“Yup.” The boy raised his eyebrows. “So, I suppose you can guess why we’re here?”
“I can, but why don’t you tell me, Bobblehead, because—”
“It’s just Bob. Bob Bibbetty, at your service.” The boy stood and brushed off his pants, then held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Apollonia Bramblewood. Auntie has told me all about the Bramblewood family.”
“Hi. It’s just Apple. Nice to meet you, too.” I cleared my throat and finished my interrupted sentence. “But you can’t have my dragon, Bob.”
“Don’t worry about your dragon. Rose has a big ranch in Colorado. Your new baby will do fine there with the other dragons as playmates. Of course, eventually we’ll have to neutralize their power by clipping their wings, declawing, and deflaminating them—that’s a word I made up, by the way. We only do this to keep them—and the human population—safe.”
Watermelon, fully awake now, cocked his head and blinked his big yellow eyes. He yawned, and hot steam poured from his throat. I hugged his neck, and the dragon purred like a small engine.
“I won’t let you take him.”
“We must. Plus, you won’t be able to hide him for long. Auntie will smell him out wherever he is. And there will be consequences. Let me have him now, without a fuss, and…” Bob leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll smuggle you onto the ranch for visits.”
I felt hapless, hopeless, helpless. As valiantly as I tried, I couldn’t stop the tears from coming, or the hiccups, or the runny nose. Bob was right. Aunt Rose would track me to the ends of the Earth, or farther, and Wanda would be on her side.
Bob gently pulled the leash from my fingers. “He will be fine, I promise.” Then he stood Watermelon on his feet, and directed the most extraordinary sounds at him. Something between the hiss of a snake and the gobble of a turkey. Watermelon nodded and flapped his wings.
My jaw dropped. “You speak Dragon?”
“Dragon-lite, actually. A form of Creature. Amazing, isn’t it? My only special talent, and the single reason Auntie keeps me around.”
I was impressed. I remembered how I’d bound the dragon to me with a hair dropped into his formula, and decided now that it had been a selfish thing to do. “Ask him if—no, never mind. He won’t go willingly. He’ll want to stay with me.”
Bob rubbed his chin. “If that’s the case, we’ll just have to take you with us.”
My pulse raced. “What do you mean?”
“Come out to the ranch and make sure he gets settled properly. Auntie won’t mind. Oh, she’ll grumble, but that’s mainly for show. Your parents will let you, won’t they?”
I pursed my lips and looked at the sky. The idea began to sprout like a wild weed in my mind. I was going to lose, that was a given. My heart belonged to Watermelon, but I had to admit it had been a childish fantasy to think that I could keep and care for a fire-breathing dragon. Maybe Bob’s idea wasn’t such a bad notion. If Watermelon were in a place with friends, where he’d always be safe, and as long as I could visit him ANY time, I might agree.
“I’ll think about it…but he’ll always be mine!” I wailed.
“No one can legally own a dragon,” Bob reminded me.
That was cold! And yet, Bob Bibbetty had offered me a deal—a better one than I’d get from Aunt Rose. I’d be stupid to refuse.
“All right. But do it quick. Before I change my mind.”
“You’re making the right decision.”
He wouldn’t think so if he were a new parent.
Bob whispered again in Watermelon’s ears, lifted him into his arms, and headed for the house. I followed, stroking his floppy, spiked tail as Bob and Watermelon gurgled at each other companionably.
Suddenly an eardrum-bursting siren came from the direction of the house. I clapped my hands over my ears in pain. “Wailing wyverns! Make it stop! What is that awful racket?”
A frantic Watermelon convulsed in Bob’s arms. His wings flapped, his claws scraped the air, his nostrils flamed. A yowl of horror steamed from his throat.
“Dang blast it! Auntie’s blowing the Dragon Horn!” Bob struggled to hold on to the hysterical baby dragon. With a mighty thrust of its hind legs, Watermelon pushed off Bob and sailed into the air. He flew unsteadily, crashing into trees and fence posts, before finally hitting the ground, then tumbled like a great green boulder, smashing through the doors of my father’s workshop.
