Even and Odd Page 4

  Squatting next to her, Odd asked, “What did you say?”

  “I can’t change back,” Even whispered.

  “What?”

  “I’m stuck. Like this. I’m stuck as a skunk.”

  4

  Even was certain she’d be human again by morning. After all, she’d never had any of her magic last into an odd day. Curled up on her bed with her nose resting on her fluffy tail, she told herself this over and over until she finally fell asleep.

  She dreamed she was riding her bike down the bike path, on the way to buy bagels from the bagel store. And she woke feeling as if she’d been pedaling. She stretched out her arms, legs, and tail—

  Tail?

  Seeing the black-and-white fur, she jumped to her four paws with her tail stiff and straight up. A puff of wet air spurted out—

  Odd sat bolt upright in bed. “Ahh! What is that smell?”

  “Look at me!” Even wailed.

  Jumping up, Odd clamped her hands over her nose and mouth. “Don’t have to. I can smell you.” Backing toward the bedroom door, she said, “We have to tell Dad. This has gone on way too long.”

  Yesterday they’d told him Even was practicing staying in the same shape for as long as possible, and he’d been happy to hear that. It was a nicely plausible explanation for why she hadn’t helped with the un-cursing. Almost an admirable one.

  “Mom said not to bother him.” And I don’t want him to say I’m not ready for the level-five exam, Even thought. It was bad enough that she kept thinking it.

  I have to be ready! If she missed it, it could be years before the exam date fell on an even day again. Worse, not taking it would feel like saying she wasn’t as good as kids her age who had magic every day. Maybe even like saying I’ll never be as good as them, she thought. It would be admitting that the little voice of doubt that nagged at her was right, that practicing every other day wasn’t ever going to be enough, and she’d never be ready to be a hero.

  “Mom said not to bother him with questions,” Odd said, her voice muffled through her hands. “This isn’t a question; this is an emergency.”

  Even waffled for another minute, and then, with a sigh, she slid off the bed and plopped onto the floor. “Fine. You’re right.” Of course they had to tell him, and of course she had to swallow her pride and ask him to change her back. She couldn’t take the exam like this. The Academy would never pass a girl who was stuck as a skunk.

  “Wait! You can’t track that smell through the house!” Odd rushed across the room, yanked the sheets off Even’s bed, and ran past Even to the bathroom. Even heard the faucet turn on and followed her sister, who was shoving all the sheets in the tub. “You get in too,” Odd ordered.

  Even opened her mouth to argue. Odd had just said this was an emergency!

  But Odd’s eyes were watering, and she did not look open to negotiation. Even knew that mood—if she wanted Odd’s help, she’d have to cooperate. And Even did want her sister’s help. I’m not telling Dad by myself, Even thought. Someone had to help her explain it wasn’t her fault. Or at least not entirely her fault. She’d tried to change herself back.

  Even hopped into the bathtub and landed on top of her sheets.

  Odd checked her phone. “Dish soap and baking soda for skunk odor. Okay, we have those. Do not leave the tub.” She darted out and returned in less than a minute. Kneeling beside the tub, she dumped baking soda into the water and squirted Palmolive on top of Even’s fur. “You couldn’t have changed into a squirrel or a cat or anything else?”

  “Sorry.” Squatting, Even submerged herself up to her neck as the tub filled with water. She wished they could fix this without involving Dad. “Can you change me back? It’s an odd day.”

  “What? No!” Odd nearly dropped the dish soap. “You know me. I’d be just as likely to change you into a toaster. Or a labradoodle.”

  “You know you can’t change me into a toaster. Living things can only become other living things. Basic transformation theory. And a labradoodle would be better than a skunk. Come on, can’t you try?” The key to transformation was familiarity—you had to be able to picture your goal as clearly as possible. Surely Odd can picture what I look like well enough, Even thought. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the ability. After all, they shared the same magic. It bound them together even more firmly than sharing toothpaste.

