Wandmaker

by Ed Masessa

  Dad had given him some signs lately. But Mom? Really? Whatever her reasons, she had chosen to hide her true self from them. And she’d done a good job of it. Did Dad know? He had to … right? Maybe that was what had brought them together in the first place. And if he did know, maybe he was going after her right now … while they sat around doing nothing.

  “We have to go. Now!” He bolted from the chair.

  Brianna looked up from a bowl on the tabletop where she nibbled on dry cereal. “And how exactly are we going to get there? It’s not like we can fly. Next time you poof me into something other than a girl, make it something that can fly … or become invisible. At least that would be useful. What can a hedgehog do?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we can drive.” But even as he said it, he doubted Coralis would be up to spending several days and thousands of miles behind the wheel of the car.

  Coralis set a plate stacked with peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches on the table. “This is all I could find worth eating. If your mother had any culinary skills, she was as good at hiding them as she was at hiding her heritage.”

  “Watch it!” snapped Brianna. “That’s my mother you’re talking about.”

  Coralis started to retort but was interrupted by an outburst from Henry. “Oh!” he said. “I just remembered! Mrs. Verrity took a trip to Arizona last year. I’ll bet she could help.”

  “And who, pray tell, is Mrs. Verrity?” Coralis asked.

  Brianna rolled her eyes and nudged Henry’s hand. “That would be his bookworm buddy. Library, here we come.”

  “Well, hello, Henry!” Mrs. Verrity gushed. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I thought you forgot about me.” Her eyes glittered behind glasses with bright red frames. A beaded turquoise chain attached to the glasses draped loosely around her neck.

  “Hello, Mrs. Verrity. This is my … um, uncle. Uncle C.” Henry hadn’t thought about introducing Coralis and fumbled for something to say at the last minute.

  “My name is Coralis. Pleased to meet you, madam,” he said, bowing slightly.

  “Oh! Such a proper gentleman.” She toyed with her chain coyly. “Coralis. What an unusual name. Where have I heard it before?” Her thoughts seemed to drift.

  “Nowhere!” Henry almost shouted. Mrs. Verrity remembered everything, and he might have carelessly mentioned the name during one of his visits. He needed to distract her. “We’re here to do some research.”

  She smiled broadly. “That’s my Henry. Always the inquisitive one.”

  “Geek,” Brianna chirped from Coralis’s pocket.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Verrity was already on her way to the lone computer at the information desk. “You must be very proud of your nephew. He’s one of my best customers. So many interests. Which reminds me, Henry. I just ordered a new book about alchemy. I’ll be sure to notify you when it arrives.”

  Henry stole a quick look at Coralis to see his reaction and was rewarded with a brief half smile. “Not many young minds seek a challenge,” said Coralis.

  “No.” She sat and entered a password. “Too many distractions for today’s youth. Makes me feel like an old relic.”

  “Ha!” Coralis’s laugh was genuine. “I know the feeling all too well. But you, fair lady, are far from a relic.”

  “Oh my … thank you.” She blushed.

  Brianna stirred in his pocket. “Get on with it and stop flirting,” she hissed.

  Mrs. Verrity tilted her head. “Did you hear something? It sounded like a voice—a very small voice.”

  Henry thought fast. “Have you been reading The Borrowers again, Mrs. Verrity?” He gave her his best smile.

  She smiled back. “It’s either that, or the ghosts in this drafty old place.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Verrity … ,” Coralis interjected.

  “Please call me Cloris.”

  “Um … yes. Well … Cloris, Henry’s question has to do with travel.”

  “His interests tend to be a little more unusual than that. Travel … ” She turned to Henry. “Let me guess: You want to know about time travel! There’s the Einstein variety, of course, or the Wrinkle in Time method … ”

  “No, ma’am. Not time travel. Regular travel.” She looked slightly disappointed, but Henry pressed on. “Didn’t you go to Arizona last year?”

