Miss Opal closed her eyes. “Long, long ago now, when I was much younger—”
“You don’t look that old,” interrupted Clover.
Miss Opal blushed. “Well, I do have a few wrinkles now. We fortune-tellers are lucky to live long lives. But this story happens when I had just finished my training as a fortune-teller. My teacher gave me a mood creature to congratulate me. It was a pet firefly. Like you, many people think they change color depending on their own emotions. But actually mood creatures change based on the moods of people around them. And they can even predict a person’s feelings in the future. Fortune-tellers are able to tell which colors are foretelling a person’s future feelings. That’s why mood creatures are a great help to us.”
Clover remembered how frantic she had felt when the toad had escaped, and how her warts had been flashing all the colors of the rainbow. It made sense.
“My firefly and I got along at once. I named her Flit. I didn’t even need to keep Flit in a cage, she was that attached to me.
“Then, one day, something terrible happened. A witch and her wizard husband came to have their baby’s fortune told. Instantly I saw that their child would bring great luck to others when she grew up. I thought they would be thrilled with the prophecy, but they were outraged. I didn’t realize this witch and wizard were evil—they had hidden that well when they first arrived—and they wanted their child to carry on the wicked tradition of their families. They tried to curse me, but I dodged their spell. It hit Flit instead. I ran away to escape them, and when I came back, Flit was gone. I assumed she flew out one of the open doors or windows. I was heartbroken. I searched everywhere for my little firefly. I even checked here for her, but I didn’t realize she had been turned into a toad. So many years have passed; I thought I would never see her again. Until you called today. It suddenly struck me that the witch’s curse must have been to change me into a toad, but it hit Flit instead, and transformed her. Thanks to you, we’ve been reunited at last.”
“Wow!” said Clover. “So she is cursed, but the curse doesn’t make her change color. The curse made her a toad! How will you change her back?”
Miss Opal smiled at the warty lump on her lap. “I don’t think I can. At least because she is bigger, it is easier to see her colors.” Miss Opal turned her smile to Clover. “As part of my thanks, I’d like to offer you a free fortune.”
Clover shook her head forcefully. “No thanks. I’d rather not know. Things don’t usually work out well for me.”
“Well, the offer stands, if you ever want to come by. I live in the Woods near Olaf and Susie. I must be on my way, then.”
Clover gave Esmeralda—Flit—a kiss good-bye. Instantly Flit’s warts shone in a mix of cinnamon and gold, just like the toast. “It looks like Flit gave you a fortune anyway,” said Miss Opal.
“What do you mean?” asked Clover.
Miss Opal winked. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“You’re right. I don’t,” said Clover, resolute.
“Few fortunes are bad, Clover,” said Miss Opal. “Some, in fact, are good. Very good.” With that, she gave Clover another wink. Holding her pet close to her chest, she headed out the door.
Clover shook her head, but secretly hoped Miss Opal’s words were true.
She watched out the window as Miss Opal walked down the path. Miss Opal and the toad were perfect together. She felt a twinge of longing. And of missing. She knew she would miss Esmeralda. (She just couldn’t get herself to say Flit.) She already missed Moondrop and Snort, even though she was happy for them too. It was a funny feeling—half happy, half sad. I guess that comes with working at an adoption agency. That’s what Mr. Jams meant about keeping an open but guarded heart.
As she did her chores, she couldn’t help but gaze at the empty pens in the stables and empty cages in the small animals’ room. She hoped all the animals that had once lived there were doing well—the griffin and the winged horse, and the witch’s little white kitten. She stood a long time in front of Snort’s pen, the sad part of her heart growing bigger.
But later, as Clover put a check mark in the far-right column in the Wish Book, beside Miss Opal’s entry, she felt more happy than sad. The day was ending, and that nasty witch hadn’t turned up. Clover had made a successful match without anything going wrong. Even though Mr. Jams wasn’t back, it felt like things were finally looking up.
9
A Wicked Plan
The next morning, as Clover walked up the path, she heard a ringing coming from inside the Agency. It sounded like the phone!
