Beached & Bewitched

by Emery Belle

  “Jiminy Christmas!” Glenn gave a little hop, and his pot belly wobbled alarmingly. “I didn’t realize we had so little time left.”

  He snaked his fingers around my upper arm and tugged me toward the shack with surprising strength. “Not once in five hundred years have I missed the deadline for bringing in a hatchling, and I’m not about to start today. Let’s see, I know it’s around here somewhere…”

  He dug a hand around in his pocket, sticking out the tip of his tongue in concentration, while the redheaded man watched him with a hungry expression.

  “Ah, here we go.” Glenn produced a black velvet pouch that rattled as he set it down on the ledge in front of the shack’s window. “Keep the change as a little thank you for squeezing us in at the last minute, Cornelius.”

  I watched in alarm as the other man tore open the bottom of the pouch without bothering to use the drawstrings and began counting out the silver and bronze coins with a feverish gleam in his eyes. I could have sworn, just for a moment, that his blue pupils flashed golden as he held up a particularly fat coin and licked his lips.

  But the flash was gone as quickly as it appeared, and when the man, now looking considerably less grumpy, pushed a leather-bound ledger and fountain pen toward me, I automatically scrawled my name at the bottom of a long list of others.

  “Don’t ever try to shortchange a leprechaun,” Glenn muttered in my ear as he guided me toward the dock, “or it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Look harmless, they do, until the claws come out.”

  He drew his hand across his neck in a slashing motion as I swallowed hard and glanced back at Cornelius, who was now lovingly rubbing one of the coins against his cheek, his red hair streaked with gold in the morning sunshine.

  Glenn led me midway down the dock, and we came to a stop above the canoe, which looked even sorrier up close than it did from the beach. Its sides were pockmarked with hastily patched holes, its floor was covered in a thick layer of mud and grime, and as I glanced around, I realized there were no paddles to be found.

  I snorted to myself and looked sideways at Glenn, who was busily rolling up the cuffs of his yellow pants; if he’d dreamed up some sinister plan to kidnap me, then we weren’t going to get very far. I’d gone along with this charade so far; at this point, I might as well humor him.

  “Whoopsie-daisy,” he said as he tried and failed to edge himself down into the canoe gracefully. He plopped down hard, bottom first, on one of the seats, and the entire canoe sank a few inches into the water.

  Tugging a checkered handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the sweat beading over his forehead. “I really must cut down on the peanut brittle, but every time I journey into the human world I just can’t seem to stop myself.” He produced a second handkerchief and unfolded it to reveal a thick stack of candy that he shook in my direction.

  “No thanks,” I said, lowering myself into the canoe and perching on the seat opposite him.

  We stared at each other, a chilly breeze rustling our hair and the sunlight dancing patterns across our shoulders, and I swallowed a laugh as I let the utter lunacy of the events of the last few hours begin to sink in. Gazing out to the horizon, where white-capped waves rolled gently over rocks jutting out from the ocean floor, I tilted my head back slightly to allow the sunshine to warm my face.

  I had to admit, I was starting to enjoy myself. I, Wren Winters, was the definition of practicality, and to allow myself to get caught up in a little bit of whimsy, just for a few moments, was completely out of character for me. And besides, Glenn, though clearly completely out of touch with reality, was beginning to grow on me. Part of me would even miss him once the jig was up. Maybe I’d send him a curling iron of his own as a thank-you gift for helping me take my mind off my heartbreak over Jason’s betrayal, if only briefly.

  Still, something niggled at the back of my mind, two little words I tried squelching as soon as they entered the conscious part of my brain, that, try as I might, I was never able to banish fully.

  What if?

  Up until twenty-four hours ago, my life had been normal. Dull, yes, but normal. I had a stable job, a place to kick my feet up at night, a comfortable, if slightly unexciting, relationship, and a ceramic garden gnome that remained motionless at all times. But yesterday morning, something in my universe seemed to shift, and no matter how much I tried to squash down the feeling of unease bubbling up from my stomach, it refused to dissipate.

  I looked at Glenn, still happily munching on a fat piece of peanut brittle, and the question I was too afraid to ask myself began to form on my lips. Sensing my gaze, he glanced over at me and gave me a knowing smile.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said, folding up the rest of the peanut brittle and stuffing it back into his pocket, patting it for good measure. “It’s always a bit frightening at first. But you aren’t the first to be ushered to the island from the human world, and the others take to their new life quickly enough. I daresay you’ll find island living enjoyable, once you give it all a few days to sink in.”

  I opened my mouth to respond—although to say what, I didn’t know—but the words died in my throat as the canoe gave an almighty lurch and began to shake uncontrollably.

  “I hate this part,” Glenn mumbled, his face turning a sickly shade of green. “You’d think after a few centuries, I’d get used to it, but I swear the ride gets bumpier by the decade. Sometimes I think Cornelius is angling for a pay raise.” He pressed the sleeve of his jacket against his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut.

