Even and Odd

by Sarah Beth Durst

  With Odd riding Jeremy, Even on Starry, and Mom on Effervescent Spring, they joined a stream of travelers heading from the capital out to the borderlands. Even wondered if Lady Vell understood how many people her actions had affected. Would she care if she knew? Was there a point when she would have started caring?

  I cared, Even thought. And so did Odd and Jeremy.

  In the end, that had turned out to be enough.

  Everyone on the yellow brick road was smiling and joking. Some were singing. It felt like being in a parade, especially with so many creatures—winged horses, eagles with human heads, a snake with bat wings—floating above the road like balloons.

  Beneath the joy, though, all of them had the same worries: Would the gateways be open? Would they be able to go home and have home be the same as they remembered? Would they see their families again?

  As they drew closer to the borderlands, Even saw the scars from the chaos that Lady Vell had caused. The yellow brick road was torn up, with crevasses that split it like wounds. Makeshift bridges had been built across the gaps, using uprooted trees and boards from collapsed houses. One house was crushed in a crater shaped like a giant footprint.

  Clusters of tents had been set up as emergency clinics, and Even saw an array of flower fairies lying on cots, being tended to by a large spider who was using his legs to wrap petals in bandages. Mom jogged over to talk with the spider and then returned. “A hydra appeared away from its territory. It’s gone now, but it caught a flock of fairies by surprise.”

  Continuing on, they saw other evidence of disruption to the lives of those who lived along the border: trampled fields, fallen trees, scorched farmland, collapsed houses. But already there were signs of rebuilding: using tools and magic, people were fixing houses, repairing fields, and hauling trees off roads.

  With time, things would get back to normal.

  And that, Even told herself, was a good thing.

  * * *

  As they approached Lakeview, Even could tell that Jeremy was getting nervous. They couldn’t see yet if Lakeview had its lake or the unicorns’ hill. She and Odd walked next to him. “I’ll replace your soda,” she said, hoping to distract him from worrying.

  “And we can play Farmcats,” Odd said, “next time you visit.”

  Jeremy shot a look at his parents.

  “You already confessed,” Odd reminded him. “It’s a little late to worry about them overhearing.”

  “I’m hoping they’ll forget I disobeyed them,” Jeremy said.

  Even grinned. “It’s fun to be an optimist.”

  As they drew closer, she heard shrieking. Many voices, very high and off-pitch, wailed in piercing dissonance. But she smiled as she clapped her hands over her ears. Hearing mermaids—that was an excellent sign.

  Entering the town, they saw the lake: the very same lake they’d seen before, but back in its proper location. A few mermaids were splashing happily in the shallows.

  Joj the goblin waved at them from near the shore. “Got my lake back!”

  “Congratulations,” Odd said.

  He pointed at a squat brick house that was shaped like a beehive. “And my house. See?”

  “And the mermaids?” Even asked, even though she could hear them. “Are they all okay?”

  “It was a close call,” Joj said. “But they’re back where they belong, and the salmon are running in the river. Everything’s okay. I . . . I am sorry I had to leave.”

  He’d done what he’d thought was best. They all had. “I’m glad you’re back where you want to be,” Even said.

  Watching the mermaids play in the lake, she smiled as they shrieked to one another. We really did it, Even thought. We fixed things. She hadn’t needed any special wizard medallion or training to be a hero. She hadn’t had to wait until she was eighteen. She’d been able to make a difference as she was, right now.

  “Wait here.” Joj disappeared into his beehive house and re-emerged with a basket piled high with pastries and fruits. He shoved it at Mom and mumbled, “As thanks for all your family did.”

  “Thank you,” Mom said. “We can repay you—”

  “Already paid in full,” Joj said. “Now scat. It’s your turn to find your home.”

  * * *

  It was evening by the time they reached the unicorns’ hill in its proper location. Whinnying in delight, Jeremy raced up the slope. He frolicked in the blanket of flowers, and the other unicorns reared back and then laughed.

  Coming up the slope on foot, Even, Odd, and Mom were welcomed by the entire herd. “Consider yourself part of our family,” Starry Delight told them. “Visit anytime.”