  “There’s a really good reason Mom always changes you back after I skunk you,” Odd said. “I can do a random skunk, but getting a specific person with all the right details? What if I mess up?”

  “Just try. Please!”

  “Fine. But no promises. If you end up a labradoodle, you can’t blame me.” Odd concentrated. Her forehead crinkled as she stared at Even. Finally, she exhaled and said, “It didn’t work.”

  “Did you picture me?”

  “Of course I pictured you! And before you ask, not as a skunk.”

  Even climbed over the wet sheets to the water spilling out of the faucet and rinsed the dish soap out of her fur. She scrambled up to the side of the tub. Ugh, the wet fur felt awful. Heavy with water, it pulled at her skin. “Can you help me with a towel?”

  Odd grabbed a towel and laid it next to the tub.

  Even jumped onto it and tried rolling around to dry herself. “Odd? More help?”

  “This is both absurd and scary, and it’s entirely your fault,” Odd said as she rubbed Even’s fur with the towel. When she finished, she sat back.

  Looking down at her still-damp fur, Even shivered. “Hair dryer?”

  “Absurd and scary,” Odd repeated. But she got the hair dryer, plugged it in, and blew hot air at Even’s fur.

  Leaning toward the dryer, Even felt the warmth seep through her fur and into her skin, and she sighed in relief. From here on, I’m going to feel bad for every single skunk, squirrel, and rabbit out in a rainstorm. Wet fur was decidedly more unpleasant than wet skin.

  As Even’s fur dried, it fluffed out around her. She hopped onto the toilet seat and then onto the counter to look in the mirror. With all her fur poofed out, she could have been mistaken for the squishiest stuffed animal ever. “Wow, I look ridiculous.” She twisted, examining herself from all angles. Every bit of her was fluffy.

  Odd switched off the dryer. “You look adorable. But you really, really can’t stay this way, even if I want to cuddle you.” She sounded on the verge of laughing. Or crying.

  Even knew Odd was right. She had to find a way to fix this. It’s my responsibility. I’m the older sister. I’m the one who wants to be a hero and help people. And I’m the one who made this mess. “I didn’t know I’d get stuck as a skunk. This never happened before! Can you try again? Please?”

  Concentrating on her, Odd tried again.

  Even waited to feel a tingling in her skin. She imagined her bones stretching and her muscles stretching and her face changing . . . but she felt absolutely nothing.

  What if . . .

  No, that can’t be right.

  But what if . . .

  “Make me fly,” Even suggested.

  “How will that help? I don’t think a flying skunk is the best idea—”

  “Just . . . I want to test a theory,” Even said. “Please, Odd. I know this is weird, and you don’t know what to do, but please make me fly. Or the soap. Make something fly. It’s easy magic. You’ve been doing it for years.”

  It was so easy that sometimes Odd made things fly when she didn’t want to. Like the puppy in the shelter. And a few months ago, Odd had come home from school in tears because she had accidentally levitated a pint of chocolate milk in the cafeteria—crashing it directly into the assistant principal. Like at the shelter, everyone had thought she’d thrown it. It had taken Mom and Dad both going into school, insisting it had been an accident and that she’d really been trying to toss it into the trash can, to get Odd out of detention. She’d had to practice extra to prove she was ready to go back to school. And now she’d have to practice more before Mom and Dad allowed
her to go back to the shelter on odd days.

  Scowling at the soap, Odd wrinkled her forehead. A few seconds later, she exhaled. “It’s not working. That’s—”

  “Weird, I know.”

  “Great!” Odd switched to staring at a bottle of shampoo, then the roll of toilet paper, then a box of tissues. “This means I can go to the shelter today! I can help with the kittens! This is—”

  Even laid a paw on Odd’s leg. “Don’t say ‘great’ again.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I forgot.”

  “You forgot I’m a skunk. Just now. While I’m standing here on four paws.” Shaking the last of the moisture out of her tail, Even led the way to the bathroom door. “We need to tell Dad. If my magic and your magic are both having issues . . .”