  As the canoe suddenly plummeted downward, sinking fast into the rippling waves, I grabbed hold of the sides and let out a squawk of terror that was immediately muffled by the bubble of glass that appeared out of nowhere and circled around my head. Steam from my uneven breathing quickly fogged up the inside of the glass, but I could make out schools of orange and yellow fish zipping around the canoe as we disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

  Shadowed tentacles of seaweed swayed eerily in the dark water as we descended lower and lower, the rays of sun that had sparkled on the ocean’s surface no longer able to penetrate the gloom. Glenn’s face, also enclosed in a protective bubble, wavered in and out of view across from me as he clutched the edge of his seat and muttered soundlessly to himself. Something brushed against my shoulder, and I jerked my head around to see a long, thin tail whipping out of sight.

  Crossing my arms around my body protectively, I huddled in on myself, my heartbeat thumping out of control as the canoe continued to navigate through the gloom. After what seemed like an eternity, a pinprick of white light appeared in the distance, and I squinted toward it to try and make out the source. Glenn noticed it too, and busied himself with straightening the lapels of his jacket and smoothing a few creases out of his pants; despite being underwater, our clothes were bone-dry.

  As we drew nearer, the light grew stronger, and I realized it was coming from an enormous spotlight embedded into the ocean floor that illuminated an ornate archway bearing the words “Magic Island Ferry.”

  An octopus followed us lazily as the canoe slowed and we drifted through the archway toward a hulking two-story white ferry enclosed in the same glass bubble that still protected my head. Shapes of all sizes moved around each level, but from this distance they were still cloaked in shadow.

  The canoe shuddered to a halt at the base of the ferry, and when Glenn waved his fingers and murmured something I couldn’t hear through the bubble, a set of stairs dropped down from the deck and a platform extended toward us. Glenn stepped onto the platform, and I followed suit, craning my neck back to make out the flag that fluttered from the mast, cobalt blue and dotted with miniature stars that changed from gold to silver and back again before my eyes.

  A hand on my shoulder startled me, and I turned to find Glenn standing beside me, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a kind smile. “Are you ready?” he mouthed, tipping his head toward the stairs.

  Against my better judgment, I took a deep b
reath and nodded, and we began to climb.

  Chapter 4

  The first level of the ferry was teeming with… well, people didn’t seem like quite the right word for the creatures of all shapes and sizes chatting on the benches, buying snacks at the food stand, and, in one case, knitting what looked like a full bodysuit made of luxurious white fur.

  “For when the yetis start to shed their winter coats,” Glenn whispered to me knowingly as I tried not to stare. “They feel a tad self-conscious walking around wearing nothing but their pink skin.”

  Glenn led me to a relatively quiet corner of the ferry, for which I was thankful—by this point, my head was spinning from being constantly whipped back and forth as I tried to take in my surroundings. A group of pretty teenage girls with sparkling iridescent wings fluttering behind them chatted energetically a few seats away from me, every so often letting out high-pitched giggles as a trio of handsome boys wearing black cloaks strutted past them. Behind them, a woman with pale skin and ice-blue eyes stared vacantly ahead, and I realized with a jolt of horror that what I had at first mistaken for crimson lipstick smeared haphazardly over her mouth was actually…

  “Blood,” Glenn breathed in my ear. “Steer clear of the zombies, my dear. Sure, there are regulations and such that prevent them from eating just anyone, but they’ve been known to stray a time or two.”

  He shuddered, then pried another square of peanut brittle from his pocket and began to nibble at the edges. “Can I get you something from the food cart?” he asked after a moment. “The journey’s a bit long, I’m afraid, since the ferry makes stops at not only Magic Island but also the surrounding communities where some islanders have chosen to settle. Not everyone likes the cosmopolitan lifestyle.”

  “Something to drink would be nice,” I said with a grateful smile, suddenly realizing that I’d barely consumed anything since the bottle of wine Jason had brought over last night. “Do you think they have coffee?”

  “Ah, you need a little pick-me-up?” Glenn brushed the crumbs from his fingers and heaved himself to his feet. “Coffee isn’t a popular choice among the islanders, I’m afraid, but I’ll do you one better: a watermelon whiplash.” He grinned at me, his eyes sparkling merrily. “By the time you’re done with it, you’ll be swinging from the flag pole!”

  Before I could change my order to a glass of water, he bounded off with a speed that belied his size. Shrugging to myself, I settled back into my seat and continued to surreptitiously glance around at the other passengers. A stack of boxes in the far corner of the ferry caught my attention, and as I scrutinized their familiar shape, frowning, it dawned on me what I was looking at.

  Coffins. At least thirty of them.

  I pointed a shaking finger at them when Glenn returned, balancing two frothy pink beverages with curly straws that were sloshing from side to side. “Thought I could do with one myself after all the excitement of the past…”

  He cocked his head when he noticed my stricken expression and followed the direction of my finger with his eyes. “Yes,” he said, shoving one of the drinks into my outstretched hand while trying to catch the straw of the other in his mouth. “Fresh bodies for the vampires’ feeding.”

  “But h-how?” I stammered. “From where?”

  “Well you can’t expect there to be enough room in the world to bury every person who’s ever died, can you?” He gave me a patient smile, as though he were explaining a very simple concept to a particularly stupid child. “We would have run out of space a millennium ago.”

