Chapter 4

Over dinner, Kip’s dad announced, “Your mom called.”

Kip nodded and chewed. And chewed. Broccoli, the veg du jour, was half raw.

“Not that I’m sending you away or anything, but we were both thinking you might do better staying with her after we get back from vacation.”

No surprise there. His parents had been periodically swapping custody for the past three years. Spending extra time in a home with fresh laundry, a tidy house, and properly cooked meals definitely had its appeal. “All right.”

“Once you settle in at Mom’s, you can start work.”

The undercooked broccoli almost made a U-turn. “Work?”

“If you want to buy a car the instant you turn sixteen, you’ll need money.”

“But that’s a full year away.”

“Then it’s time to start saving. Mom got you a job as a bag boy at Tully’s. Isn’t that great?”

Great? Had his father no compassion? “I can’t start a job now. We had a death in the family. I need time to soul-search.”

Dad’s smile dissolved into a frown. “It was a rabbit. You can soul-search while you’re putting milk and bread into grocery bags.”

Kip sprang to his feet. “He wasn’t just a rabbit. He was me best mate.”

Dad pointed his fork at him. “That’s the other thing, Son. Your mom and I have put up with that silly accent long enough. It’s time you started using your real voice again.”

Those words, not quite an order, not quite a threat, struck Kip with more force than an unexpected blow to the stomach. He turned away so Dad wouldn’t see how much it hurt. “I’d like to be excused now. I’m camping out tonight.” He spoke in the only voice he knew how to use.

“It’s going to rain,” Dad called after him.

Kip finished packing as the last of the sun vanished behind a heavy gray sky. He smelled dampness in the air, but a little rain never hurt anyone. Especially when one owned a new tent. He hefted his gear over his shoulder and marched straight to the piece of driftwood still standing upright in the sand.

Too bad Mikey’s reason for putting it there had been make-believe. If anyone needed to escape to another world, it was Kip. How could his parents be so heartless? Hiring out their only son as a bag boy. And they both wanted him to change how he talked? Why couldn’t they accept him for who he was?

He yanked the driftwood from the sand and unfolded his tent where the stick had been. The tent quickly took shape. After pushing in the last peg, he crawled inside. Sleeping bag and pj’s here, battery-powered lantern there, snacks and gym bag full of magic props close at hand. By the time the first raindrop spat upon his nylon roof, he was nestled inside, practicing his one-handed cut with a deck of cards.

A gust of wind slapped against one wall. Rain spattered. Thunder boomed. Maybe the wind would scoop up his tent and blow him into another world. His parents would feel sorry then. Bag boy. It wasn’t right.

The storm had nearly played itself out by the time he flicked off the lantern. The soft rain quickly lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed he worked at a circus as a magician. Just as he was about to make his sequin-clad assistant, who looked a lot like Winnie, disappear, a rogue elephant stampeded into the ring. It sat on his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. Kip woke gasping, his head throbbing.

Lying in the dark, he became aware of an unnatural stillness outside. He propped on one elbow, cocked his head, and gave a listen. Silence. The rain had stopped, so why couldn’t he hear the crash of moving surf?

He tried to check the time on his mobile phone, but the screen stayed black. “I just charged this,” he muttered. A clacking noise distracted him. It sounded like metal boots marching toward his shelter. The sound stopped just outside. Light spilled over the outer walls of his tent.

He sat upright, heart revving. He fumbled into his trousers, pulling them over his pajama shorts. These weren’t robbers, were they? On a private beach?

“Come out slowly.” The voice sounded as though it spoke from inside a tin can.

He reached for the tent’s zipper with a trembling hand. He’d rather face them head-on than let them attack the tent while he was still inside.

He poked out his head. “I haven’t any cash on—” He cut himself off and gaped at the dark stone walls that surrounded him. His nostrils filled with the smell of moss and rising damp. Where’d the beach go? And who were these little blighters in metal suits of armor? Some held flaming torches while others pointed spears at him.