  “Thank you,” Mom said. “You are always welcome to visit us as well.”

  And then it was time to go home.

  Odd took the lead at a run, and Even and Mom chased after her. The first stars were beginning to appear as they hurried back to the yellow brick road and around Unicorn Hill, toward the wall of mist that marked the border.

  Even saw the gateway first: golden and glowing in the murky whiteness.

  She slowed and looked back at the world around her, enveloped in evening shadows. The grass and flowers in the meadow were gray in the dusk, but it was all still so beautiful. “I’ll come back,” she whispered aloud.

  Odd shouted, “Mom! It’s here!”

  “Hold hands,” Mom instructed. She held out both her hands. Even took one and Odd the other. They didn’t hesitate. Together, they walked between worlds.

  * * *

  They emerged in the employee parking lot behind the bagel store. Even immediately smelled the warm sweetness of just-baked bagels, the hint of car exhaust, and the sickly stench of the dumpster. Happily, it didn’t smell quite as ripe as it had when she’d worn a skunk’s nose.

  “Home!” Odd cried.

  Rushing to the back door of the bagel shop, Even flung it open. Light flooded into the parking lot. “Mr. Fratelli? It’s Even Berry. Are you baking?”

  “Hello, my dear!” a voice floated back. “It’s a miracle! The gateway is back! I got word from my daughter—all is well!”

  Inside, Even saw bagel dough twisting itself into circles in midair and powdered sugar falling like snow. With a cheerful smile on his face, Mr. Fratelli bustled toward them. He kissed Mom on each cheek and then pressed a bag of bagels into her arms. “French toast for your girls!” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fratelli,” Mom said. “Glad to see you back in business.”

  He patted Even on the head. “You, my dear, look much better as yourself than as a skunk.”

  “You saw?” Even asked. “You knew?”

  “I saw you on the shop’s surveillance cameras. You were so brave, going through the gateway! Do you know why our magic left and why it came back? Is it here to stay?”

  “We believe it is,” Mom said.

  A familiar but less-welcome voice said, “As soon as my order is complete, I will be underway, never to return.” The elf priestess rose from her seat beyond the counter. She still wore her ornate robe, but her pink hair had unraveled from its many jewels. A few of the flowers in her hair had wilted.

  “I’d thought you’d be in a hurry to get home,” Even said. “Doesn’t your daughter have her ceremony?”

  “I have missed it already,” the elf said stiffly. “Just as you have missed your exam.”

  That stung, of course, but Even wasn’t going to let the elf priestess see that. “There are some things that matter more.”

  Mom laid her hand on Even’s shoulder. “We are going to appeal to the Academy of Magic for an alternate date, since they were in no position to administer the test on the required day.”

  The elf sniffed in obvious disapproval, but Even didn’t care. She smiled at her mother. Mom thought she was ready. That mattered a lot more than the opinion of a snooty elf priestess.

  “Safe travels,” Mom told the elf. They thanked Mr. Fratelli for the bagels, and Mom drove them home. Leaning against the car window, Even looked
out at their normal, familiar town, without a single mermaid, hydra, or flower fairy, and was happy to be back.

  Mom pulled into their driveway. All the lights were on, as were the lights in the fairies’ house. They rushed out of the car and toward the shop.

  “Dad!” they shouted.

  He burst outside, his arms wide, his hair wild, as if he hadn’t washed or brushed it in days, and his smile was so big that he looked as if he was about to cry. Even and Odd ran into his arms at the same time. Mom came up behind them and plopped a kiss on Dad’s lips.

  “Is everything back to normal here?” Mom asked.

  “Everything is perfect, now that you’re all back,” Dad said. “I was beyond worried.” He hugged them tighter, and a few tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

  “We’re sorry, Dad,” Odd said.

  “I’m sorry,” Even said. “It was my fault.”

  “It was both our faults,” Odd said. “We went together.” She squeezed Even’s hand.

  Mom stepped in. “And they saved the day together. Even and Odd discovered the cause of all the problems with the border, and they were the ones who resolved it. Come on, let’s go in. We have a lot to tell you!”

