL-ANIMAL SUPPLIES: MEDICINES, MIXTURES, AND MOXTURES. What moxtures were, Clover didn’t know.