“Oh, no! Not there!” Veins throbbed at my temples as I sprinted after the green whirling ball, patting my pockets for Wanda. “Can’t you stop him, Bob? He mustn’t go in there!”
Bob, bleeding from scratches on his head and arms, brought up the rear. “He broke my dang-blasted wand!”
My eyes stung as I stood in the doorway and realized I’d left my wand in the woods. I watched Watermelon flop about, smashing my father’s precious equipment. My happiness flopped with him. Messing with Dad’s stuff was an unpardonable offense in the Bramblewood family. Worse, a loss of faith and trust.
When the dragon headed for a shrouded, booth-shaped object—Grizzwald Bramblewood’s latest, most super-secret invention—I lunged forward. “No, Watermelon! No! Not that, please!”
I tried to think of a paralyzing spell, but my brain wouldn’t jump-start. And when it happened, it happened too fast. One minute the dragon was tripping over the tarp, and the next, crashing through a glass-fronted cubicle. In less time than it took to blink, he was gone.
Really, really gone. Vanished.
I crumpled to the floor, holding my aching stomach, and groaned.
CHAPTER SIX
“Mother! Father! Please don’t let this dragon incident spoil my party,” Cornelia begged. Everyone had gathered to discuss the dilemma of the vanished dragon. “It’s not fair. All my friends are coming. My sweet sixteen birthday party, the most important day of my life, has been planned for weeks.”
Magdella twisted her hands and paced from left to right. “Having Ordinaries around during a time like this is too risky.”
Grizzwald tugged his ear, pacing right to left. “Better to postpone.”
Aunt Rose stalked diagonally, muttering. “Postpone? Cancel, man. Cancel. Bramblewoods have no business mixing with Ordinaries anyway. I blame you, Bobbin-breath.”
“W-what?”
Aunt Rose turned on her heel. “You can’t make deals with teenybopper witches. Your job was to slap the specimen in a cage and get the heck out of here.”
I hiccupped uncontrollably and looked at Bob Bibbetty sitting morosely at the opposite end of the sofa. He held his head and cleared his throat.
“Um, pardon me for mentioning it, Your Witchiness, but you blew the Dragon Horn. I’ve tried to tell you, the little dragons can’t stand that sound. They think it’s a sign of danger.”
I held my breath. Bob was a lot braver than he looked.
Aunt Rose came to a standstill. Magdella and Grizzwald almost collided into her. “In past centuries, that very Dragon Horn was used to call the mighty dragons home to roost, my upstart apprentice.”
Bob shook his head. “Today’s little dragons don’t know that.”
Grizzwald put up his hand. “Stop blaming each other, folks. It’s my fault—all mine. If only I hadn’t built, or tried to build, that claptrap invention, you’d have your little renegade under lock and key.”
Under lock and key? Renegade? I swallowed hard. It hurt to hear my dad say such uncaring things about my dragon. “Just tell us what happened, Father.” I said stiffly. “Where did he go? And what is that clap—um…invention?”
The room went deathly silent. Grizzwald slumped into a chair. “It’s a time machine.”
Shock and surprise showed on every face.
“A time machine?” Everyone spoke at once.
Aunt Rose turned magenta. “Fool!”
“Whatever were you thinking, Grizzie?” Magdella frowned.
Corny put her hands on her hips. “Pop! You can’t mess around with time! You could have created a rift in the
space-time continuum, possibly bringing the universe as we know it to a crashing end!”
“Wa-ay cool, Mr. Bramblewood.” Bob Bibbetty grinned from pink ear to pink ear. “Can I try it sometime?”
I had to shout over all the voices. “Where did Watermelon go? Into the future? Into the past? Into the void of space? How can we get him back?” My urgent questions echoed in the sudden silence.
My father bowed his head. “There’s no way to tell. The damaged machine has gone completely berserk. Out of my control. The dragon could be anywhere.”
“And good riddance! Having him here would absolutely ruin my birthday party,” Cornelia said.
Mother gave her a quizzical look. “What happened to the end of the world as we know it?”
Corny tossed her head. “Well, I was speaking metaphysically, of course. Clearly, the world hasn’t ended, and the beastly dragon is still gone.”
