by Obert Skye
“It had merit,” Rin said, trying to defend the book. “What about the few parts where Margret wasn’t crying?”
“She had nothing to cry about in the first place,” Sigi pointed out.
“That’s true,” Clark tweeted. “All that money and two parents and a house with another house in the back. That’s what you need, Oz. One of those extra houses so that I can have my own place.”
“Really? The cloaked house isn’t big enough for you?” Ozzy asked.
“It’s filled with all of that stuff. A bird needs room.”
“It is quite cluttered,” Rin joined in. “Have you ever seen that TV show Hoarders?”
“No, I’ve never watched TV.”
“Never?” Sigi asked.
“Well, as you know, when the teachers didn’t feel like teaching, they’d put a movie on. But that’s it.”
“Just like Margret,” Clark said. “She never bought her own groceries.”
“That’s not a very good comparison.”
“I agree,” Rin said. “It’s more like Margret’s boyfriend, Keith. He never learned to care for anyone but himself, and Ozzy’s never seen TV.”
“Are you two aware of what makes things similar or not?” Sigi asked.
“You know, the books in Quarfelt are so different. You don’t read them, you absorb the words. Sit on a pile of books, and in a matter of moments you’re that much wiser.”
“You sit on books there?” Clark asked.
“Well, holding them in your hands is more efficient and less likely to draw stares, but some wizards . . . well, you know wizards. Anything to be different.”
“Are there schools in Quarfelt?” Ozzy asked.
“Of course. Great places of learning.”
“Like . . . Hogwarts?”
“Not exactly—they’re better run and they’ve outlawed floating candles. I guess dripping wax is very hard to clean up. You know, not everything that woman wrote is practical for wizards. I’d like to see Harry Potter clean wax off of the floor. But she told a good tale most of the time. I actually worked for the School of Mischief and Merriment in Quarfelt and believe me, there was no mirth to be had when book six came out and she had the nerve to do that to Dumbledore.”
“I didn’t like that part either,” Ozzy admitted.
“So you’ve got regular books in that Quar place?” Clark questioned.
“Some made it in.”
“What was your job like?” Ozzy asked.
“I taught the wand care class.”
“Wait,” Ozzy said. “You do actually have a wand?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never seen it,” Sigi said stoically.
“I’ve never brandished it while you were around.”
“Do you have it on you?” Ozzy asked.
“Of course. What kind of wizard travels around without his wand?”
“Can you show us?”
“I don’t think I want to be brandished,” Clark said.
“I’ll show you later, perhaps. I’m driving and you humans have designed these cars to require the driver’s attention. Check my phone. I think I’ve got another book downloaded we can listen to.”
Ozzy pressed the screen a few times and found the other title.
“Darren’s Mistake,” he said with a groan.
“How about after we find out what this Darren chump did wrong, we spend some time listening to me chirp?” Clark asked. “Fair enough?”
“You know I prefer the term ‘More than fair,’” Rin said.
Ozzy pressed play and they drove the rest of the way through Nevada and into Arizona learning about Darren’s mistake and hoping they weren’t making a few of their own.
The Mule Pole Highway near the tall yellow tree was lined with police cars on both sides of the road. It was morning and Sheriff Wills was there with most of his on-duty officers as well as three other officers from Bell’s Ferry.
Rin and his white car had never made it to the roadblock.
When daylight arrived the police had gone back to the railroad crossing to look for clues. In the light of day, they were able to find tire tracks in the dirt on the shoulder of the road that went up the embankment and then just disappeared.
“I don’t understand,” Sheriff Wills said to Officer Greg. “Cars don’t vanish.”
“Maybe these aren’t their tire tracks at all,” Greg said. “They could have crossed the rails seconds before the train arrived. Which means they’re hiding somewhere between here and the roadblock that Bell’s Ferry set up. There aren’t any other main roads but there are dozens of small dirt ones. We’ve had officers checking those roads all morning.”
“The biggest problem with that theory,” Sheriff Wills said, “is that even though it was dark last night, I saw the train already stretched out across the road when I turned the corner. How does a car beat a train that’s already there?”
“I don’t know, sir. They didn’t go through it, and there’s no debris or sign of an accident anywhere. Officer Wallow suggested that there might be a . . . portal of some sort.”
Sheriff Wills looked bothered.
“He was joking, of course,” Greg said.
“Of course.”
“But,” Greg added, “it’s as good an explanation as any we have.”
“What about the train?”
“It was on a long haul to Sacramento. We’ve contacted the railroad and they’ve spoken with the engineer. He had no additional information and no knowledge of any accident or damage to the train.”
“Let’s say these tracks are from the car. And say the car hit the mound going too fast and somehow flew over the train.”
Officer Greg looked conflicted about what to say.
“Seems highly unlikely, sir.”
“We saw it sort of weaving and then in a flash it was gone. Could it have hit that mound of dirt and then landed on the train?”
“Well, the angle’s a little steep, and that seems almost as impossible as a portal, but they’ll do a thorough search when the train arrives in Sacramento.”