  They went inside, through the shop, and into the kitchen. Dad had cleaned the pancake batter from the counter and floor, but there was an open box of Lucky Charms cereal on the table, empty, and no sign that Dad had been eating anything else while they were gone. He’s really been worried, Even thought. Dad usually loved to cook and eat. He happily took the bag of bagels from Mom.

  “French-toast-bagel dessert?” Even suggested.

  “Sounds magical,” Odd said.

  Even grinned at her, and Odd grinned back.

  Using her magic, Even flew the bagels out of their bag, while Odd, by hand, set plates on the table. Dad fetched cream cheese and jelly from the fridge. Mom made calls, letting neighbors know that the gateway was operational and would stay that way—the Academy of Magic was watching now. Also the unicorns.

  Lots of people will be watching, Even thought.

  If enough people and creatures stayed alert and didn’t just rely on the Academy or a hero or someone else to do the right thing, then the border would never close again. Even could have both worlds.

  Two homes, she thought as she spread cream cheese on her bagel.

  Two homes and one family.

  She liked the sound of that.

  Laughing together, they told stories about their adventures late into the night.

  * * *

  The next day, an odd day, Even woke in her own bed, and for the first time ever, she didn’t mind so much not having magic. After all, she had defeated Lady Vell on a magicless day. She knew she’d remember that moment for the rest of her life, no matter what kind of day it was.

  She sat up.

  Without warning, she felt her skin tingle and fur sprout. Glancing across the room, she saw Odd already awake and, to Even’s surprise, floating a few feet above her bed. Odd’s forehead was crinkled in concentration. Even felt a skunk tail unfurl from her rear. She waved it delightedly in the air. “You’re practicing!” Even said.

  “Thought I should start doing that more.”

  “You . . . don’t mind still having magic? And still sharing magic? I had to choose. For both of us. I’m sorry—there wasn’t time to ask you.”

  “I know,” Odd said as she sank onto her pillow. “Look, I still don’t like having to worry about my magic bursting out at the wrong moment, but it’s worth it to have helped all those families.” She grinned. “And it’s not so terrible to have to practice.”

  Even grinned back.

  “Right now I’m going to practice turning you into yourself again.”

  “That’s all right,” Even said, hopping down from the bed. She twisted, examining her fur from all angles. “I kind of think it suits me, at least once in a while.”

  Odd’s grin turned sly. “Does this mean you’ve decided you’d rather be a talking-animal sidekick than a hero?”

  “It means I’m already a hero,” Even said. “And a talking-animal sidekick.” She trotted out of the room with her tail held high. “How about breakfast? I’m in the mood for pancakes.”

  Acknowledgments

  Every night, I used to check the back of my closet for a doorway to a magic world. Every birthday, I’d wish for a magic wand. Every summer, I’d search the woods behind our house for a dragon’s egg or a stray unicorn. But I never found one.

  When I was ten years old, I decided that if I couldn’t find magic, then I’d simply have to make it.

  I started to write.

  Even and Odd is my twenty-third book. It’s inspired by a childhood spent searching for wizards and unicorns. When I sat down to write Even and Odd, I had one goal in mind: write a story filled with as much magic as I could pour into it. It’s for anyone who has ever checked the back of their closet for a portal, picked up a stick and pretended it was a wand, or imagined what it would be like to walk on four paws.

  And it wouldn’t exist without a whole slew of magical people behind it. Thank you to my phenomenal editor, Anne Hoppe, and my amazing agent, Andrea Somberg, as well as Amanda Acevedo, Lisa DiSarro, Candice Finn, Eleanor Hinkle, Catherine Onder, Sharismar Rodriguez, Opal Roengchai, Jackie Sassa, Helen Seachrist, John Sellers, Tara Shanahan, Karen Sherman, Dinah Stevenson, Kaitlin Yang, and all the other awesome people at Clarion Books and Houghton Mifflin Harcourt for bringing this story to life! And a special thank you to the incredible Brandon Dorman for the fantastic cover art!

  Much love and many thanks to my husband, my children, and all my family and friends. You add magic to my life—and to the world—every day.