Corny wasn’t usually so irritable. I glanced at Bob. His eyes glowed like twin headlights as he stared at her. How predictable—he was smitten. Poor, sorry guy. Bob Bibbetty wasn’t even a blip on Corny’s radar.
“We’ll see about the party arrangements later,” said Magdella firmly. “We have more important things to discuss over lunch today.”
“May I be excused?” I felt like I might be sick. I didn’t want to hear how Watermelon should be kept in a cage, or listen to Aunt Rose carry on about incompetence, or hear Corny wail about her stupid party. I wanted some peace and quiet so I could think.
I leaned over and clutched my stomach.
“Oh, grow up,” snapped Corny as she headed for the kitchen.
Bob leapt to his feet and rushed to open the door. Corny glowered.
The way Bob Bibbetty dogged her every move didn’t do much for her disposition (meaning—white hot temper). Poor Bob, I thought. Falling in love with Corny was a progressive disease; it only got worse with time. I’d seen stronger specimens fall and wither at my sister’s feet.
My admiration for Bob’s common sense was beginning to falter.
Mother looked at me with concern. “Should I call Dr. DeCharmer?”
Oh God! That snapped me out of it. “No, I think I can eat a little something.”
Aunt Rose, after complaining and grumbling all through lunch about the “irresponsible loss of a member of a priceless species,” announced her immediate return to SPAS headquarters, leaving Bob behind to monitor any new developments. He readily agreed.
Dear Journal,
Watermelon is gone and I miss him. I’ve always wished for a cute little dragon to share my adventures, but now he’s gone and there’s nothing I can do about it. That’s the worst part of it—there’s nothing anyone can do!
So if there are a few wet smudges here and there on the pages of my journal—they’re from the tears I shed thinking about my baby’s soft, pink belly and big sad eyes.
Be safe, Watermelon, be safe.
In the days to come, my father spent long hours at his workbench, head in hand, flipping through notes he’d made about his invention. “Did it work, or not?” he kept asking himself.
I rocked in the porch swing (risking splinters in my bare toes) and wondered what I could do besides sit and stew. The mysterious disappearance of Watermelon consumed my every waking thought. Mom rescheduled the test I was supposed to take that week for admittance to the Ordinary school. Her reason? Mental distraction and turmoil.
Okay, mental distraction, maybe, but the “turmoil” came from Cornelia’s frantic preparations for her party. Mother had relented, as I knew she would. But she held Cornelia to her word and expected her to do all the hard work. My mother and father busied themselves studying the properties of time and making sure no trace of magical activity could be detected in the house or yard.
Cornelia planned a barbeque with games and music and croquet on the lawn. At the moment, we didn’t have a lawn. The countryside around Bramblewood Heights on Trickle Creek stayed fairly wild, dry, and woodsy from season to season. The minute Aunt Rose left, Corny conjured up a rototiller and got to work. Actually, Bob got right to work, happy to accommodate his bien-aimée. With a pinch of extra magic in the Magic Grow, green blades shot up by the second day.
Corny zapped a string of Japanese paper lanterns from tree to tree, and tasked me with making origami favors. I sat at the redwood picnic table, twisting and folding delicate rice paper squares until I had a basketful. Funny how they all looked like baby dragons. I held one in the palm of my hand. All it needed was a gentle toss, a nod at Wanda, and voilà, it flapped its paper wings and started soaring. Soon, all the paper dragons swarmed around the yard.
One smacked into Corny’s forehead. I laughed for the first time since the debacle.
“Hey! These are supposed to be cranes!” my sister complained. “They’re the Japanese symbol of good fortune and longevity!” She sat on her heels to stare at me. “Apollonia Louise Bramblewood, stop fooling around. Making the origami is your only job. It’s not as if I asked you to build a barbeque or anything.” She brushed a sweaty lock of golden hair off her face and continued stacking bricks for the barbeque she was building. With the help of Bob Bibbetty, of course.
She grumbled. “Why is Pop so unbending about using magic for these mundane chores?” She grumbled AND groused, “Other wizards’ offspring aren’t so oppressed. I could have snapped my fingers and created all the party decorations, not to mention a barbeque, in an instant, without breaking a sweat!”