  He slurped up some of his drink. “A bit shocking at first, I’d imagine, but believe me, this arrangement suits everyone just fine.”

  As I tried to squash back the unpleasant images now rolling around my mind, I took a tentative sip of my own drink to distract myself and raised my eyebrows in surprise. “This is delicious.”

  “Of course it is.” Glenn scooped up a fingerful of watermelon-flavored foam and dabbed it onto his tongue. “The potioneers have spent years perfecting the recipe.”

  The next few minutes passed in companionable silence. By now, despite continually pinching my arm as hard as I could to try and wake up from what the rational side of me screamed was just a dream, reality was beginning to set in. This was no hoax orchestrated by Jason and Clarissa—that argument had been thrown out the window with the sinking canoe. Somehow, unbelievably, I had stepped out of my life directly into the pages of a fantasy story.

  And as I glanced over at Glenn, whose eyes were beginning to drift shut, I realized that I felt strangely… comfortable. But still, so many questions were tumbling through my mind that I had no idea where to even begin.

  “Glenn?” I asked, gently prodding him in the side.

  “Sassafras juice!” he cried, startling out of his half-sleep and almost knocking over his drink.

  He blinked at me slowly, as if clearing the fog from his mind, then rubbed his eyes with his plump fingers. “Sorry, my dear, must have dozed off.” He frowned at his cup. “Doesn’t pack the punch it used to. One of these when I was a hatchling would have kept me up for three days straight.”

  Nudging aside my own half-finished drink, I took a deep breath and studied his face. “Last night, in my bathroom, you said that everyone was worried about me, that I’d almost missed the deadline. What did you mean by that?”

  Glenn straightened up in his chair and eyed me thoughtfully. “Today,” he began, “is your—”

  “Thirtieth birthday!” I gasped. In all the excitement, I had completely forgotten.

  “Indeed.” He nodded. “The ability to wield magic is predestined, determined long before a babe is born, but those abilities hold an expiration date. If those bestowed with the gift of magic do not show their abilities by the time the clock strikes midnight on their thirtieth birthday, it is too late. The magic has died out, never to return.”

  “What happens then?” I whispered, entranced.

  He drew in a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. “Those born in the human world are none the wiser, and those born within the magical community are banished. The International Association of Magical Beings, the governing body for our world, keeps a record for every person born with the… magical gene, if you will. If that magic never comes to fruition, the record is burned in a ceremonial fire.”

  Shaking his head, he added, “It’s unfortunate, but a necessary evil all the same. As a guide, it is my duty to watch over magic wielders born in the human world and, if the time presents itself, introduce them to the magical community so they can begin their studies. The IAMB had given you up for lost, but I always knew the day would come when your true abilities would shine through.”

  He gave me an encouraging smile, then waggled his finger at me playfully before thumping his chest. “You had me in quite the state all day yesterday, though. Thought this old heart would give out from the anticipation.”

  I thought back to the moment last night when, facing Jason and the full weight of his betrayal, the steam had started pouring out of my ears. At the time, I was worried there was something seriously wrong with me… how could I possibly have known those were my magical abilities tuning in for the first time?

  Overwhelmed, and suddenly exhausted, I rested my head against the wall behind me. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  Glenn nodded sympathetically, then performed a complicated-looking wave of his hand, and a pillow appeared in his lap. “You should rest,” he said, leaning over and gently propping it behind my head. “The day is young, and we have much to accomplish once we arrive on the island.”

  He began to hum a soft, simple tune under his breath, and the effect was instantaneous: sinking my head into the pillow, I temporarily forgot my surroundings and was enveloped in a warm, dreamless sleep.

  The ferry braked hard, knocking the pillow out from beneath my head, and I sat up sharply and stared around in alarm. Where was I?

  Squinting, I took in the hustle and bustle around me as those on board gathered up th
eir things and swarmed toward the exit. Only when my eyes landed on the pile of coffins did the pieces start to fall into place once more. I was a witch, traveling by ferry instead of broomstick to some mythical island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, where I would learn how to wield my magic properly so I wouldn’t accidentally kill myself or anyone else.

  In other words, just another ordinary Sunday.

  I glanced at the seat next to me and realized with a shudder of fear that Glenn no longer occupied it. Was I on my own already?

  “Coming through, coming through,” a familiar voice called, and I breathed out a sigh of relief as I saw a neon-pink top hat bobbing toward me through the crowd.

  “Wren!” he cried, looking frantic when he spotted me. He began to jog, his belly bouncing up and down with each step. A button shot off his jacket, nearly taking out the eye of a winged teenager sitting nearby, and she shot him a lethal look that he seemed not to notice.

  By the time he reached me, he was heaving great, panting gasps, but when I tried to take his arm and lead him to the nearest chair, he shook me off, his eyes wide and wild. “We can’t be dilly-dallying! I sent a sparrow to the registrar’s office to prepare them for our arrival, and I just received word back that there is some kind of issue with your magical status.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, dread rising in my stomach. I had no idea what the registrar’s office was, but it sounded serious, especially coupled with Glenn’s sudden panic.

  “It means that your magical abilities are in question!” he practically shouted, drawing curious glances from those around us still waiting to disembark.