  After shutting off the water in the tub, Odd left the sheets soaking and followed her. “Well, my magic is your magic. Makes sense that if yours is on the fritz, mine would be too.”

  “But why? What’s wrong with us?”

  Slowing, Even peeked into their parents’ bedroom. She wished Mom were home. Mom knew much more about how their magic worked than Dad did. He’d always been more interested in magical artifacts, like cursed amulets, magic mirrors, and enchanted furniture. He was less likely to know what to do.

  “Maybe Dad can call Mom,” Even said.

  “He has her itinerary,” Odd agreed. “He’ll know how to direct the mirror.”

  Letting themselves into the shop through the back door, they heard voices. Dad wasn’t alone. Stopping among the shelves in the supply closet, they listened. Even recognized two of the non-Dad voices: Frank the researcher and the elven high priestess.

  Oh no! Not her again!

  She couldn’t talk to Dad now. Not in front of her! Even didn’t know if she was terrified, mortified, or some horrible mix of the two. She had to resist the urge to burrow into the floor with her front claws and hide from everyone.

  “You were able to un-curse my amulet,” the elf said. Her voice was haughty, as if she were used to commanding a legion of servants and had never heard “no,” which Even thought was possibly accurate. “I don’t see why you cannot assist with this problem.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help—” Dad said.

  A new voice bleated, “You have to help!”

  “The child is correct,” the elf said. “I have waited for the problem to solve itself naturally, but I am through with patience. You must assist us.”

  Creeping forward, Even peeked out of the closet. She saw Dad pressed against the cash register with a stiff, panicked smile on his face. Frank the centaur was pacing back and forth—he could only go two steps before he had to turn around. The elf priestess had her robes wrapped tightly around her, and she was scowling so hard that she almost looked to be vibrating. Closer to the supply closet—close enough that Even could see his shimmering white pelt, golden spiral horn, and the pink satchel that dangled around his neck—was a unicorn.

  Whoa, a unicorn! In their shop! Amazing! She’d never seen one in person before . . . And then she remembered she wasn’t “in person.” Why did all the cool visitors have to come when she was in the middle of a crisis?

  “Been doing this for six months,” Frank was saying. “Never had trouble sending my reports back across the border, ’specially not for this long. But you’ve been here for years. Ever seen anything like this?”

  “I haven’t, and that’s why—” Dad said.

  “You run the border shop,” the elf said. “You are the expert. You must fix the gateway.”

  “It’s not my area of expertise.”

  Poor Dad, Even thought. He sounded like he wanted to bolt. She knew the feeling. She certainly never wanted to talk to the elf again. But wait—what did she mean by “fix the gateway”?

  “Who, then?” the elf demanded. “You advertise that you service the needs of all travelers. This is my need! My daughter’s first Moonlight Dance is tomorrow night, an important rite of passage, and she needs her mother to be present. I must return home, present her with her gift, and be with her for this life moment! I cannot be stuck here in this magicless world, without access to my powers.”

  “And I have to go home too!” the unicorn cried.

  Behind her, Odd whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Even whispered back. “The elf priestess said Dad has to fix the gateway. Guess it’s not acting right? The unicorn and the elf are both having trouble going home.” And Frank wasn’t able to send his report through. He usually attached them to enchanted paper birds. She’d seen them flying toward the gateway—they looked like origami seagulls.

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong with the gateway?”

  Even didn’t know. She’d never heard of the gateway not allowing someone through. You just had to know where one was hidden, and you could cross. No spells needed. No potions used. No special ritual. You just walked through the arch. Mom said it tickled a little. Some people threw up.

  “If there’s something wrong with the gateway,” Odd asked, “how does Mom get home?”

  That was a horrifying question. If the elf and unicorn were having difficulty crossing from the mundane world to the magical world, could people in the magical world cross back to the mundane world? What if the gateway was malfunctioning in both directions?

  “I don’t know,” Even whispered.

  In the shop, the customers were getting more and more worked up. “Can’t stay here if my disguise spell won’t work,” Frank was saying. “And Ms. Pointy Ears here isn’t much less conspicuous without her magical glamour.”

