“Excuse me,” he said. “The house is a little messy, and that’s mainly because I live here.”
“It’s no bother,” Matthew said, a bit squeaky.
“The Mellotrons are neat, aren’t they?”
Matthew had no idea what a Mellotron was. “Is that what these are called?”
The man nodded and gestured for Matthew to play more. Matthew played a few notes, wondering when he was going to get in trouble.
Instead, the man said, “You can call me Tom. And this is my music studio.”
Matthew wanted to protest. Tom? How could such a one be called Tom? It seemed much too ordinary. And yet…
It was the magic, wasn’t it? That someone called Tom could be here, in a magic world, making magic things. Up the street from home, and it was real. Like the fox.
Matthew shook his head. This was the weirdest day ever.
“Want to make some other sounds?” Tom asked.
Above the Mellotrons hung a large stone bell, and next to the bell a whole rack of gongs.
“Percussions instruments are really special to me,” Tom said. “But they’re tricky things to figure out what to do with.”
“Don’t you just bang them?”
“See, but if you do it one way, you might get one sound.” Tom picked up a mallet with a furry end and clocked the stone bell with it. “Do it another, and you’ll get a whole other sound.” Tom hit the bell again, this time in a different spot with a different strength. “And then you have to figure out how to fit that sound, or the other sound, in with the rest of the song, so it makes sense, sort of like a puzzle.”
It was increasingly seeming like Matthew wasn’t going to get in trouble for walking into Tom’s house and playing his instruments. In fact it looked more like he might be making a friend.
Later, after many sounds had been played, Matthew walked home, rattled.
When he tried to tell his mother that night at dinner that he’d run with a fox, she didn’t believe him.
“Don’t make up stories,” she said. “That’s not like you.”
Matthew ate his broccoli.
Being the Story in Which There Is a Magisterium
In the afternoon of the following day, Izandria Dauntless awoke to a strange and unexpected sight. The windows of her home had been plastered with paper.
She crawled out of bed and peered at one of the papers.
DON’T LOOK OUT THE BACK, it said.
CHECK THE MAILBOX, said another.
BUT DON’T LOOK OUT THE BACK, said a third.
YOU’LL SPOIL A THING, said the fourth.
DON’T SPOIL THE THING!! - you get the idea.
So did Izzy.
She jimmied up her own sign real quick, writing in big fat letters that could not be mistaken,
OK I WONT.
Because even when she was mad, Iz hated to spoil a thing.
In the mailbox, which Izzy did not even bother to pretend to wait to check, figuring it had better be important since someone had gone to all that trouble with the signs, there was an envelope. In the envelope there was an invitation.
The invitation read as follows:
Dearest Izandria Dauntless,
You are cordially invited to a Saturday teanic in your own backyard, on condition that you don’t look out the back all day until you come out at oh-dark-thirty, at which time the teanic will begin. If you look, I will know, and the teanic will not go on. So you must not look.
Promise not to look?
OK, good.
See you then.
Izandria frowned. The invitation was not signed, but she had an inkling who it might be from, being as there was only one person in the world she had ever had such a thing as a teanic with. She could not for a second imagine why he’d ever want to have a teanic in the dark, but she supposed you couldn’t much tell what to do with people who didn’t believe in magic.
She waited throughout the day for the coming of oh-dark-thirty. Distractions included lemon-pancake-making, conversing with Sir Vincent, dancing on the bathroom sink, singing lullabies like operas, hanging upside down until the blood made her face bright red, and other extremely important tasks.
When oh-dark-thirty finally landed, Izzy went into her backyard.
Only it wasn’t her backyard anymore.
It had been transformed into The Unknown. Small paper bags lined either side of a winding grassy path, glowing with magic fire like fairy lights. In case one found themselves lost in The Unknown, a metal arrow with the words THIS WAY inked on it in thick blocky letters was there to help.
Izzy followed the helpful arrow.
The path wound its way through an unusual kind of forest, not very densely populated (because of course it wasn’t a forest but a backyard, but nobody cared about that just now). Izzy skipped along the meandering path, following the fairy lights.
After a short while, which she wished was longer, Izzy came to a set of tall bushes. Lilac bushes, though they were all scraggles at this time of year. Here she found that the path led into a cove, where a set of smaller bushes joined with the lilacs in a semi-circle. The bushes made an elegant entranceway, perfect for a girl Izzy’s size, and it had been draped with white and purple paper flowers.
Izzy stepped through.
On the other side was a cozy space sheltered by the height of the lilac bushes, with a soft floor covered in leaves and pine needles. Over that floor had been laid a grand teanic of staggering proportions.
A colorful blanket with a wheel of teal, fuchsia, purple, and blue-green lay on the ground. Pillows had been tossed atop it, and a feast of tea, cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, rose cakes, petit fours, chocolates, shortbread biscuits, strawberries, and fizzy lemonade had been carefully arranged in the center.
Twinkle lights lit the bushes, here, there, everywhere.
And there, in the center of it, stood a boy who had once told a voice in a tree that there was no such thing as magic.