It must be Mr. Jams, she thought, hurrying to unlock the front door. She rushed into the room.
“Hello?” she said, picking up the receiver. “Mr. Jams?”
“Mr. Jams?” a faint voice on the other end said at the same time.
“No. I’m not Mr. Jams,” said Clover. “I’m a volunteer helping at the Agency. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, thank goodness!” croaked a woman’s voice on the other end. The voice sounded desperate. “I … I was hoping to catch Mr. Jams, but if you are helping there, you will do. I was taking my morning stroll in the Woods when … oh goodness me … lo and behold, I saw a little white kitten stuck in a tree. She’s still there. She looks very scared. I would climb the tree myself, but I am too old and weak. I hobbled home as fast as I could to phone Mr. Jams. Will you come and rescue her?”
“Well …” Clover hesitated. Mr. Jams hadn’t told her what to do in this situation.
“Please hurry!” the lady continued. “I think I saw a witch!”
Clover shuddered. A little white cat, she thought. It might be the one that was adopted from the Agency. It might be in danger from that witch.
“Where is the tree?” she asked.
“Follow the path, past the Agency, into the Heart of the Woods. It’s the old oak in the middle of the forest. You can’t miss it. Oh goodness me, please hurry. I will meet you there.”
“I’ll come right away,” said Clover. She hung up the phone, grabbed her coat and the rope ladder from the storage room, and rushed out the door, making sure to lock it behind her. She turned the ENTER sign to CLOSED (EVEN FOR ROYALTY!). She stopped for a few moments at the front gate to shake awake the gnome. He blinked at her groggily.
“I’ve got to go and rescue a cat,” said Clover. “Protect the Agency while I’m gone, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
She hurried to the signposts and found the one that read HEART. She had yet to venture anywhere in the Woods except to the Agency. And now here she was, going into the very middle of it. Clover knew Mr. Jams said there were no beasties in the Woods, but the Heart of the Woods sounded like the sort of place scary creatures might live. Still, with a deep breath, she ran on.
The trees in this part of the Woods, crooked and bare, looked lifeless. No birds chattered. No squirrels scurried. She could understand why most people from her village stayed away from the Woods, at least this section. It was spooky. She sang the song that Susie had sung to Moondrop and she had sung to Snort, to keep herself calm: “Dreamy dust for you, sleepy dust for me, in this magic world, happy we shall be.”
She had just noticed a ring of moon-colored mushrooms when a faint voice interrupted her thoughts. “Here—over here!”
It was the same feeble voice she had heard on the phone.
Clover looked up. There stood a giant tree. The leaves were broad and the bark thick and rough like a toad’s skin.
She was sure it was the right oak tree.
But the old woman who had called out to her was nowhere to be seen. She peered up at the tree. She couldn’t see anything at first except green leaves and brown branches, but then there was a flash of white. Clover rose up on her tiptoes, trying to spy more white. “Kitty? Is that you?”
Suddenly, a woman’s face loomed down out of the leaves. A face with three scars!
“Sleep, sleep, fall into a heap!”
As soon as the spell was cast, everything
went dark.
When Clover awoke she was tied to a hard chair in a large room that smelled like onions and smoke. A squat pot hung over burning coals in the fireplace near her. On the mantel perched a stuffed crow. Spilled salt and pepper speckled the floor. A few open umbrellas lay in dusty corners. Pointed black-heeled shoes sat on a wooden table in the center of the room.
The table was also covered in a strange assortment of objects including a saltshaker, a broken horseshoe, a pile of two-leaf clovers, and, most awful of all … dead ladybugs, spiders, and bees. Beside the table, on a small, high stool, was a birdcage with a little white kitten, just a bit larger than a ball of yarn, locked inside. Clover was sure he was the same kitten she had seen days ago, when she’d gone to the Agency for the first time—but he looked much scruffier and thinner and sadder. His green eyes were dull and his tail limp.