  The elf sniffed. “Excuse me? ‘Pointy Ears’? How would you like it if I identified you by a physical attribute, Horse Boy?”

  “Eh, it’s accurate. If the horseshoe fits, wear it, Pointy Ears.”

  “At least we’re not the only ones having trouble with magic,” Even said to Odd. Frank’s spells weren’t working, and the elf wasn’t able to use her powers. In a way it was a relief to hear that others were having issues too. That meant it wasn’t something wrong with her and Odd’s shared magic, or at least it wasn’t just that. Lots of magic was on the fritz.

  “Definitely not just us,” Odd said. “If magic isn’t working and the gateway isn’t working . . .”

  “Can’t be a coincidence.”

  They were still whispering, though it wasn’t necessary given how loudly the elf was proclaiming her demands. She’d clearly decided that Dad knew how to help and he was just being stubborn about it. She was alternating between promising him riches and threatening him with curses.

  “In order to work magic, you have to be born with the ability to use it,” Even said, thinking out loud, “but the magic itself—the actual oomph—comes from the magic world, specifically through the border . . .”

  “Everyone knows that,” Odd said. “Just because I don’t study as much as you do doesn’t mean . . . Oh.” Her eyes widened as she realized the implications of Even’s words. “You think it’s all connected. You think”—she swallowed hard—“magic isn’t working because the gateway is broken. You think the border is, essentially, closed.”

  The unicorn shoved his head into the closet. “What? It can’t be!”

  Startled, Even felt her tail fly up, and out came another puff of stench.

  5

  As soon as the scent of skunk spread into the shop, Dad shooed everyone out. He and the customers fled outside, behind several strategically placed large bushes, while Even and Odd retreated into the laundry room.

  “What do we do?” Odd said.

  “I don’t know—”

  Squeezing into the laundry room with them, the unicorn craned his neck to study the laundry detergent as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. He barely fit between the dryer and the linen closet.

  Whoa, now the real, live unicorn was in their house! Even had dreamed of meeting a unicorn ever since she’d first learned about them. She just wished he’d come any other
day. “Not to be rude, but who are you?” she asked.

  “You can call me Jeremy.”

  “Jeremy?” Even repeated. “Your name is Jeremy?” That was . . . “Really?” She’d been told that unicorns had names like Sparkle or Glitterhoof or Sunbeam the Everlasting. They were supposed to be the pinnacle of purity and nobility.

  “Well, it’s not my real name. I’m here in secret.” He turned his head sideways into the shadows, as if trying to appear mysterious. Unfortunately, the shadows were made by Dad’s boxers, drying on the line above the washing machine, so he failed to look impressive. He looked, well, silly. And squished.

  “Okay, great to meet you, Jeremy,” Even said. Any other time, she’d have had a thousand questions, such as why a magical being whose species was known to be unable to lie was trying to go anywhere in secret, but right now she only wanted to talk with Odd. “Really, really sorry, but could you please wait here until Dad reopens the shop? We have a family emergency.”

  She backed out of the laundry room tail first, and Odd followed her into the kitchen. Pancake batter still dotted the counter and floor.

  Jeremy followed too, holding his breath as he squeezed through. “I have an emergency too!” he said. “A serious emergency.”

  He didn’t seem to be bleeding or have any broken bones. She thought her problems trumped his right now. “Oh?” Even asked. “No offense, but are you stuck in a shape that’s not your own, unable to control what comes out of your rear end?”

  He pawed the floor with his hoof. “Um, no. But I can poop cupcakes.”

  Well, that was enough to distract her. Even felt her furry jaw drop open. She wanted to ask how that was possible. Especially if they had icing. “You suddenly began pooping cupcakes? When did this start? Was it yesterday? Because that’s when I—”

  “Oh no, I’ve always done it. When I was a foal, they were chocolate cupcakes, but now that I’m older, they’re lemon-strawberry, with buttercream icing.”