“Will he start flying?” asked Clover, looking at his delicate wings. They seemed so thin and frail, all folded up on his back. It was hard to imagine them lifting him into the air.
“Yes, though pet dragons don’t fly much. Their wings never grow too big. Wild dragons are a different matter. Their wings can grow to the length of these stables when spread out fully. Go ahead,” continued Mr. Jams. “Give his scales a scratch. He likes it.”
She was just about to when …
Just her luck. A piece of hay from feeding Moondrop had stuck to her sleeve and now it came loose—right as Snort took in a deep breath. He inhaled it.
His nostrils flared.
“Oh no!” cried Clover. “Duck!”
She and Mr. Jams threw themselves onto the ground.
A giant flame burst out of Snort’s nostrils and whizzed over their heads, scorching the brick wall above the door.
“Holy buckets, that was close,” Mr. Jams said as they cautiously stood up and backed out. Mr. Jams closed the door and latched it.
“I told you I was unlucky,” said Clover apologetically.
“It has nothing to do with you. Snort is a fire hazard. That’s all there is to it. You were as quick as a pixie. That’s just the kind of instincts a good volunteer needs.”
But Clover wasn’t so sure.
“Now, let’s get to work,” said Mr. Jams. “I have a lot more to show you.”
Clover nodded. Before following Mr. Jams, she glanced back at Snort through the window.
He was curled up in a ball again, with his tail covering his snout. Clover understood how he felt.
It wasn’t fun to be unable to control what you did. Not one bit.
5
The Note
At the end of the first day, Mr. Jams swore her to secrecy again. When she got home, she was surprised to find both her parents there, and she was immediately tempted to break the promise. After all, so much had happened. But she didn’t. Instead, at supper, when they asked about her day, she told them she was volunteering at an animal adoption agency and it was fun, and nothing more. Not a lie, but not the full truth either.
“Oh, Clover, that’s wonderful. We’re so proud of you,” her mom said. “See, if you’re plucky, you’ll be lucky. Good things do happen to you. Clover is a lucky name.”
“But what about …” started Clover, but then paused. There were so many things she could list.
“I know,” said her mom softly. “Penny, right? Poor Penny. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I have the Agency’s pets to play with now,” said Clover, thinking, Dragons and unicorns and fairy horses, but she didn’t say this aloud. She doubted they would believe her even if she did.
“So you do,” said her dad. “Why, I remember my first job. My sister and I had a lemonade stand—I was in charge of all our signs and posters.”
“I had to design a poster today at work,” said her mom, “and pamphlets too….”
And so began another supper talking about work. Clover was grateful that her parents didn’t ask any other questions about the Agency. It was one good thing about having parents obsessed with their work. And now she wondered if maybe she had inherited their trait, since all she could think about was work too. Although the Agency wasn’t really work. It was too much fun.
That night, instead of magicians’ pets, Clover dreamed of the amazing animals she had seen at the Agency—the toad and the fairy horses, the salamanders and the unicorns, and the dragon. She even dreamed of the little white kitten.
She dreamed of all the things she had done with Mr. Jams—feeding and cleaning, and sorting the papers.
And in her dream, everyone, even the animals, ate cinnamon toast.
The next morning, Clover woke up right as the sun was rising. With a sandwich in one pocket and a bunch of fresh carrots for Moondrop in the other, she headed to the Agency. She soon realized she was walking with a bounce in her step. Immediately she corrected this. There was no point getting too happy. Something was bound to go wrong.
And indeed, when she reached the Agency door, it was locked. The ENTER sign was turned to CLOSED (EVEN FOR ROYALTY!). The garden gnome, which she’d previously seen by the gate, was now standing beside the door. Under his foot was an envelope.
She pulled it out. On the front, in swirly handwriting, was her name:
Quickly, she tore it open.
