Wizard for Hire

by Obert Skye

  Ozzy pulled a hammer out of a kitchen drawer and proceeded to bang the life out of the lock on the front of the box.

  “You’re not even denting it. Where’d you learn to swing a hammer?” Clark said. “What if I lifted it up and dropped it from a great height?”

  “You can’t lift this.”

  “What if you lifted it, or better yet, what if you took it to the top of the tree behind the house and let it fall?”

  Ozzy picked up the box and walked out the front door. The forest was lime-green. The setting sun lit up the thin clouds and made everything hazy.

  “This is a good idea,” Clark said. “I can feel it. We need to know what’s in there.”

  “What if it’s like Pandora’s box?”

  “It’s not—this is reality, not Greek mythology.”

  “I’m talking to a metal bird. Who’s to say what’s real or not?”

  Ozzy walked back behind the stream and climbed over the black, mossy wall to get to the red alder tree that he liked so much. It was enormous; Ozzy had spent many days climbing and reading amongst its limbs. Clark flew straight up to the top as Ozzy pushed the square metal box up into the low branches.

  Slowly he hefted and shoved the container higher and higher. The branches became thinner and the air lighter.

  “Hurry!” Clark yelled down from the top of the tree.

  “Why?” Ozzy yelled up.

  “I don’t know, it just seems wrong to yell ‘slower!’”

  “How about keeping quiet, then.”

  Clark didn’t reply.

  It took a few stops to rest, and some clever cramming to get the box through the branches, but eventually Ozzy reached the top. He looked out and observed the low clouds surrounding the house and forest like a field of pulled cotton.

  Clark sat on a high branch, his beak clenched tight.

  “You can talk now,” Ozzy said.

  “Thanks. Then let me just say—took you long enough. And: push it hard.”

  Ozzy positioned himself to best shove the square box out of the tree. Then, using his right leg and left arm, he kicked and pushed as hard as he could. The box dropped like a stone. He heard it falling through the branches and leaves, followed by a tremendous crack. From where he was sitting he couldn’t see the ground.

  “Do you think it opened?” he asked.

  Clark looked at him and shrugged his wings. Then he darted down out of the tree and back to the ground. In less than thirty seconds he had flown back up to report his findings.

  “The box hit a big rock and it’s busted open completely. But there was just a bunch of paper inside.”

  “No clothes or money? Or maybe some food?”

  “Don’t you think I would have said that? It’s just paper.”

  Ozzy made his way back down the tree. Thanks to the school cafeteria, he’d eaten more amazing food in the last week than he had ever in his life. Still, he would have loved to discover something delicious in the box. He had hoped his dad had locked up something good, like chocolate, or soda that didn’t expire. So many of the boxes he had opened throughout his life had been filled with paper, so news of more was a terrible letdown.

  Ozzy jumped from the low branches onto the ground. He could see the broken box. He also saw what looked like a meadow of small, green pieces of paper.

  “That’s money,” Ozzy said happily.

  “Really?” Clark said. “It looks like paper.”

  “Well, it’s paper money.”

  Ozzy picked up a handful of hundred-dollar bills. “I wonder if it’s still good?”

  “You think it expires?” Clark asked.

  “We could try some and see what happens.”

  “You mean eat it?”

  “No, take some to school and see if they’ll give me more food.”

  “Or,” Clark said, “hear me out. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so you can take some and see if they’ll let you trade it for clothes at that store Sigi told you about.”

  Ozzy gathered every last bill while Clark tweeted and hopped around excitedly. There was a lot of money—well over fifty thousand dollars. Ozzy carefully stacked it all and then hid it in the starry stairs.

  “Are we rich?” Clark asked as they looked at the money.

  “Maybe,” Ozzy replied.

  “I feel snootier already.”

  “Maybe I can pay someone to help me find my parents.”

  “Still, you might want to change your clothes.”

  Ozzy closed the compartment and screwed the wooden ball back into the end of the newel post.

  The town of Otter Rock wasn’t huge, but it had most of the things a town should have. There were restaurants and businesses as well as a few nice neighborhoods. Like the rest of the area there were trees everywhere. It wasn’t more than a mile from the seashore, so the smell of the ocean also filled the air. Otter Rock had a picturesque Main Street, filled with nice stores where tourists could spend money on things that were suspiciously close to things they could probably just purchase at home.

  One of those stores was Zell’s.

  As Ozzy stepped through the glass door, a small bell chimed.

  Clark was hidden in Ozzy’s pants pocket. They had argued over whether or not he should come in, but in the end Clark had won by pointing out that he had better style and could help with Ozzy’s choices.

  “Hello,” a girl with pink hair and bare shoulders said. “How are you?”

  “Hello,” Ozzy replied.

  “My name’s Amy. Can I help you?”

  “Your . . . hair’s pink.”

  “Intentionally,” Amy said, adding a smile to her words.

  “I like it. I didn’t realize people’s hair could be that color.”

  “Mine can. Of course, if I had naturally black hair like yours, I might prefer that. Who cuts your hair?”

  “Me.”

  “Well . . . we can talk about that later.” She looked Ozzy up and down. “Right now you need some clothes.”