   Chapter 1

  “NO KITTEN IS THAT SMALL,” the text from Harrison read.

  Zoe texted back, “Smaller than my hand.” She crouched next to the tiny ball of fluff. Shivering, it had wedged itself between the trash can and the garage door. Zoe had spotted it when she’d dumped a bag of crumpled wrapping paper and used party plates into the can.

  She cooed at the kitten, “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. You’ll be all right.” Checking around the garage, she searched for a mother cat or any other kittens, but didn’t see anything. She heard the chirp of crickets, cars on a distant highway, and the hum of her family’s voices through the open window of the brightly lit kitchen. But no meows.

  Her phone binged with a one-word text: “Photoshop.”

  “If Photoshop,” Zoe typed, “kitten would be riding a velociraptor.”

  Bing. “Sweet.” Then: “Still Photoshop.”

  “Come see.”

  “Busy.”

  She sent him an eye-roll emoji. He wasn’t busy. She knew for a fact that he was camping in his backyard, next to her own, and that he was most likely “busy” separating the raisins from the M&M’s in a bag of trail mix. Laying her hand flat, palm up, she waited as the kitten stuck out its little pink nose and sniffed her fingers. Zoe whispered, “Let me help you.”

  The kitten crept forward into the light from the garage, and Zoe decided to think of it as a she, because the fuzz above her eyes looked like a cartoon cat’s eyelashes. She was trembling, which made her orange, black, and tan fur quiver all over. Her ears were flattened, and her tail was tucked between her hind legs. She looked so miserable and so hopeful at the same time that Zoe felt her heart melt. Poor little thing, she thought. “I can’t keep you,” Zoe warned. “My parents said no more animals in the house, not after the mix-up with the skunk.”

  “Mew?” the kitten said.

  “Long story,” Zoe said. “Tonight you’ll be my secret, and tomorrow I’ll help you find someone who can take care of you.”

  She stayed still while the kitten sniffed her hand some more. Her nose and whiskers tickled, but Zoe didn’t laugh. Gingerly, the kitten placed one paw on Zoe’s palm. “You can trust me,” Zoe whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay. Promise.”

  Cupping her other hand b
ehind the kitten, Zoe scooted her fully onto her palm. She really is smaller than my hand, Zoe thought. She stood, cradling the kitten close. The kitten tensed and then relaxed as Zoe carried her inside.

  Zoe heard the clink of glasses being loaded into the dishwasher in the kitchen as her parents and brother cleaned up from her birthday party. Her cousins, aunts, and uncles had all swarmed to their house for the usual hamburger, hot dog, and cake celebration and had left after Zoe opened her presents. Zoe was supposed to be in the kitchen, helping to clean. She tiptoed past and up the stairs to her bedroom.

  Tucking the kitten against her with one hand, she used her other hand to drag a cardboard box from her closet, dump out her old rock collection, and line the box with a sweater. Lowering the kitten inside, Zoe told her, “Wait right here.”

  “Mew?”

  The kitten looked up with such wide eyes that Zoe didn’t want to leave her. She’d never had anything look at her with so much instant adoration. Certainly the box turtle—one of her last rescues prior to her parents saying no more—hadn’t cared. “One minute,” Zoe promised.

  She hurried downstairs and into the kitchen. “Just thirsty!” she sang as she fetched the half-finished carton of milk from the refrigerator. She also plucked a bowl of mostly eaten popcorn off the counter. “And hungry!”

  “Fine, but that’s it!” Mom called after her. “You’ve had enough snacks for one day.”

  “Besides, you have to leave room for leftover cake!” Dad added.

  Zoe’s older brother, Alex, cheered from the sink. “Second cake!”

  It was a family tradition: second cake after the relatives had left. You ate a wedge with all the cousins, and then afterward, once cleanup was done, you could have whatever part of the leftover cake you wanted: just the frosting or just the innards or all the icing roses from on top . . . Zoe was not going to miss that. Those roses are mine, she thought.

  “Don’t you think she’s getting a little old for second cake?” Mom said to Dad.