“Well, well, our unlucky child has finally awoken,” crowed a voice. The witch entered from a back room. She wasn’t wearing a princess’s veil this time, or a wizard’s cloak, just a simple black dress. Her long dark hair fell in waves to her waist. She was wearing her broken-mirror earrings. “At last we properly meet. I am Ms. Wickity.”
“Let me go!” cried Clover, struggling against the rope around her wrists that held her tight to the chair.
“And lose my final ingredient? Sorry, but you, my child, are too important. I have been searching for someone like you for a very long time. Now I can finish my potion.” She strode over to Clover and stood so close Clover could smell her vile onion-and-garlic breath. “You know, my child, we share a common problem—luck. You are unlucky and I am supposed to be the opposite. When I was baby a fortune-teller prophesied that one day I would bring great luck to others, spreading good wherever I went.”
Clover jolted, remembering the fortune-teller’s story. “It was Miss Opal! Your parents turned her firefly into a toad.”
“Miss Opal indeed!” spat Ms. Wickity. “That loathsome fortune-teller cursed me forever. When my potion is complete, she will be the first one I get.”
“B-but … everyone wants luck,” stammered Clover.
“Luck!” spat Ms. Wickity. “I come from a long line of wicked witches. Wicked witches cast bad luck upon people—not good luck. I grew up afraid to wave my own wand, in case I might make the prophecy come true. Eventually I realized there was only one thing to do: create a lifetime supply of bad-luck potion, so I can spread it around wherever I go. I have been trying to make the potion since I was very young. When I was only a witch in training, I pulled hair from a black cat for one of my attempts, and that is how I ended up with these scars. But some ingredients were impossible to obtain. I could never capture a wild dragon, and pet dragons are ridiculously expensive. I should have thought of looking for a magical animal adoption agency years ago. And imagine my delight to find YOU there as well!”
As she spoke, she popped the objects on the table one by one into the pot. When the tabletop was nearly cleared, she swept a handful of sparkly hairs off it, counted them out until she reached thirteen, then threw them into the pot too. They sizzled.
“Those are Moondrop’s hairs!” cried Clover.
The witch smiled a twisted smile and took the last item off the table: a long green claw.
“And that’s Snort’s claw!”
The witch smiled again, then tossed it into the cauldron and watched the brew bubble. “At last, it is ready for the final and most challenging ingredient. The blood of an unlucky child. That’s you, my dear.”
“No!” cried Clover. She struggled once again to free her hands, pulling and tugging, but the ropes didn’t give.
“There is no point in fighting. You know you are unlucky, and anything you do will simply worsen your situation.” Ms. Wickity drew out her wand and pointed it at Clover. “Free, free, stand by me.” The ropes magically fell from Clover’s wrists and, as though someone was controlling her limbs, Clover jerked to her feet and whooshed next to Ms. Wickity, landing with such force she nearly tumbled into the pot.
Now untied, Clover knew this was her chance to escape, but before she could make a move, Ms. Wickity’s cold, scaly fingers wrapped around her wrist like the coils of a snake. With her other hand, Ms. Wickity pulled a pin from her hat. Clover struggled, but Ms. Wickity held her fast, and jabbed the pin deep into Clover’s thumb.
“Ouch!” yelled Clover.
“Silence!” snapped Ms. Wickity, stretching Clover’s hand over the brew.
The steam scalded Clover’s skin as Ms. Wickity squeezed three drops of blood into the pot.
The moment the last drop touched the potion, a green-and-white mist rose up. Ms. Wickity shoved Clover away, saying, “Tie, tie, stay there till you die.” Clover flew back to the chair, powerless against the spell, and the rope twisted around her wrists, tighter than before.
Ms. Wickity removed the pot from over the fire and set it on the table. With a ladle she scooped some of the brew into a small spray bottle that looked like one of Clover’s mother’s perfume bottles, except it was made from glass as black as smoke.
“Now to test it. It’s so powerful just one mist will change this pathetic white cat into an unlucky black one, truly wicked and fit for a witch.”
“You’re not going to use it on the kitten!” gasped Clover.