  “Um . . . these clothes cost money, right?”

  The pink-haired girl frowned.

  “Yes, they do, I’m sorry to say.”

  Ozzy took out a stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  “Do these work?”

  Amy smiled again.

  An hour later, Ozzy left Zell’s with a whole new wardrobe and instructions on what he should wear and when. Amy had even called the salon down the street and set up an appointment for Ozzy to get his hair cut.

  “I don’t think you need your hair cut,” Clark said as Ozzy walked. “I’ve finally got it to be perfectly nest-like.”

  “Amy said it would make me look more polished.”

  “That does sound handsome. Just make sure they know you share your hair with a bird.”

  The salon was called Anthony’s and inside, Ozzy met a girl with silver hair named Alyson. She gave Ozzy a haircut and washed his hair. It was the first time since his parents had been taken that someone had touched him. Lying back while warm water ran over his hair and Alyson gave him a scalp massage was extremely okay and very relaxing.

  “Don’t fall asleep on me,” Alyson joked. “You need to be awake to see how amazing you’ll look.”

  After the washing, Ozzy was taken back to the chair where she blow-dried his hair and then put sticky stuff into it. When she was done she sold him some shampoo and a few other things that he “absolutely needed” to maintain his new look.

  As Ozzy stepped out of the salon he felt like a different person. His life had changed so dramatically in the last short while. He had been alone forever, hidden up at the cloaked house, and now he walked freely on the streets of Otter Rock.

  When Ozzy turned down a side street, Clark flew up and landed on his head.

  “Okay, this isn’t bad,” Clark said, kneadin
g Ozzy’s hair with his feet. “I can work with this. It’s a little sticky for my taste, but that will wear off.”

  “Actually, I’m supposed to put sticky stuff in it every day.”

  “Then I’m going to have to wash my talons more often. Where now?”

  “I thought since our money works, we could go to a restaurant and you could watch me eat something.”

  “No thanks, I’ll stay in the trees.”

  Ozzy chose a Chinese restaurant, and although there weren’t many customers, he thought the food was amazing. He expressed his opinion to his waitress, Tamera, at least ten times. And then, still not having a great understanding about money and what was expected, he left a hundred­-dollar tip for a nine-dollar meal.

  “Thank you,” Tamera said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  On his way out, Ozzy nearly tripped over a wire rack holding a stack of magazines near the register. The cover said ORVG: Otter Rock Visitor’s Guide in large letters. On the bottom of the cover, in white letters, it said FREE.

  Ozzy picked up the top magazine in the stack. He flipped it over and saw a large ad for the local police department on the back. There was a picture of an officer on it, smiling, his arms folded, and a list of phone numbers a person could call if they were in need of help. Ozzy flipped through the ORVG and then slipped it into one of his Zell’s bags before leaving the restaurant. He crossed the street and headed north.

  “That’s a huge smile,” Clark said as he drifted in and settled onto Ozzy’s shoulder.

  “The food was just about perfect.”

  “You know, not to be ‘that bird,’ but you getting dressed up and eating a bunch of food wasn’t really that fun for me. Maybe we could find a metal something I could take home and gaze at. I saw a lamppost a few blocks over that I felt like I had a connection with.”

  “We can’t take home a lamppost, but I’ll see what we can do. First, however, I have something I need to look into.”

  “I bet it’s not metal.”

  “No, but they wear metal badges.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Ozzy continued to head north toward the other side of town.

  The police station in Otter Rock was a square building made from cinderblocks with a pitched metal roof. It looked a little more imposing than welcoming, but Ozzy didn’t let its appearance stop him from stepping through the front door.

  For some time now Ozzy had thought about going to the police. Many of the novels his parents had left had been mysteries, and so he knew that there was a strong possibility that the police could help him find his parents. After all, his father and mother had been taken, and that was a crime that needed to be solved.

  He hadn’t gone sooner because for years he hadn’t even known there was a town nearby, and once he had discovered that there was, he was old enough to have read stories that made him suspicious of what the cops could or couldn’t do. His parents, after all, had been stolen from him by adults. And the smiling cop on the back of the ORVG in his green uniform made Ozzy a little uneasy. Still, he needed to take a chance.

  With Clark tucked into his pocket, Ozzy tried to look confident as he strode up to the front counter. A woman with dark skin and short hair was busy doing something behind the counter. Her nametag said Wilma. Without looking up, Wilma said, “How can I help you?”

  “Um, I was wondering, do you help people find people?”

  “We do—are you missing someone?” Wilma looked up and took a long glance at Ozzy’s birthmark.

  Ozzy cleared his throat. “Does it cost money?”

  “No,” she said, looking at his eyes. “Now, who’s missing?”

  “My aunt and uncle used to live around here and I was wondering if the police had any information.”

  “Let’s have you talk to Officer Greg. Greg!”

  A pudgy man with no facial hair and round ears rolled the chair he was sitting in about halfway out of an office behind Wilma’s counter. He had on a full uniform and a shiny gold badge. Based on his expression, he was considerably less friendly than Wilma.