Dear Clover,
I have been called away on an extremely important rescue mission. I would usually have my cousin look after the Agency, but he’s unavailable. Luckily, there’s you. I hate to leave you on your own so soon, but I have every confidence that you will be able to look after the Agency in my absence.
I will return the day after tomorrow. There are plenty of supplies.
I forgot to mention to you that Esmeralda the toad needs a vitamin pill every day. Curses can be very draining. The pills are kept in a large purple bottle on the shelf under her tank. Also, Coco the unicorn is allergic to sugar beets. Make sure she doesn’t come in contact with the sugar beet biscuits.
In all other matters, simply do as I showed you yesterday. There is a copy of the feeding schedule in the kitchen cupboard beside the cauldron. I’ve cleaned all the cages and stables, but you will need to change the hay in the unicorns’ stables every day. Snort burns up all his messes. The adoption papers are in the third drawer. They should be easy to understand. Just make sure that all the boxes are filled in. You can help yourself to tea and cinnamon toast.
Please find the key inside this envelope.
Lock up when it is time for you to go home. The gnome will guard the Agency at night. He sleeps during the day.
The animals are counting on you.
—Mr. Jams
P.S.—Remember: be wary of princesses, knights, and witches; they can be both good and bad.
P.P.S.—If an animal falls ill, phone Dr. Nurtch.
She’s a magical-animal vet. The number is in the jam jar on the desk.
Clover’s heart sank. She shook her head. I can’t look after the Agency all by myself.
She looked down at the garden gnome. His eyes, open before, were now closed. If Clover hadn’t just seen it, she would never have thought he was alive. He looked just like one of the clay gnomes in her neighbor’s yard. She wondered briefly if they were alive too.
There was no one else around.
“The animals are probably hungry for their breakfasts, right?” she asked him.
He didn’t answer.
“Why can’t you just look after them?”
At this the gnome’s eyes blinked open. He stared at her hard.
She gulped. “I guess you would be too tired, looking after the Agency all night and then all day too?”
The gnome said nothing.
“But I only just came here. I barely know anything. And plus, Mr. Jams knows I’m unlucky! I told him.”
The gnome seemed to stare at her harder.
She thought of all the animals inside. Skinny Moondrop, Snort with his fire problem, Esmeralda and her curse. Being unlucky was something she shared with them. They were worse off, really, because they needed looking after. And she was the only one there, the only one who could.
She took a deep breath. “Well, it is only for two days,” she said. “Maybe everything will be okay.”
The gnome’s clay mustache rose up in a smile.
It made Clover feel good. “Two days. I can do it.”
She looked back at the gnome. But his eyes were shut again, and when she leaned close to him she thought she heard a faint grunting, like snoring. He was already asleep.
Clover took the key from the envelope. It was really fancy with sharp, pointy teeth and, upon closer examination, looked as if it had been carved from an animal’s tooth. Probably a magical animal’s, thought Clover, though it looked too small to be a dragon’s. After opening the front door and letting herself in, she used the string from the bunch of carrots to tie the key around her wrist.
After all, it would be just her luck to lose it.
Then she hurried to the back to greet the animals and begin the day.
Of course, it wasn’t easy.
Even though she had paid close attention yesterday,there was lots to remember. Thank goodness Mr. Jams was well organized.
Each of the doors of the refrigerator was labeled. The biggest door read LARGE MEALS, the medium-sized door SNACKS, and the smallest door MISCELLANEOUS. She opened the biggest door to find the dragon’s food, already portioned out in bags. Behind the snacks door were big bags of rosy apples and small ones of baby bean sprouts. There was a jar of squashed flies in there too, for Esmeralda, with a pair of tweezers inside and a note that said, Maximum fourteen a day.
Behind the miscellaneous door was food Mr. Jams hadn’t explained to her. A bag that said “Slew Guts,” a jar of “Friggles,” and a box of “Panadalls.” I wonder what kinds of animals eat these, thought Clover.