  “Oh, yes!” She clapped her hands giddily. “A simply wonderful adventure. I planned it all myself, you know. But Arizona is a very large state. Did you have a particular destination in mind?”

  “Monument Valley,” Henry said, which was the location Coralis had identified in his mother’s mural.

  “Oh, how splendid!” She clapped her hands again. “You can follow the exact route that I took several years ago. Follow in my footsteps, so to speak.” She giggled.

  “And how would that be accomplished?” Coralis asked. His voice was kind, but Henry sensed impatience just below the surface.

  If she sensed it as well, she didn’t let on. “See these lines?” She directed them to a large wall map of the United States and pointed to a series of crosshatched lines that meandered through the states. “These are railroad lines. That’s why they look like train tracks. Lots of people prefer to travel by train. It provides a fascinating look at Americana. Passing through all those small towns and farms in America’s heartland. Simply wonderful!”

  “Is that how you went? Could you show us the route?” Henry asked.

  “I’ll do you one better than that.” She leaned into Henry and whispered as if they were coconspirators in a crime. “I’ll let you borrow my travel diary.” She added a wink, sealing the deal. “I like to think I keep much better notes than any of those travel guides.”

  Henry thanked her profusely for the diary, promising to return it safe and sound, although he hadn’t the foggiest idea when that would be. Following an awkward good-bye, during which Coralis forgot Mrs. Verrity’s first name, they returned to the house. Not since the falcon, Randall, dropped into his life had Henry been so excited … and nervous. Were they really about to take a train all the way to Arizona?

  He racked his brain. What did he know about Arizona? They had deserts and roadrunners and coyotes … but that was in cartoons. And hummingbirds! He knew that from his Audubon book. He’d never seen a real hummingbird.

  He took his wand from his pocket on their way back home. Excitement ran from his arm into the wand, and the veins of clear crystal glowed in response.

  Henry, Brianna, and Coralis left the house well before the sun had crested the horizon. And given the gloomy forecast, they knew they might not see the sun at all that day. They were heading for the train station several hours away in Pittsburgh. It wasn’t the closest station to the house, but it was where Mrs. Verrity began her journey and was one less train connection on the first leg of their trip.

  Of all the strange things Henry had witnessed recently, seeing the old Wand Master behind the steering wheel ranked perhaps higher than it should. There were some odd sounds from the engine and more than a few exclamations of “Bahtzen bizzle!” But eventually they were on their way.

  Brianna slept on the backseat, curled comfortably in one of her favorite sweatshirts. Henry continued to read Mrs. Verrity’s diary with the aid of a battery-operated book lamp. He didn’t think Coralis needed to know it was an official Harry Potter book light.

  “Henry,” Coralis said softly. “Why don’t you put that foolish light away.”

  Henry snapped it off too quickly. He fumbled to catch it as it slipped from his grasp. “Sorry, but how will I read in the dark?”

  Coralis smiled but never took his eyes off the road. “I believe it’s time I became a responsible adult again.” The glow of light from the dashboard cast his face in shadow. Crow’s-feet crinkled the corner of his eyes. It was the first time Henry saw him as more of a friend than a craggy old Wand Master. “It’s time we accelerated your training.”

  Henry’s heart skipped a joyful beat. “But . . but … do you really think I’m re
ady?”

  Coralis chuckled. “No one is ever ready for the odd and unusual turns of life, but preparation for the unexpected is helpful. Now take out your wand.”

  Henry put the book light away and did as instructed. The wand felt more comfortable with each touch. It was now more a part of him than any of the treasures he had collected in his loft.

  “You feel it, don’t you? The wand is you and you are the wand. It is an extension of your inner self. By concentrating through it, you can enhance your natural strength and talent.”

  Strength? He’s never seen me swing a baseball bat, thought Henry.

  “Strength of the mind and spirit can overcome most physical challenges, but only if you have the confidence in yourself.”

  Henry thought back to the ball field. He knew he would strike out every time he came to the plate. What would have happened if he’d projected the confidence of hitting the ball as he glared at the opposing pitcher? Would it have helped? He almost smiled. It certainly wouldn’t have hurt.

