The small wedge of moon over the yard looked like the thin slice of lemon Mom liked to put in a glass of water. As soon as I stepped outside, Gray emerged from the shadows.
“Hi! What’s in the backpack?” I whispered. It was bigger and bulkier than the one he took to school every day.
“Wilderness stuff,” he answered. “First-aid kit, hatchet, air horn, and wolf urine spray.”
“Why would we need wolf urine spray?”
“My dad got it last year for the camping trip he took with his old college roommates. He said they used it to keep moose out of their campsite. But it says on the can that it also repels large predators like bears and coyotes.”
“There aren’t any bears or coyotes around here, Gray.”
“Yeah, but if we see Raveneece, we could spray it at her. When I sniffed it I almost hurled. You want to try?”
“Um, no thanks. I believe you.”
Gray burped. “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
We jogged across the backyard to the edge of the woods. The dark was different there—something we had to push our way through, like strong wind or deep water. I turned on my goose flashlight. The thin beam seemed almost useless.
“It’s still our woods,” I said, trying to make myself feel braver.
“Yeah,” replied Gray. He slipped off the backpack and fished around inside it. “But I’m getting out the wolf urine just in case.”
I pulled the wish cookie from my pocket and broke it in two. “Here,” I said, handing him half. “Before you eat this, make a wish . . . but don’t say it out loud.”
He shoved it in his mouth without asking any questions. “This is stale,” he complained.
He was right. I wished for courage before I swallowed my half, but my insides were still doing the hula. It made me wonder if wishes could go stale, too.
We followed the path to the pond as best we could. Weirdly, the trees I knew in daylight looked like strangers now. Some were bent and spindly, with branches that reached out like arms. Others were tall and thick as giants, waiting to munch up trespassing humans like us.
Gray kept squatting to search under bushes as we made our way down the trail. But he only scared up a few mice.
“Destiny!” I called over and over. “Where are you?”
Then, as we neared the pond, Gray grabbed my arm. “Look!” He pointed at two gleaming bits of gold in the tall grass.
Fox eyes! Braver than brave, I told myself. I put my hands on my hips to make myself seem larger, and stomped closer.
“Where is my gosling?” I demanded. “Show me before I freeze you solid again. This time you won’t be waking up so quickly.”
“Pixie, that’s a fox you’re talking to,” Gray whispered.
The fox watched me for a moment. It swished its tail back and forth, as if it might be making a decision.
“Come on, Sweet Tooth, take me to her,” I said.
But the fox suddenly twitched its ears, turned, and leaped into the pond.
“Wait! Come back!” I called. I could hear little lapping sounds as it paddled through the still, black water. It wasn’t long before it disappeared into the darkness.
We rushed into the grass where the fox had been hiding and began to search. It was so swampy one of my sneakers came off my foot and got stuck in the mud. By the time I retrieved it, both shoes were muddy and one of my socks was soaked.
“She’s not here,” I whispered.
“Well, she was here,” Gray replied. “Look!” He held up the little cowgirl hat.
I took it and pressed it against my cheek.
“Come on, Pix, don’t think the worst,” said Gray. “At least we found a clue. That’s something.”
He was right. But it wasn’t enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Ye Olde Second Clue
I hoped Aunt Doris would be driving the school bus again the next morning. But Mac was back, with a smile and a sniffle. I guess he’d been sick after all.
As I walked up the bus aisle, I passed out copies of a flyer Dad and I made.
Dad had been out early, tacking flyers onto the utility poles along our road. He also said he’d put them up on the bulletin boards in the supermarket and the hardware store in town.
I sat down next to Leo and handed him one. In the photo, Des was wearing her cowgirl hat and looking straight into the camera. But the flyer was black-and-white. You couldn’t tell that her beak and feet were bright orange, her eyes crystal blue, and her beloved hat was red. I wondered if Leo would ever get a chance to see her as she really was.
“Do you want me to help you search for her later?” he asked.
“Okay, sure. Lucy, Alexa, and Gray are coming over, too.” Actually a lot of the kids on the bus had volunteered to help look.
Ms. Mosely posted the flyer on all the electronic bulletin boards around school. During the morning announcements, she even got on the speaker to ask everyone to keep an eye out for Destiny.
In the halls and at recess, kids from the tiniest to the oldest stopped to say they’d search their neighborhoods. It was awesome that so many people wanted to help. By the end of the day, I dared to believe that she was still out there.
“Look!” Lucy exclaimed. We’d been searching the woods for an hour without finding anything. But she was pointing through the trees at something white at the edge of the pond. It hadn’t been there before.
My heart began flapping like a bird taking off. But the creature’s shape wasn’t right. Its body was too slender and its neck was a long, curved letter S.
“That’s an egret, Lucy.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I patted her shoulder. “You know, I’m pretty sure Dessie’s not here. With all of us calling, she’d have found us by now. Even if she were caught up in a vine or something, she’d be honking for help.”
Alexa looked around. “Is there anyplace else we can search?”
“We never checked out the toilet museum,” said Gray.
“My dad went there the first day.” I realized that didn’t sound very hopeful, so I tried again. “I guess she could have found her way there by now. Let’s go.”