“Thank you, Greg.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Officer Greg walked off and Sheriff Wills stood alone thinking. He had grown up with Brian . . . Rin. The two had been friends in grade school. Rin had always been resourceful and kind. Now, it seemed as if his onetime friend might actually be a wizard.
“Nah.”
Sheriff Wills took out his phone and called Patti to fill her in about what they hadn’t found.
By the time they got to Kingman, Arizona, it was beginning to get dark. Collectively they were all sick of driving and not in the best of spirits. Darren’s Mistake was now their mistake as well. The book took hours just to reveal that when Darren had been a kid he had stolen his neighbor’s pocket watch. And he felt terrible about it.
Patti had been texting Rin all day demanding to know where he was and wanting to talk to Sigi. Because wizards never text and drive, Rin had Ozzy type his answers and send them to her.
“Tell her that the wizardly winds have given me lift.”
“Wizardly winds?” Ozzy asked. “That sounds like a medical condition.”
“Right. Then tell her that we are safe and if the stars dictate, we will be back shortly with Sigi in tow.”
Ozzy sent it off and she responded.
“She’s furious. She also wants to know what happened to her car by the train tracks. Sheriff Wills said it just disappeared.”
“Tell her he isn’t far off.”
Ozzy sent it.
“Oh, but also tell her the vehicle’s all right . . . -ish.”
“Okay.”
Patti’s text back was a plea for Rin to stop whatever he was doing and call Sheriff Wills. Rin’s text back was a plea for
Patti to please check on his fish and tell Sheriff Wills to take a hike. They had done nothing wrong, and since it was now the weekend Sigi was supposed to be with him.
Ozzy didn’t understand the reply Patti sent back.
“What does . . . here, look.”
Rin took a quick glance at the phone.
“Oh. You probably shouldn’t read that out loud.”
Arizona was a beautiful state full of varied landscape and nice roads. They stopped at yet another drive-thru and Ozzy thought back to when he used to like them.
“This food is making me sick.”
“Just keep eating it. Eventually you’ll get over that feeling.”
Ozzy choked it down and then spent a few minutes looking out the window at the passing landscape and wishing he had just eaten a meal from his garden and basement instead.
“You know what?” Rin said. “Let’s call that Charles guy again.”
“It’s kinda late in the day,” Ozzy pointed out. “He didn’t answer before. I doubt he’ll answer now.”
“Let’s just try,” Sigi said.
“I’ll dial if Rin talks.”
“A true wizard knows when to be silent and when to speak. This feels like a time for the latter.”
Ozzy found the number in Rin’s outgoing calls list and pressed it. He handed the device to the wizard.
“It’s ringing,” Rin said.
There were a few moments of silence.
“It’s still ringing.”
“If it goes to voicemail, just hang up this time,” Ozzy instructed Rin.
“It’s going to voicemail.”
“Hang up.”
“It’s telling me to leave a message again.”
“Hang up!”
Rin couldn’t pass up the chance to have his thoughts recorded.
“Yes,” he said into the phone, “my message to you this evening is that when one door shuts it is usually for a reason. If it’s not been locked, then it should be easy to open again.”
Rin ended the call and everyone just stared at him.
“I see you all understand,” he said, misinterpreting the mood completely.
“That wasn’t your strongest message, actually,” Clark told him.
“Should I call back and leave another?”
“No,” everyone said in sync.
“Okay,” the wizard said. “Now, we’ll be driving for about another three or four hours before we stop for the night. Then tomorrow it’ll take us three more hours to get to Albuquerque. In the meantime, who wants to play ‘A Wizard Speaks’?”
“Is that a game?” Ozzy asked.
“Yes,” Sigi said. “When I was younger he always made me play it.”
Rin ignored his daughter’s less-than-enthusiastic tone. “What you do is you look out the windows as we drive and if you see something magical you say, ‘A wizard speaks and . . . he sees two blue cars in a row.’”
Ozzy sighed. “You and I have such different definitions of magical.”
“Try it,” Rin encouraged. “It’s very revealing. In no time it will become apparent that the whole world is sprinkled with magic.”
“Okay, I’ll go,” Clark said. He looked out the front window. “A wizard speaks, and he sees an endless row of telephone poles.”
“Brilliant,” Rin cheered.
Ozzy looked at the long row of telephone poles in front of them that ran along the freeway. They were lit up by the cars’ headlights. At the angle he was sitting they did look almost otherworldly and unending.
“This game is probably easier in the daytime,” Ozzy said. “That way you can see more than just what’s lit up by the lights.”
“Easier maybe, but not better,” the wizard insisted. “It’s a real marvel to discover that the things so nearby are much more than you once perceived. Your turn, Sigi.”
“I’ve never liked this game.”
“Come on,” Clark chided. “Say something.”
“A wizard speaks, and he sees a daughter who has spent her whole life having to explain her father to others.”