They outnumbered him seven to one. He unfolded himself from his tent. The tallest soldier barely reached his elbow. He could probably take them on. They were nothing more than a band of miniature men. Minute men! He sucked in a breath of moldy air and choked. Either Mikey had been right about the portal, or Kip was having an incredibly realistic dream.

“How did you get in here?” A knight’s reedy voice echoed against his metal helmet.

Kip slowly rubbed a hand through the rumpled curls at the back of his head. “Blimey.” This felt like no dream he’d ever had. Louder he said, “I believe it was a time tear? If you’re familiar with the term.”

The tiny men turned, looking from one to another.

The leader spun back toward him. “Were you sent by General Takka?”

“Yes.” If that’s what they wanted, then he jolly well was. Dream or not, he’d play it out.

“You’ve come to stop the lurkin, then?” asked the leader.

“That would be me.” Any job was better than bag boy.

The knights leaped as one and let out a muffled cheer.

“Then you must meet with our queen,” said the leader.

“My thought exactly. Is it all right if I get a few things first?”

Without waiting for an answer, he ducked into his tent, pocketed a few magic props, and slid back out.

He followed the knights through the lower regions of a castle. At least that’s what it seemed to be. They led him up a stone staircase along candlelit corridors until they reached an oversized room. Its tapestry-covered walls glowed under bright fluorescent fixtures. Because it had to be a dream, the odd mix of primitive and modern lighting made perfect sense.

“Please be comfortable, General. The Regal and Majestic Queen Bogen shall meet with you shortly.”

He stood alone in a room lined with benches and chairs, each covered with plush maroon material. He bounced onto a comfy bench beside a table filled with snacks. He helped himself to a glass of red liquid that tasted strawberry sweet and lemony tart. The cheese and biscuits were superb. Or maybe the fact he hadn’t eaten in hours simply made him hungry. Either way, he’d gobbled all the cheese by the time a bugle fanfare sounded outside the door. Kip jumped to attention. She might not be his queen, but he would still pay respect to the little woman.

What entered on springy steps, however, was far from tiny. In fact, it looked to be over seven feet tall. Kip pressed his lips together to keep from gawping at the queen’s large, white, webbed feet. Long, muscular legs of dry, warty, white skin shown from beneath a gold-and-purple robe. Her lumpy face had a long, thin mouth and twin pinpricks for nostrils. Two bulging, pink eyes stared from her crowned head. He couldn’t say what she was—the result of a scientific experiment gone wrong? She reminded him of a pro wrestler crossed with an albino frog.

He cleared his throat. “Your Majesty?”

“You are an odd-looking creature,” the queen said in a pompous voice.

Considering he was the stranger here, he bowed deeply. “Odd, perhaps, but able to recognize great beauty when I behold it, Your Majesty.”

A tan frog man bounded into the room. “Queen Bogen! Your Majesty! You should have waited for us! You might have been in danger.” Three other giant frogs, walking upright, crammed through the door behind the first one.

“Zyke, you worry too much. This creature is Takka’s champion. How rude of me. I haven’t even asked your name.”

“Kip the Amazing, Your Majesty.” He conjured a bouquet of paper flowers and offered them to her.

The queen accepted them with a bow. “These are quite lovely, but they won’t protect us from the lurkin, will they?”

“True, Your Majesty. But if I can make things appear—” He pulled four red sponge balls seemingly from the air. “—doesn’t it follow that I can also make them disappear?” One by one, he palmed the balls. “I’ll do the same with your lurkin.”

The queen clapped in delight. “Our dear Takka hasn’t sent us a general but a wizard! Master Kip the Amazing, allow us to personally escort you to your laboratory.”

A wizard! Now there was a job title a thousand times better than bag boy. I hope this isn’t a dream.

He followed the queen and her entourage to a laboratory, high in one of the castle’s towers. The large round room proved to be drafty, and every object, including the fireplace, lay under a thick coating of dust.

Kip sneezed. Okay, maybe it was only ten times better than bag boy.

“Forgive the condition,” the queen said. “We haven’t had a wizard in ages. Our servants will tidy up for you. In the meantime, take stock of what’s here and give our cook a list of any special ingredients you may require.”