If you started from the top of Winged Bowl’s driveway, you could follow it down past Acorn Cottage to the bottom of the hill. From there, it divided in two. The left drive in the fork led to Uncle B.’s big house and the right to the parking lot for the Museum of Rare, Historical, and Unique Toilets. But you could also get to the museum by taking the path through the woods and walking around the pond, which was what we did.
The pebbled walkway that led to the museum’s entrance was lined with tulips, daffodils, irises, and other spring flowers. Every few feet there were benches for visitors to rest on. It was pretty right up to the decorative toilets on either side of the door—not antiques, just ordinary ones. Each toilet sat on a stone pedestal and was planted with bright red geraniums. At Christmas there were mini trees with twinkling lights in those toilets.
We circled around the outside of the building, looking behind the shrubs and in the clumps of flowers, but we didn’t find a single white feather. When we got back to the front, we sat on benches across from each other—boys on one, girls on the other. The museum was only open on weekends, except for summer and the winter holiday season, when it was open every day. I could have asked Uncle B.’s permission for us to go inside, but really I just wanted to go home. Even though they didn’t say so, my friends seemed to understand.
For a few minutes we sat there quietly. Then Gray said, “Remember when we came here on the third-grade trip?”
Since Winged Bowl Elementary and Middle School had been built, every third-grade class had visited the museum to learn about “sanitation, health, and human ingenuity.”
“Of course I remember!” said Alexa. “Someone pooped in the rare, historical, and unique toilets.”
“It was Play-Doh, Al,” said Lucy.
Gray whooped. “I thought Mrs. Hill was
going to faint when she saw it!”
“Did you do it?” Alexa asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“No! It must have been someone in Ms. Martinez’s class.”
“I had her,” Lucy said. “But I don’t think anyone in our class did it.”
“Actually, it was me.”
We all looked at Leo as if he’d just spoken Gnomic or Ogrese.
“You’re kidding!” Gray said.
“Nope.” Leo shook his head. “I had this new Play-Doh set and I was fooling around mixing colors. So I tried red and blue and got purple. And I mixed red and yellow and got orange. Then I tried red and green—”
“And you got brown,” said Lucy.
“Right,” said Leo, nodding. “And since we were going to the museum the next day, I decided to make some art to put in it.”
“Art?” Alexa said.
“Well, yeah. It seemed like a good idea back then. I made three, um, snakes, and put them in a plastic baggie in my jacket pocket.”
Gray giggled so hard he slid onto the ground, writhing like a worm in a hot frying pan. Leo looked down at him and grinned before he continued. “Once our class was in the museum, I told Ms. Martinez I needed to use the restroom. On my way there, I placed my snakes in my three favorites—the dragon toilet, the turtle toilet, and the train toilet.”
I could feel my face getting red. “Why?” I asked.
Leo shrugged. “I wanted my work to be in a real museum.”
“But you hurt Uncle B.’s feelings,” I said. “He feels the same way about collecting toilets as you do about drawing.” I don’t know why I said that. Uncle B. hadn’t been there. When everyone was laughing, it was me who’d gotten hurt feelings.
Leo gave a sorry little shrug. “It was third grade. I probably wouldn’t do it now.”
“I know, I know,” I said, sniffing. “I’m not mad at you.”
Lucy patted my hair. “You can’t help it. You’re upset about Destiny,” she whispered. It was something my mom might have said.
Alexa handed me a tissue. “Lu and I need to go back to your house. My dad is going to pick us up soon. If you want, we can search again tomorrow.”
I took a long breath to clear my head. “Okay. I need to get home, too.” Without another word, we all got up to leave.
Be brave, have hope, I told myself as I led the way around the pond and up the path through the woods. Then I fell.
“Pixie!” Lucy squealed.
“It’s okay—I didn’t hit my head this time,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. I got up and scanned the ground. “There!” I said, pointing. “I tripped on that root.”
“Did you hurt your ankle?” asked Gray. “Leo and I could carry you. I know how to make a really cool four-handed wilderness seat.”
“Thanks, but there’s nothing wrong with my ankle.”
“Are you sure?” He sounded a little disappointed.
“I’m fine.” I looked around at my friends. “Please don’t mention this to my mom. She’d kill me if she found out I fell.”
We laughed a little about moms and worrying as we started walking along the path again. But when no one was paying attention, I took a long look over my shoulder. Was it the same root Sage had tripped on? I wasn’t sure. But I felt like maybe I’d discovered a clue—an important one.
CHAPTER FORTY
Ye Olde Teapot
After Sammy was in bed, Mom set a pot of tea and her acorn mug on the table. I was still there, lingering over the mint chip ice cream I was having for dessert. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, pulling out the chair opposite me.
“Roots, actually,” I said, planting my spoon in the ice cream.
Mom cocked her head and gave me a look that was half questioning, half comical. “Explain, please.”
“Well, a tree root popped up on the path in the woods. I was just wondering why.”
“I know roots sometimes surface when they’re searching for water or oxygen,” said my mom. “But I suppose it could also be that it’s suffering from too many people trampling over it. That root has probably been working itself up for a while—sort of like a blister on a toe. Only now it’s become a big-enough bump to notice.”