“Welcome to the Magisterium,” he said. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured at the other side of the blanket, across from him. Two places had been set with teacups, saucers, and snack plates.
Izzy sank down to her knees, eyeing the chocolates. They looked fancy, and while fancy chocolates were not always fun to eat, weren’t they the most fun to try, in case they were good? You really never did know.
Matthew settled himself at the other spot, hefted the little blue and white teapot, and poured her a cup of tea.
“My dear Izandria Dauntless,” he said. “I must tell you something. Some things, to be quite exact. There’s a good chance you won’t believe them. If you had told them to me before yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed them. But they’re real, and they’re true, and they’re important, so be quiet now and listen like you never listened before. Please.”
“I always listened before. It’s you who has the trouble with that.”
Matthew waited.
“Oh all right,” Izzy huffed. “Do go on. I’m listening to your unbelievable story.”
Matthew waited more. To be sure.
It didn’t take long for Izzy to shout: “Go on, then!! Tell it!”
Matthew scanned the environment, checking and double checking that they were safe and alone and cozied up in The Magisterium, where nothing could disturb them, before he leaned over the tea feast and whispered, in a solemn voice, “I ran with a fox.”
Izzy’s expression didn’t budge for a long moment. Then, finally, reluctantly, she raised her hand.
Matthew nodded at her, giving permission for her to speak.
“I know I’m supposed to be listening, but I need to ask something. Does it count as listening if I ask a question? I have questions.”
Matthew thought it over. “You may ask questions,” he said. “Provided they remain on topic.”
“How will we know if they’re not on topic?”
“I will tell you.”
Izzy considered and decided this was fair. “What color was
the fox? And what color were his eyes?”
“He was reddish brown on top, with white underneath, and dark brown paws, and he had very dark brown or black eyes. He ran alongside me for some time, and then he looked right at me before he turned and ran off.”
“Where and when did this take place? Had you just woken up? Did you have breakfast before? What sort of breakfast? In case it could have been something off in the food, you see.”
“It wasn’t something off in the food, Iz. It was before breakfast. Now let me tell the story. Then you can ask questions, and I’ll answer them.”
And so they continued in that way, for most of the rest of that evening, or really the whole thing, with Matthew telling the story of his most unusual day, thinking he had included all the relevant bits, and Izandria asking approximately 1 million questions, which demonstrated most thoroughly that indeed he had not. And Matthew cheerfully answered each of the questions, and as they went along this way, they both ate and drank every last bite of the tea feast.
When Matthew had finished telling all the bits of the story of the day, and Izandria had asked every last question she had, and the plates with the sandwiches and the cakes and the chocolates and the petit fours and the shortbread had all become empty, Izandria looked into Matthew’s eyes for a long time, as though taking his measure, and said finally, for a second time, as she had when he’d told that part of the story, “So you met a wizard.”
“Indeed.”
Izzy poked her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, considering.
“Do you want to meet him? I think I could find the way back. I could introduce you.” Matthew was not actually altogether certain that he could find the way back, but he was certain that he would do his very best and try any number of times necessary to satisfy Izzy, if that was what needed to be done.
But Izzy said no, and then she fell silent.
She was silent so long that Matthew said finally, “Well?”
“You told me to listen. I’m listening.”
Matthew huffed. “I’m finished, so stop listening and say a thing.”
“Very well. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming? It sounds like a lovely dream.”
“It wasn’t a dream, Iz. It was all real. Like you said. Like you told me. And I—well. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you were right. About the magic.”
“Huh,” Izzy said. “Curious.”
And, as she was wont to do when it came to friends who meant what they said, Izandria Dauntless forgave her friend Matthew right there and then, and immediately, without a further thought for the whole thing, began thinking of plans for what adventures they might do next.
Because holy rose cakes, it had been too long since they’d had one.
Being the Story in Which Izzy Acquires a New Family Member
It was a rare day of clean heat. August never liked clean heat, and it was a warning sign. It meant the days of filthy heavy heat were nearly done. For Matthew, it was all right, as this meant the busy feeling of focus that signaled getting ready for going back to school.
But for Izzy, it was the end of the world, akin to dying. Izzy was a summer girl, no more, no less.
They were lazing about on Izzy’s lawn, cloud-gazing, which was wonderful, always, but somehow, somewhere in the days running into the nights running into the next days, cloud-gazing had gotten dull. And they needed to make the most of these last days of summer—it was an unspoken rule—and yet they could not quite seem to come up with the thing to do that would be the most.
“Let’s have ice cream,” she said.
But they’d already had ice cream a million times, and also it wasn’t as fun when it didn’t melt in big fat drops even before you could get it in your mouth.
“We could hang upside down from the monkey bars at the park,” Matthew said.
But Izzy climbed up on her roof every day, and in trees on lots of other days, and that was enough for her. “Monkey bars, foo,” she said.
This was not like Izzy, of course, but who can be like themselves while also dying? Dying changes everything.