  “Now concentrate on the wand and think of the power of the sun.” Coralis’s voice pulsed like a heartbeat in Henry’s mind. He gripped the wand tightly and thought of the superheated gas that gave the sun its brilliance.

  Without warning, blinding light erupted from the wand. Coralis stomped on the brake as the car swerved violently, tossing Brianna to the floor. In a panic, Henry yelled, “Dark!”

  The wand immediately dimmed. Coralis regained control of the car and eased to the shoulder, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the momentary blindness.

  Spots swam in front of Henry as if someone had taken a flash photo in a dark room. “What happened?” His voice cracked, betraying his fear of Coralis’s wrath.

  Coralis’s shoulders began to shake as he suddenly erupted in laughter, shocking Henry. “My boy, you just taught me two valuable lessons. Never underestimate your student … and give better instructions.” He continued to laugh until a few teardrops squeezed out and ran down his cheeks. “That was a good one,” he finally managed to say. “We’re going to make a heck of a team, Henry.”

  A muffled, irritated voice piped up from the rear. “You’ve never seen him swing a bat.”

  By the time they arrived in Pittsburgh, the sky was in full graydom. Coralis had spent the rest of the drive teaching Henry how to apply a measure of control over his powers. The only other hitch occurred when Coralis paid cash for the train tickets.

  “Well, I’ll be,” said the cashier, holding up several odd-looking five-dollar bills. “I haven’t seen a Lincoln porthole in years!”

  “Is it still good?” asked Henry, hoping Coralis wasn’t trying to use counterfeit money.

  The old man behind the counter winked at Henry through his bifocals. “More than good, young man. This is what we used to call a silver certificate, which meant it was backed by silver instead of gold.”

  He saw the blank look on Henry’s face. “Kids these days,” he said, and winked at Coralis this time. “Gotta teach ’em everything.” Enjoying the moment, he removed his glasses and began polishing the lenses in true professorial style. “Used to be that paper money was backed by gold—which meant that if you had a mind to, you could take your paper to the US Treasury and exchange it for gold. I don’t know anyone who ever did that, but that was the theory. But at some point, the government saw they were running out of gold reserves and occasionally printed silver certificates—which were backed by silver. Are you still with me?”

  Henry nodded, secretly enjoying the impromptu history lesson.

  “Sometimes, when they printed silver certificates, they got fancy and put interesting designs on them. And sometimes they simply gave the design a bit of a twist … which is what you have here.”

  He took out a newer five-dollar bill and laid them side by side. “This particular bill was printed in 1923. See here how they placed the portrait of President Lincoln in a nice round circle? And how they outlined the border with the words ‘The United States of America’? That’s why they called these porthole notes—because it looks like the porthole on a ship.”

  He looked up at Coralis. “Are you sure you want to give these up? They’re probably worth more than five bucks.”

  Coralis gave no indication if he was mad at himself for choosing outdated currency. Henry imagined that much of the currency the man had collected over the years must be priceless, but the bill in question looked innocuous enough. He never would have guessed it was anything special.

  “Will they get us to Chicago?” Coralis asked.

  “Oh, indeed they will!”

  Coralis winked conspiratorially back at him. “Then they’re all yours.”

  The cashier printed the tickets and handed them to Coralis with a business card. “The name’s Harry. Harry Wilson. Let me know if you ever have any more gems like this you want to get rid of.”

  “You’ll be the first to know. Now come along, Henry. We have a train to catch.”

  As they turned to leave, the cashier said hopefully, “Don’t you need a return ticket?”

  “Afraid not, good sir. From Chicago, we’re bound for the Southwest Chief to Arizona,” said Coralis.

  The smile on the cashier’s face lit up almost as bright as Henry’s wand. “Well, you’re in luck! I can sell you those tickets from here, too. And I can give you some tips for the ride. I used to be a conductor on that line years ago. My son took my place.”