“Very nice,” Rin said. “How fortunate you are to possess knowledge to teach others. Some people go their whole lives never having the courage to explain anything. What about you, Oz? Give it a try.”
The boy looked out the front window at the freeway before them. He saw the telephone poles and the lines painted on the road. He noticed the faded sky at the edge of the headlights’ glow and felt the smooth turning of the tires beneath him. Sigi was breathing softly in the back seat. The ordinary moment began to feel ethereal and important. His brain buzzed softly.
“A wizard speaks, and he feels the weight of his body being propelled forward through space.”
“Well done,” Rin whispered.
“No fair,” Clark said. “That’s cheating. It’s supposed to be what a wizard sees and not feels. Because if feels count, I’m feeling the same thing.”
“Points for both of you.”
Clark was okay with that.
The game continued and the miles ticked off. And each time a wizard spoke, the world became larger and less complicated and smaller and more intricate. By the time they reached the New Mexico border, Ozzy, Clark, and Sigi were surprised to already have driven so far.
“Time flies occasionally,” Rin said. “But I have also seen it languish and whimper as it stomach-crawls across the floor. We’ll stop in about an hour.”
“Good, because this moving cage is killing me,” Clark complained, as if he wasn’t a mechanical bird who could just shut himself off at any point.
“Here,” Sigi said, “rest on my lap.”
Clark settled onto Sigi’s lap and yawned.
“Are you doing okay?” Ozzy asked Rin. “You’re not going to fall asleep driving, are you?”
“Of course not, that’s not something that would ever happen to a wizard. Now, I’ve seen one or two drop from a broom while flying. There’s something about the wind on your face that makes you tired. That’s why you see very few wizards driving convertibles.”
“Oh, that’s why. I did wonder.”
Ozzy smiled and closed his eyes.
Gallup, New Mexico, is probably pretty, but it was so late when they arrived that they didn’t see much of it. They checked into the Motel 6 and Ozzy and Rin were out the moment their heads hit the bed. Clark found a nice spot on top of a mini fridge in the room and shut down there. Sigi got her own room right next door and was out just as fast.
When they got up, they realized that Gallup itself wasn’t much to look at after all. There were a number of fast food restaurants, some industrial looking buildings, and at least ten boarded-up gas stations. The land around Gallup, however, was beautiful—breathtaking deserts and flat mesas made from dirt the color of cinnamon and mahogany. Stretches of green topped the mesas like fuzzy toupees on a bunch of blocky heads.
They gassed up the car and then went through the McDonald’s drive-thru to get breakfast. Rested and ready, they were on the freeway and heading towards Albuquerque by nine a.m.
“I feel a lot better,” Ozzy said between bites of a sausage burrito.
“Breakfast will do that to you.”
Clark chewed on bits of hash brown while standing on the dashboard.
“I like the texture of these. And they make my beak greasy.”
After eating they brainstormed as a group. In a couple of hours they would be in Albuquerque and they still weren’t sure exactly how things would go down.
“We can’t just go in there all willy-nilly,” Rin said. “It’s smart to plan, wise to expect changes, and acceptable to be nervous about both scenarios.”
“Okay—first we have to find where his office is,” Ozzy said.
“That’s easy. The map on the phone will take us right to the address
,” Sigi reminded him.
“Good. Second, we need to think about our approach.”
“I would just drive on the streets that the phone tells you to,” Clark suggested.
“Not our actual approach, but what we want to say,” Ozzy clarified. “I don’t know if it would be smart to go in there and tell him I’m his step-nephew and my missing mother told me to come see him.”
“That’s true,” Rin agreed. “Honesty is pretty powerful stuff—we might want to spread it cautiously.”
“We should tell him you’re a rich inventor kid and pretend you invented me,” Clark suggested.
Everyone stared at the bird.
“That’s not a horrible idea, C.”
“Of course it’s not. That’s why I said it.”
“So why am I showing him my bird invention?”
“Because you’re so proud of how beautifully it turned out.”
“No, why am I showing it to him? It’s not like kids all over the world go to Charles when they have neat-looking science projects.”
“You think I’m neat looking?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s Charles’s business, anyway?” Sigi asked.
“I’m not sure exactly what Harken Corporation is, but it says he works closely with the national labs who have a site in Albuquerque.”
“So, he’s a science guy like your dad,” she observed.
“Maybe he’s already invented his own bird,” Clark tweeted excitedly. “This could be great.”
“I don’t think he did,” Ozzy said trying to keep Clark’s hopes realistic. “I don’t know that we can get him to talk without saying who we are. But I would like to hold that information until we know more about him.”
“Okay.” Rin switched lanes and then switched back for no apparent reason. “Sorry. I didn’t like that one after all. So . . . okay, here’s what we do. We go into his office and tell him that we’re a very wealthy and eccentric family, a father and his daughter and son. We let him know that we have more money than sense and that we’re on a treasure hunt of sorts. We show him the orange cassette tape we have and say that we found it at an estate sale in Burlington, Vermont. Then . . .”