  “Yes?” Officer Greg said.

  “This boy here needs some assistance.”

  Greg looked at Ozzy suspiciously. As he did so, the uncomfortable feeling began to grow in Ozzy’s stomach.

  “What can I help you with, son?”

  “Yeah, I was just wondering if there was any information about my aunt and uncle. They moved here about seven years ago.”

  “And they’re missing?”

  “Well, they haven’t been seen for a long time.”

  Greg looked at Ozzy and sniffed. “Why don’t you come into my office?”

  “That’s okay. I was just wondering.” Ozzy began to back toward the door.

  “Don’t worry,” Greg said. “Now come. Leave your bags on the bench there.”

  Despite wanting to turn and run, Ozzy set his bags down on a bench in the waiting area and pushed through a half-door at the side of the counter. He balled his hands into fists and followed Officer Greg.

  Once in the office, Greg pointed to a chair for Ozzy to sit in and then pulled out a pen from a drawer.

  “First off, how long have they been gone?”

  “About seven years?”

  Greg sniffed. “That’s a long time. Are you sure you’re telling the truth, or is this a joke?”

  “No, it’s not funny at all.”

  “Has anyone ever tried to look for them?”

  “Maybe?”

  “Listen, kid, I don’t know what you think we can do. Frankly I’m not sure this isn’t a gag. Maybe one of your friends put you up to it?”

  “I don’t really have any friends.”

  “Right, no friends. Just a kid looking for his aunt and uncle who have been missing for years. You know, if you’re going to make up stories, you should make them a little more believable. Seven years is a long time.”

  “Yeah, maybe I should just go. I wasn’t trying to waste your time. I was just sort of curious if you guys might have some information that other people don’t.”

  “Well, now, no need to jump up yet,” Officer Greg insisted. “Just keep yourself parked right where you are. Let’s get this figured out. So, tell me, what are your aunt and uncle’s names?”

  The oppressive feeling grew and then settled over Ozzy like a cold wet blanket. Officer Greg didn’t want to help him—he didn’t even believe him. Visions of being locked up and shipped away filled Ozzy’s head.

  “Maybe I should go and come back with my parents.”

  Greg set his pen down and stared at the boy.

  “You seem a little skittish,” the officer said. “Why don’t you tell me what your name is?”

  “Clark,” Ozzy lied.

  “Clark what?”

  “Clark Bird.”

  “So, what’s really going on here, Clark? You look nervous.”

  “I was just hoping to help my parents find my aunt and uncle.”

  “Right, and what are your parents’ names?”

  Ozzy had no desire to give out his parents’ real names.

  “I just call them Mom and Dad.”

  “Sure,” Greg said, beginning to sound even more suspicious. “But that’s not very helpful. There’s a lot of parents named Mom and Dad. For example, mine are. But what are their given names?”

  “Let just forget it,” Ozzy pleaded. “I was only wondering if you had a computer I could use to look up missing people. But now I need to get going because I’m late for . . . well, I have to get home.”

  “We do have computers, but I need you to stay put for a moment. We take things like this seriously around here, so let me ask Sheriff Wills if he’s heard of a couple that went missing seven years ago that are related to a couple named Mom and Dad.”

  Greg got
up and left the office, closing the door behind him. Ozzy sat stiffly in his chair, not knowing what to do. Clark peeked out of his pocket.

  “I don’t trust that guy,” the bird whispered.

  “Me neither. This was a bad idea. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I told you we should have gone to scope out that lamppost.”

  Ozzy stood up and checked the office door. It was closed, but when he turned the knob, he could tell it wasn’t locked. He peeked out the bottom corner of the small glass window in the door and saw Greg talking to another officer down the hall. Clark wriggled out of the pocket and sat on top of Ozzy’s hair.

  “Who’s he talking to?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to leave. I think if I run, I can make it out before they’re able to stop me.”

  “What about Wilma?” Clark asked.

  “Her back’s turned.”

  Clark looked out the window.

  “I see something that might help,” the bird chirped softly. “Open the office door a little bit so I can get out. When I turn the lights off, run.”

  Ozzy nodded. Then, as quietly as he could, he turned the knob on the door and pushed it open a couple of inches.

  The hinges squeaked a little as they moved.

  Officer Greg looked down the hall toward his office, but before he could see what was happening, Clark shot out of the two-inch crack and flew like a bullet to a long row of light switches behind the front counter. The bird hovered in front of the panel and kicked at the switches with his talons, quickly turning off all fourteen of them.

  The police station went dark.

  Ozzy ran out the office door, dodging Wilma as she spun around. He jumped over the front counter and grabbed his bags off the bench. Instantly Greg and Wilma were after him. He shoved the doors open, heading out into the light of the dying day. Clark flew next to his right ear, squawking at him, “Remember, they’ve got guns!”

  The two cops were already out the doors and yelling for Ozzy to stop.

  The boy froze.

  At that moment, a small white car pulled into the parking lot and rolled between Ozzy and the cops. A man wearing a felt hat and beard was driving. He glanced around, slowing down as he looked for a parking space. One of the cops banged on his roof to try to get him to move out of the way.