In the big cupboard were the special oats to make mush to feed the unicorns and the fairy horses. There was a label on each colorful bin saying how many scoops to mix together with water. The fairy horses only took one pellet of each, dry, and there was a tin of sugar cubes for them too. The small cupboard was full of jars of jam and honey, cinnamon and sugar, a loaf of bread, and a box of tea. These were clearly for Mr. Jams.
Of course, the one food Clover couldn’t find was the salamanders’. And of all the foods to forget, this was the worst, because Mr. Jams said they absolutely HAD to eat first thing in the morning because they burned up a lot of energy.
Just my luck, she thought. Then she took a deep breath and tried to think logically. They were fire salamanders, so maybe they needed spicy food, like hot sauce or hot peppers. Her mom kept their hot peppers hanging up in their pantry, where it was cool and dark. Clover checked the back of the kitchen. There, on a shelf, was a row of jars of crushed peppers, with gloves hanging from a peg. Fire Salamander food—one pepper each. Extra spicy. Use the gloves.
She was right! Relieved, she got to work.
It took Clover much longer to get the food for the animals ready without Mr. Jams, especially since she accidentally dumped a pail of oats all over the floor. She couldn’t find a dustpan to clean up the grain, so she had to do it with her hands. But she made sure to get every bit. Feeding the animals took her almost until lunchtime because she stopped to read the cards on all the unicorns’ stalls. Most of their names made her cringe. Sugar-plumsy-Wumsy, Cuddly-Wuddly Coco, Tootsie-Wootsie Wugums … Mr. Jams had written simpler ones underneath (Plum, Coco, and Tootsie), which Clover used as she filled their buckets with the mush and rubbed their noses.
She had just finished washing the feeding bowls when the bell in the front room rang.
Clover froze.
“Hello? Hellooo!? Anyone there?” demanded a high-pitched voice.
6
Moondrop’s Mishap
Clover hurried out to the front room. There, tapping her fingers on the front desk, stood a princess. Or, at least, Clover thought she must be a princess because of the way she was dressed.
The woman wore a bright pink dress that reminded Clover of a giant bell. It was cinched around her plump waist with a thin silver belt. Her hands were covered by long pink leather gloves that stretched up above her elbows. In one hand she clutched a purse made of the same pink leather. A tall, pointed hat perched on her head, and a veil of sheer fabric hid her face.
“Hellooo!” said the princess again upon seeing Clover, and added, with a note of surprise in her voice, “Who are you? Where’s that dotty old man?”
“I’m new here,” said Clover, not wanting to tell her that she had just started the day before. “What can I help you with?”
“Well, my dear, first of all, you can help me by addressing me as ‘Your Highness.’ I am a royal princess, as you can well see.” She took a step closer to the desk, and Clover swore she smelled like onions and garlic.
Strange. I imagined princesses would smell like roses and strawberries. Of course, Clover didn’t say this out loud.
“And then you shall serve me, my dear, by showing me the unicorns you have for adoption. I am looking for a sweet, darling unicorn to love and look after, forever and always. I am just dyyyying for one. I’ve been waiting a loooong time. I am shy, just like unicorns are, and it has taken me aaaages to get up the courage to come here and get one. So, my dear, be a good little servant and show them to me.”
Clover remembered Mr. Jams’s warning about princesses. “One moment, please,” she said, and searched through the cabinet’s drawers until she found the form titled Precautions for Princess Adoptions Regarding Unicorns.
The three starred items on the list, the requirements all princesses must meet, caught her eye.
1 Determine the reason the princess wants a pet: a long-term companion or a birthday surprise? Unicorns are not to be adopted as gifts.
2 Determine the princess’s age. Older princesses are usually more reliable than young ones.
3 Observe the princess with a unicorn. She MUST be kind and gentle when petting it.
Well, this princess met two of the requirements. She was certainly old, and she said she wanted a unicorn not for a birthday present, but to love forever. She was definitely bossy, but Clover had never met a princess before. Likely they all acted that way.