Ms. Wickity just laughed and put the nozzle of the bottle in through the bars of the cage and aimed it at the kitten’s head.
The kitten mewed pitifully.
“You stupid little misfit. This will actually help you. Don’t you want to be a proper witch’s cat?”
The tiny kitten backed into the far corner of the cage.
Ms. Wickity sprayed a puff of the potion. The kitten sneezed … then froze. His tail stuck straight up in the air like an exclamation point.
Clover couldn’t bear to watch.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she blinked in surprise.
The kitten wasn’t white anymore.
But it wasn’t black either.
The kitten had turned a beautiful green!
10
Serendipity
It was the loveliest color Clover had ever seen—the color of new grass, peas, peppermint leaves, and emeralds. The color of clovers.
The little kitten looked pleased and licked the green fur on the back of his paw.
“WHAT?” Ms. Wickity screeched. “Impossible!” She pointed her finger at Clover. “You told me you were unlucky, but green is the LUCKIEST of colors! You lied to me. You must be a LUCKY child.”
“No! I’m not lucky!” said Clover.
Ms. Wickity spun around and threw open a cupboard, grabbing a recipe book to double-check her ingredients.
Meanwhile, Clover’s mind was spinning. A LUCKY child? Her? Then she thought about it, and something remarkable occurred to her….
If she HADN’T messed up with Ms. Wickity, Moondrop and Snort wouldn’t have been adopted by Susie and Henry—and they were perfect matches.
If she HADN’T lost Penny, she would NEVER have come to the M.A.A.A. and met Moondrop and Snort and all the wonderful magical animals in the first place. And she would never have been able to help Mr. Jams so he could leave on his rescue mission (even if he hadn’t come back yet), or have been able to help animals herself.
Maybe she wasn’t so unlucky after all!
The kitten mewed.
Clover needed to rescue the kitten. The witch was still bent over her book, muttering and swearing to herself, but who knew what she might do next.
Clover pulled against the ropes again and felt something dig into her skin. The key! Around her wrist was the Agency key—carved from a tooth, with sharp teeth of its own. If she HADN’T tied the key around her wrist it wouldn’t be here to help her now. And, amazingly, Ms. Wickity hadn’t noticed it.
Suddenly, Clover felt powerful.
She felt lucky!
She struggled to grasp the key with her opposite hand. She twisted and wiggled un
til her grip grew firm, and then she scraped the key’s sharp edge across the rope—back and forth, back and forth. At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, but then she felt one strand of the rope snap. She sawed furiously, thankful that the witch was absorbed in her book.
Just as Clover felt the last strand of the rope give, Ms. Wickity looked up at the kitten. “Maybe the cat just needs MORE potion. Yes, that has to be it. I’ll spray the beast again!”
“Leave that kitten alone!” Clover yelled. She leapt out of the chair and grabbed the pot from the table, throwing its entire contents at the witch.
SPLASH!
Ms. Wickity shrieked and jumped back, but not quite in time. The potion splashed across her hands, drenching them. Instantly her fingers turned from crooked and bony to straight and beautiful. Her cracked, yellow nails became smooth and bright green. “My hands!” screeched Ms. Wickity. While the witch frantically wiped her hands on her cloak, Clover grabbed the cage with the kitten inside and hugged it close to her chest.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Ms. Wickity pulled her wand from her pocket and pointed it at Clover. “Sleep, sleep, fall into a heap!”
Clover blinked. Instead of feeling sleepy, she felt exactly the opposite—awake and energetic. She hurried toward the door.
Ms. Wickity shouted another spell, pointing her wand at her broom: “Tip, flip, make her trip!”
But instead of the broom falling down and tripping Clover, it fell onto the handle of the door and pushed it open.
Something was really wrong with Ms. Wickity’s spells.
Ms. Wickity’s eyes went wide with horror as she cried out another one, “Bam, bam, door slam!”
A whoosh of wind escaped from the witch’s wand, and pushed the door farther open instead.
Clover's Luck Page 6