  “Well then, you’re in luck,” mimicked Coralis. “I just happen to have a few more of those certificates.”

  By the time they left, they had more useful information than anything written in Mrs. Verrity’s diary. “It’s amazing what you can learn just by being nice to someone,” said Coralis.

  “It didn’t hurt that you just gave him something he can sell on eBay,” piped in Brianna. Coralis’s eyebrows arched quizzically.

  Henry and Brianna shared a giggle. “We’ll explain it to you later.”

  Randall awoke to pitch-blackness. Slowly his senses returned. His body was tightly bound and his beak clamped. A blindfold wrapped his head. Yet from the continuous jostling motion and muffled voices, he determined he was in the trunk of a car.

  His talons were not bound, which gave him some hope. But as he moved one, he understood why. A small bell had been loosely tied to one of his legs, and it immediately jingled. The noise was very small but clearly enough to alert Viktor, sitting in the backseat, who screeched a warning like a junkyard dog.

  The car came to a halt, tires grinding on loose gravel. The trunk opened and he was lifted out—carefully, to avoid contact with his razor-sharp talons. It was the first time he heard either of the voices clearly, but he could tell whose was whose. The higher-pitched, irritating voice could only belong to Dai She. The deep, smooth tone that reeked of venom belonged to the other man.

  “So, Mr. Leach, our guest has regained consciousness.”

  The hands that held him tensed. “First, let me congratulate you on giving away my identity,” Henry’s father growled. “Second, I insist that you use my chosen name from this point forward.”

  “As you wish, Markhor.” It was clear to Randall that Dai She did not like being corrected. He detected a subtle power struggle between the two, seething beneath the surface, which he could possibly exploit later. “But may I also remind you that you have not proven yourself worthy of the Wand Master rank.”

  Randall was quite familiar with the hierarchy of the Wandmakers’ Guild. Once a Wandmaker succeeded in making his or her first wand, they became a Wandbearer. With extensive training and practice, a student would advance to First, Second, and Third-Order Wandbearer until reaching the status of Monarch.

  From there, only the elite few achieved the rank of Wand Master. It was at that point that the individual could choose a new name befitting their rank.

  Henry’s father had apparently chosen Markhor—“the snake eater.”

  Markhor’s hands tensed again in response to Dai She’s insult, but the ma
n offered no rebuttal. The power Randall could sense in those hands was indeed great … and muddled. As if two overlapping forces struggled to control the same body. He didn’t know how to decipher this. Perhaps there was still more to learn from Coralis.

  He quickly suppressed the thought. If Markhor was indeed this powerful, he might be able to see through the falcon to his true essence.

  And that would ruin everything.

  Perhaps Dai She was worried—as he should be. While he may have convinced himself of his superiority, there was a long history of students surpassing their teachers in the realm of Wandmakers.

  Randall detected movement. “This is quite a collection you were carrying, young falcon.” He could hear Dai She examining the pack of miniature wands and elements from his small, customized pouch. “Why would someone take the effort to train such a bird?”

  Randall was lifted, turned, and examined. “Perhaps not trained as a bird.” Markhor’s voice had an ominous undertone. Randall suppressed the urge to lash out with his talons, knowing it would give him away. Feigning ignorance was his best strategy for the moment. But Markhor was not easily duped. “Would a bound bird be so submissive?”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Dai She snapped. “It’s nothing more than a passenger pigeon in disguise. What we need to find out is to whom he was delivering this precious cargo.” Dai She’s stubby fingers pinched his beak tightly. This time Randall did lash out. He quickly brought his talons up and raked at Dai She’s hand, drawing blood and a pitiful scream. “You idiot! Bind those wretched talons,” he shrieked.

  Markhor cleared his throat. Was he laughing at Dai She? “As you wish.” Randall was firmly pinned to the ground by a large foot while hands deftly tied his talons. He was placed back in the trunk. “We should get going soon. We want to get to the caves before sunset.”

  The lid slammed shut, sealing Randall with nothing but his thoughts, the foremost of which was: This is not going to end well.