Our mother looked up from her book, It’s About Time, and adjusted her reading glasses. “Your father expects you to recognize the great gift of magic you were born into. You didn’t earn it. When you learn to live without it, as billions of Ordinaries do, you’ll appreciate it more and hold your talent close to your heart. It’s for your own good, too. Soon you will leave our protection and make your way in that other world, the world of the Ordinaries. Most of them don’t notice the magic, but a few are more observant—those are the one who must never see you use it. And I think you are a smart enough witch to know the reason for that.”
I listened to Mother’s lecture with only half my attention. I’d heard it before. I asked Wanda (who’d been unusually agreeable of late) to become a butterfly net, and we amused ourselves by leaping around the yard chasing origami dragons. When we caught them all, I started fresh, a little sadly, for despite my reputation as an airhead, I just happened to know that the dragon was the symbol of strength, courage, and magic in Japan and many other cultures. I slipped the last paper dragon into my pocket.
The day before the party, Magdella strolled around the yard, impressed. “Unusual occurrences often upset the delicate balance between the normal and the extraordinary. Cornelia, you resourceful girl, I didn’t think you could, or should, put on a party while we’re so befuddled by the mystery of the missing dragon. I’m still not sure it’s a great idea, but you, my sweet, have earned the privilege, and it is your one and only coming of age birthday.”
Corny had the grace to look humble for a moment. She threw her arms around Mother’s neck. “Thanks, Mom. Do you think I can talk Pop into barbequing for us?”
That night, Cornelia sat on the edge of my bed and put a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, App, I’ll be honest—I’m not comfortable letting you come to my party.”
“What?” I stiffened, and tiny hairs rose on my arms.
“Wait, wait, let me finish. It’s not because you’re not presentable, you’re actually rather cute…”
I stared. My eyebrows rose. Corny was seldom generous with compliments. She wanted something.
“And you’re not half as bad as some of my friends’ younger brothers and sisters. It’s just…”
Here it comes. I braced.
“You haven’t been around Ordinary people much. You don’t know how to control your magic. You might accidentally slip up and blow our cover.”
I closed my eyes and ground my teeth. How typical of Corny. She knew most wizard kids my age were more accomplish
ed at magic than I was. More capable of acting “normal.” Less embarrassing to their older sisters. But I was learning. Even Wanda noticed!
“Are you banning me?”
“No, of course not! Besides, Mother wouldn’t let me. I just want you to watch what you say and do and, um, lock Wanda away.”
“That’s it? No Wanda, and I can come?”
“Yes. With a few provisos…”
I lowered my brows. Here we go. My sister meant “conditions, stipulations and requirements.”
Corny ticked them off on her fingers: “Don’t hang with my friends. Don’t horn in on any games. Don’t make any weird comments, and…”
“Don’t have any fun?”
Corny dropped her chin to her chest and sighed. “And please keep Bibbetty Bobbetty or whatever his name is occupied.”
I stomped to the window that my father had magically fixed. No one would ever guess it had been dragon-smashed into a thousand pieces. The yard below looked quite lovely in the moonlight. Nice mowed grass, swinging lanterns, and a spanking new barbeque. In one corner Corny had set up a stage for the band, and covered speakers were placed around the yard. At the other end, three picnic tables were lined up, end-to-end, waiting to be decorated.
“Do I get cake?”
“Of course.”
“What kind?”
“Chocolate fudge. Three layers.”
I scratched my chin. “I guess I’ll agree to your insulting terms. Because it’s your birthday and I want cake.” Furthermore, I told myself, I’d be willing to bet that Bob Bibbetty was way more entertaining than any of her stupid old friends.
Journal, tomorrow is Cornelia’s birthday—the magical age of maturity for a wizard. My turn is a long way off. It occurs to me more and more often that one of the reasons I’m so behind for my age is the way my parents, and even Corny, baby me. They’ve wrapped me in cotton padding and shoved a pacifier in my mouth (so to speak) all my life. It’s as if they’re already sure I’ll mess up without their protection.
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