“My mother might have ideas,” Matthew said, before he could think better of it.
Izzy looked at him like she was about to plonk him over the head so hard he’d never come back up.
He shut it.
They continued lazing about on the lawn, half cloud-gazing, half not, soaking up the feel of their gold-warmed skin beneath the sun, breathing in the fresh scent of grass, not deciding what to do, not coming up with anything good to do. Then, somehow, out of nowhere, Matthew sat up on his elbow, driven by a sudden need to look, and spied a bit of magic.
There where the green lawn of Castle Beauregard Mandelgreen met the gravel of the town street, on the concrete curb, sat a black cat with large, smart yellow eyes, gazing at them with the incisive, endlessly disapproving gaze of the king of animals. Waiting.
The cat had long fluffy fur, with tufts between its toes and in front of its tall pointy ears. It sat with paws aligned in front of it, neatly, and Matthew couldn’t help thinking of being in class with his rather prim second grade teacher, who looked them over with a gaze as suspicious as that cat’s, as far as he was concerned.
“Izzy,” Matthew whispered.
“What? You got something?” She didn’t open her eyes.
“Magic,” he said. “Right here on the lawn today.”
Izzy cracked one eye open. The cat looked at her. Izzy looked at the cat. Matthew thought there were two options for what would happen next: either the world would end, explosively, from the two of these highfalutin creatures staring at each other like that, or else Izzy and the cat would be friends forever. He mostly hoped for the second thing, but he could see where the first might be more exciting, and where it might be what the two staring at each other would also both prefer.
“Hey, cat,” Izzy said.
The cat began to saunter down the road. It took approximately seventeen steps before it stopped and turned its head back to glare at them. Its tail swished murderously back and forth.
“I guess we’re supposed to go with it,” Matthew said. Since when had he become so good at talking to animals? What a weird world it was, this end of summer.
“Her,” Izzy said. “But I think you’re right.”
“How do you know it’s a her?”
“Same way I know anything. By looking. And listening. And seeing. You can know everything by doing that. You just gotta know how.”
“Right,” Matthew said. “Are we following this cat or what?”
Izzy half-shrugged. “What else’ve we got to do?”
They grabbed bikes, in case the cat wanted to go far, or they did, and pedaled away after it. They followed the cat to the woods, where the air smelt of leaves and the soil made the air feel cool, and they got off their bikes and walked into the warrens of paths winding between the trees. They dumped their bikes just past the trees and followed that cat into the center, and there it was, a pile of wood nailed together hither and thither in a semi-organized way, enough to form a small square space within that could, more than justifiably, be called a fort. Izzy and Matthew lost track of the cat while they made mud pies and leaf art inside the fort and hunted each other outside the fort.
Every time Izzy caught him, which was something like at least seven, Matthew died dramatically.
When they were done with the woods, or more likely when the woods were done with them, they hunted that darn cat, looking for her to take them back, or to come back with them. Izzy felt it was only right, being as how the cat had led them to the fort. But though they examined every bush, peered at every tree, stared down every plant, they found no trace of the cat. Up and vanished, she had, as felines are wont to do.
And so the two summer kids blazed back to Izzy’s, planning to cap off their last summer day with a cool drink and no sad good-byes. No happy good-byes, neither. That was Izzy’s rule.
Secretly Matthew hoped they might at least say something t
o mark the moment, but you never could tell with her, and if he was going to get smacked or side-eyed for it, he wouldn’t. Or maybe he would, this time. If it felt right.
Back at Castle Beauregard Mandelgreen, they marched up the lawn, thirsty as all get out, ready to start on that drink. But about halfway there, Izzy put a hand on Matthew’s arm. “Izzat?” She pointed.
The very middle of the top step to the porch had been claimed by a cloud of black. Narrowing his eyes, trying to get a better look, Matthew walked, moving closer, and there she was, opening one yellow eye to peep at him, wondering why he was waking her from her Very Important Nap, and promptly closing the eye again, taking no further notice.
“It’s the cat,” he said, feeling dumb.
“It is,” Izzy said softly. “Like she owns the place already. What a stinker.” She raised her voice enough for the cat to hear. “I guess we have a cat joining us now, Sir Vincent, Bentson. What do we say to that?”
The cat yawned, opening its pink mouth wide, stretched the toes of one paw, and settled back in, its nose hidden beneath its fluffy tail.
“Yes,” Izzy said, staring at the animal and sighing. “I suppose that’s all there is to it, then.”
She headed up and around the veranda to the right.
“What are you going that way for? Wouldn’t it be—”
A low ornery rumble, with a shrill saw-like overtone, distinctly unpleasant, emanated from deep within a diaphragm somewhere, so deep that it could hardly be attributed to the small furry creature in front of Matthew, and yet it did seem to be the case.
“—faster—to go—”
“Well, you can’t very well walk on top of that, now can you? C’mon. Leave her. She’s not sure she likes you yet. She’ll figure out she does later. Let’s make a pitcher of cherry limeade.”
A Possibility of Magic Page 8