“We do have unicorns,” Clover said at last, adding quickly, “Your Highness. We have lots of them. Follow me.”
Clover led the princess through the door and down the hall. The princess had to duck to keep her hat from hitting the doorway. Her dress was so wide, it brushed against the walls.
When they reached the door that led into the stables, Clover said, “Here are our unicorns. Are you looking for a particular type?”
“How about that one!” the princess said, pointing to Moondrop’s stall.
“Oh, I don’t think I should adopt Moondrop out yet. He just came in and is quite, um, weak.”
“Weak? Oh, my dear, I have plenty of food in my castle perfect for making unicorns strong.”
She is plump, thought Clover. If she adopted Moondrop, maybe she’d feed him lots.
The princess pulled out a twisted carrot from her purse and thrust it toward the unicorn. Moondrop snorted softly and backed away.
“A yummy, nummy carrot, darling unicorn.”
“His name is Moondrop,” said Clover.
“He has such a beautiful mane and tail. I just loooove gorgeous hair. I want to get to know him better,” said the princess. “Leave. I’ll summon you when I need you.”
“Um … I don’t think that’s how we do things here. I have to stay with you. Why don’t I show you some of the other unicorns too?” said Clover, biting her lip.
Then, all of a sudden, the bell in the front room rang again.
“Another customer,” said Clover. “I can’t believe it.”
“It’s your lucky day,” said the princess.
“But I’m usually unlucky,” said Clover.
The princess tilted her head. “You are?”
“I can’t help it. I was born under a whisker-thin moon,” said Clover. “My parents tell me it isn’t a bad omen, but why else would they name me Clover?”
The bell rang again. “Oh, go ahead. I won’t move. You can trust me, dear.”
Clover wasn’t sure about that, but she said, “I’ll be back in a moment,” and hurried down the hall, with a brief backward glance at the princess, who was gently stroking Moondrop. It would be lucky if a nice princess adopted Moondrop, thought Clover. But she wasn’t sure this princess was nice.
In the front room a very different set of customers stood waiting at the desk. The man was tall with a grizzled beard. He was wearing an oversized shirt and patched overalls. Clover thought he must be a woodsman. A little girl stood beside him, holding his hand. She was much younger than Clover. Like the woodsman, she was wearing an oversized shirt and overalls. Her hair fell over her eyes in tangles.
“Yes, it is. I’m Clover.”
“Oh, good,” said the woodsman, relieved. “I’m Olaf, and this is my daughter. I’ve been promising Susie, here, a pet for a long time, and today is finally the day.”
“I love animals,” piped up the little girl excitedly. “We have a donkey, and chickens too.”
Do they know it is a magical animal adoption agency? wondered Clover. They looked about as magical as she was.
Just as she was debating what she should do, the princess came rushing out, nearly knocking Clover over.
“Your unicorns are not for me,” said the princess.
“B-but …” Clover stammered.
The princess didn’t utter another word as she swept past Clover. She no longer wore the pink gloves and was obviously trying to hide her hands as she hurried out, but Clover got a glimpse of them. Instead of being smooth and lovely like Clover imagined a princess’s hands would be, they were wrinkly, with long, bony fingers and cracked, yellowed nails. The princess clutched her purse tightly. From one corner of it hung something that made Clover’s blood turn cold.
Hair.
But not just any hair—long and silvery and shiny hair.
Unicorn hair!
“Stop! Stop!” cried Clover.
The princess did not. She ran past the woodsman and his daughter, who looked stunned.
“STOP!” Clover yelled again, running after her.
The princess bolted out the door. Her pointy hat hit the top of the door frame and tumbled off her head. She stooped to pick it up. Clover saw her face without its veil.
Her lips were pale and thin, and her eyes were cold and black. She was wearing earrings that looked like slivers of a broken mirror. Three thin white scars ran down her left cheek. Despite the scars, she was beautiful … in a terrifying way.
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