The queen and her staff departed, allowing him to inspect his laboratory in private. The tower room held tall, curved shelves crammed with potions and leather-bound books. He picked his way across the room, through broken glass and bird droppings. An antique volume, thicker than any he’d seen at a library, lay open on a table by a little round window with no glass. He blew the dust away to reveal a script fancier than hieroglyphics, more baffling than Hebrew.

Unable to make sense of it, he turned away and pulled a random book from the nearest shelf. He eased into a dusty overstuffed chair and opened it. Each page offered colorful illustrations on how to hold the arms while reciting incantations. He puzzled over a picture of a rodent turning into what appeared to be a cabbage. All it took was a wave of a wand. Were these mere illusions or real magic?

He flipped through more pages, growing frustrated. “What’s it all mean?”

“You need a familiar,” a voice chirped.

Kip snapped his head toward the sound. A black bird, the size of a raven with a short, curved, orange beak, stared back from its perch on the sill of a second open window.

He gaped at the bird. “Did you just say something?”

“I just said you need a familiar.”

In a world where the queen was a frog, why shouldn’t the birds speak?

“Aren’t familiars usually cats?”

The bird glided to the arm of his chair. “I am a kak.”

“Actually, what I said—”

“Kaks have been wizards’ familiars since the beginning of time,” the bird chattered. “Of late we’ve had no wizards. I blame Maggenta. You are the new court wizard, are you not?”

“Just now got the title,” he said with pride.

“Then we shall become great friends. Bauble!” The bird hopped onto his shoulder and nipped at the gold hoop in his left earlobe.

“Oi!” He batted the bird away. “Leave it be. It’s attached to me ear.”

“It shines so.”

“You can’t have it.”

The bird fluttered back to the chair arm. “Bad as the cook, you are,” it muttered. “ ‘Leave it be, Willum,’ he says to me. ‘Don’t step in the flour, Willum. Stop eating that pie, Willum!’ ”

“Your name’s Willum, then?”

The bird cocked his head and stared up at him with one yellow eye.

“Right. Stupid question. I’m Kip, by the way.”

Willum shook his shiny black head. “No, no, no. You need a proper wizard’s name. I’ve always fancied the name Blundoon.”

“Sorry, but it’s Kip. Kip the Amazing.”

“Oh, Kip the Amazing,” Willum said with a head bob. “That’s all right, then, as long as you’ve got the amazing bit at the back. What amazing things are you studying in that book?”

“Nothing. I can’t read it.”

“Even after you drank the enlightenment potion?” Willum toddled from one end of the chair arm to the other. “It must be a book of confusion.”

Kip eased the book closed, intrigued. “Enlightenment potion?”

“Was it stolen?” The bird flitted to a high shelf. “No, here it is.” He tipped over a vial with his beak. Kip leaped up, catching it before it reached the floor. He pulled out the cork stopper. It smelled like black licorice.

“You’re sure this is an actual enlightenment potion and not poison?”

“Who would put poison in an enlightenment potion bottle?”

Kip’s curiosity allowed him to accept the bird’s logic. A tiny drop couldn’t do any harm, surely. He put a dab of the clear liquid on his finger and touched it to his tongue. It tasted spicy hot. When the burning dissipated, his mind sizzled with clarity. He raced back to his book and flipped to a middle page.

The words seemed to flow directly into his subconscious. At no time should you attempt this incantation during an electrical storm.

He turned to the cover and read out loud, “Incantations for the Mischief Maker.” He set the book on the floor. “Willum, is there a book on how to make things disappear?”

“I didn’t drink the enlightenment potion, did I?” the bird said indignantly. “Read the titles. What manner of wizard are you anyway?”

“A new one.”

The bird let out a squawk. “What? An apprentice without a master?”

“Don’t be cheeky. I have powers.” To demonstrate, he made a quarter appear.

“Bauble!”

He tossed it into the air. The bird caught it in his beak and flew out the window.

“Oi! I thought you were me familiar.”

He probably didn’t need one just now anyway. The ability to read the books more than made up for his familiar’s lack of loyalty.

He skimmed more titles, eager to begin. He was going to like it here. A lot.