“It’s not exactly a bump.” I lifted the lid on the teapot. “It looks more like this handle—a loop of twisted root.”
Mom took the lid from me and examined it. “Huh. This handle does look like a root.”
I nodded. I was so used to seeing the ivy green teapot that I’d never really looked at it. Now I studied the leafy design that had been etched all over it.
“So this belonged to your great-grandma?” I asked.
“Maybe to my great-great-great grandmother. I don’t know how far back it goes. But I hope someday it will be in your kitchen.”
I didn’t want to think about that. “Both family roots and tree roots can be pretty powerful,” I said, changing the subject. “I mean, they affect the lives of so many future people and future trees.”
Mom took a sip from her mug. “They are really important. I wish I knew more about mine. Ours, I mean.”
I felt a flush creep up my neck. It seemed unfair that I knew so much more about our family history than my mother did. I couldn’t help thinking how good it would feel to tell her everything. But I was afraid if I did, it might bring her harm. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her because of me.
I slurped the melted ice cream from the bottom of my dish. “I guess I’ll go finish my homework,” I said.
“Okay, my little sapling.” Mom took a last sip from her mug and stood up. “Maybe I should tell your dad about that root before anyone trips over it. Tomorrow he can remove it.”
A mountain range of goose bumps popped up on my arms as I thought of going back into the woods that night. But I had to find the root before Dad cut it out. What if it really was a clue—the one that would lead me to Destiny? I knew it could also be a trap. And that whoever set it might be waiting for its prey like a spider in a web.
I was the prey.
For some reason I imagined a dark space beneath the ground where Destiny was alone and terrified. I knew if I asked Gray, he would come along, but Des was my gosling and Raveneece was my problem. I had to be braver than brave. I had to go alone.
This time I was glad the night was so dark. If Mom awoke, I didn’t want her to see me cutting down the clothesline—and using her best sewing scissors to do it. But if I was right about the root, I was going to need a long rope.
It was surprisingly easy to find it again. If anything, it seemed to have pushed farther up through the soil, which was really creepy. But I had to know if it would lead me to Destiny. So with shaking hands, I kneeled down, wound the rope around it, and tied a tight knot. Then I stood back and yanked it as hard as I could. When the ground moved slightly, I pointed my light at the space. I could just make out a jagged circle of dirt about the size of a manhole cover. The root was right smack in the middle, making it look a lot like a giant version of Mom’s teapot lid.
I yanked the rope again—and again. Finally I was able to drag the chunk of earth far enough away to uncover the hole. Panting, I threw myself down on the ground and crawled over to peer into the blinding blackness. I couldn’t tell how deep it went. Ten feet? A mile?
“Destiny!” I called quietly. “Des!”
Nothing. Not a honk or a squeak. A tear dripped off my chin and dropped into the nothingness. But the truth was, part of me felt relieved that I didn’t have to climb down into the hole—that I could still go home to my family, our cozy cottage, and my bed with the patchwork quilt.
Then I heard something slow, soft, and mournful. Honnnnk. Honnnnk. Destiny! I aimed my flashlight into the hole.
It was a long way down. So long, my weak light could hardly reach bottom. But I could make out some kind of cage. And inside it, a small white head.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Ye Olde Wretched Reunion
My heart curled up like an inchw
orm just thinking about descending into that hole. But Destiny was down there and I had to get her. I waved my light around and spotted a ladder made of branches tied together with dried vines. I couldn’t quite reach it, but if I hung on to the rope and shimmied down backward, I thought my feet might touch the top rung.
They did.
I climbed down for what felt like a very long time, holding my breath the whole way. When I finally got to the bottom, I was in a small, round room with a dark, narrow hallway leading off it. From somewhere back there, I heard a sound like the clattering of pots and pans. I had to hurry!
The room itself was bare, except for a table, two chairs, and the cage that held Destiny. Her head was lying on her breast, as if she had no idea I was there. Quickly, I squatted down and poked a finger through the bars.
“Dessie, it’s me.” I rubbed her head, but she didn’t move. The lock on the cage had a key in it. I unlocked it quickly, shoved the key in my pocket, and lifted her out. She was as limp as a feather pillow. “Des, wake up,” I pleaded.
The clattering sound got louder and I smelled smoke. I had to go right away. With Des cradled in my arms, I whirled toward the ladder— and screamed! Raveneece was standing in front of it. At her feet was her fox.
“I’ve been expecting you, brat,” she said, showing her pointy, picket fence teeth. She was wearing a stained white cook’s apron over her black jumpsuit. She still had the nest on her head.
“‘Beware of the hat where a birdie did bed,’” I remembered Mom reading.
Well, it was too late for that now.
“I don’t get many visitors, but I’m always prepared just in case,” said Raveneece in a voice sweet enough to give you a cavity. She held up a tray with a teapot, a plate of burned cookies, and a candle.
“I—I’m not visiting,” I said. “I came for my goose.” I tucked Des under one arm and took a step backward.
The Secret Destiny of Pixie Piper Page 14