Bad Magic

  “Look, he’s already up to his old tricks,” Flint sneered. “Guess you changed your mind about magic, huh, Worm?”

  “No!”

  Clay tried to move away, but Flint shoved him against the mirror. “What do you think—should I call your counselor and show him? I wonder how many days you’d be cleaning out the toilet.…”

  Clay glared at the bigger boy. “I don’t know how you did that, but it’s not very cool.”

  Flint laughed. “It’s the coolest thing there is. It’s magic.”

  He spit a big loogie onto the mirror. The graffiti started to disappear as soon as the saliva touched it, the saliva sizzling as if it were boiling hot. Flint spit two more times and the graffiti was gone altogether. The mirror looked as dirty and cracked and free of writing as it had looked when Clay first walked into the room.

  How did Flint make the writing go away? Baking soda? Hydrochloric acid? Or had it just been an illusion to begin with? Years of practice with Max-Ernest had made Clay fairly skilled at analyzing magic tricks, but he was stumped.

  “See you around, Worm!” said Flint on his way out of the bathroom.

  “I hope not,” muttered Clay.

  Flint turned around. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t say anything,” said Jonah quickly.

  “I didn’t think so,” said Flint, disappearing out the door.

  Clay turned to Jonah. “What’s up with that guy? How did he even know what my writing looked like?”

  “Just stay away from him,” Jonah blurted. He looked so shaken, you would have thought he was the one being threatened, not Clay. “Flint is way aggro. A serious pyromaniac. I heard he lit his old school on fire.”

  “It’s true, huh?” said Clay. “Everyone here is a maniac.”

  “Maybe, but Flint—he’s a different level.”

  Just my luck, Clay thought, my first day at camp and already I have a pyromaniac magician for an enemy. But why? He couldn’t have done anything to make Flint angry; they’d never met before. Like so many things recently, it made no sense.

  As he exited the bathroom, Clay looked reflexively for his skateboard, but of course it wasn’t there. No doubt his father had taken it home, and it was now leaning against one of the graffiti-covered walls of Clay’s bedroom. Suddenly, Clay felt an ache in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

  Walking back to his cabin, he saw the brightest stars he’d ever seen. He searched for a constellation he might recognize—the Big Dipper, maybe, or Orion—but soon the stars were covered by clouds of vog.

  The sky was dark.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  WEEDS

  It was still dark when Clay awoke to the sound of the camp gong reverberating in his ears.

  He looked sleepily around the cabin and was surprised to see it was empty. Was it later than it looked?

  “Five a.m.,” announced Buzz, startling Clay. “The others are already at the vegetable garden. You’re late, Worm.”

  Buzz stood outside the door wearing some sort of hooded robe and holding a long spade. He could have been the grim reaper calling Clay to his death instead of his counselor calling him to gardening chores. His mustache only made him look more ominous.

  Clay swallowed. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

  “We weed early, before it gets hot,” said Buzz gruffly. “Now get dressed, or you’ll be weeding all day.”

  Clay got to his feet wondering why nobody had tried to wake him earlier. Did his cabinmates think they’d done him a favor by letting him sleep, or had they set him up for a fall?

  “Achoo!”

  Alas, Clay never quite recovered from his late start.

  As soon as he started weeding, he started wheezing, irritated by the pollen in the air. Sweat and dirt got in his eyes. He itched and scratched until he bled. And those fiercely protective camp bees kept buzzing around Clay’s head. It was as if they were threatening him with stings in order to make him work harder. Clay was no insect expert, but he was certain this was not normal bee behavior.

  Worst of all, he wasn’t making any progress. By the time he got one weed out of the ground, it seemed like there was already a new weed springing up in its place.

  “If you don’t speed up, you’ll be making me lunch for sure,” said Leira, when they found themselves weeding adjacent rows.

  Their cabins were in competition; whichever cabin finished weeding first would be served lunch by the other. Clay’s cabin was responsible for the rows of root vegetables like beets and radishes and carrots, all of which came in a rainbow of colors Clay had never seen before. Leira’s cabin, the Pond, had the next set of rows, where the lettuces and spinach and such grew alongside more exotic fare like fiddlehead ferns and Jerusalem artichokes.

  Clay yanked on a weed. It broke at the stem instead of coming out with its roots.

  “Try not to tug so hard,” said Leira.

  Clay found another weed and did as Leira suggested. The weed slipped out of his hand.

  Leira laughed. “Maybe you’re just not cut out to be a farmer.”

  “Maybe not,” said Clay.

  “You don’t have to sound so miserable about it,” said Leira.

  “Sorry.” Clay tried to dig out his weed, then gave up.

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “Sorr—okay,” Clay corrected himself.

  “Are you always this cheery?”

  Clay shrugged.

  “I was teasing,” said Leira.

  “I know.”

  “So what’s your story, anyway?” Leira asked.

  “Story?”

  “Yeah, I mean, not magic sucks, I know about that—”

  Clay shook his head. “Of course you do. Everybody does.”

  “I mean like where do you come from, what’s your sign, do you have any pets?”

  “No pets,” said Clay.

  “Siblings?”

  “Brother… well, I had a brother.”

  Leira’s brow furrowed under her cap. “You mean he’s dead?”

  “No,” said Clay, attacking another weed. “Disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Uh-huh. He just… got sick of us.”

  Leira waited for him to say more. He didn’t.

  “You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to…” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “But if you want to…”

  Clay gave her a look. “You mean you want me to tell you more.”

  “Well, you have to admit it’s pretty interesting—people don’t disappear every day!” said Leira defensively. “Besides, what do you want to talk about, the weeds?”

  Clay hesitated. He didn’t really want to talk about anything, but there was no question Leira was being nice to him—nicer than anyone at camp had been so far. It didn’t seem right not to respond.

  He told her briefly about the good-bye note from his brother and what had happened afterward.

  Leira looked at him, perplexed. “I don’t understand. If all he said was you wouldn’t hear from him for a while, how do you know he was sick of you?”

  “If you knew my parents, you wouldn’t ask. And me, I’m just some dumb kid, right?” said Clay, unable to hide his bitterness.

  Leira frowned. “Why would somebody have to totally disappear just to get away from his family? He could have just not answered the phone. There must have been another reason.… I bet he was in trouble and had no choice.”

  “Nah, his friend said he was okay,” said Clay, thinking of Cass.

  “So, maybe they didn’t want to raise any alarms,” said Leira. “I still think he could be in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Clay asked skeptically.

  “I don’t know. What was he into?”

  “Lots of stuff. Magic mostly. He wanted to be a magician.”

  “Well, there you go!” said Leira enthusiastically. “Magicians always get into trouble. Most of them are thieves.”

/>   “How do you know?” It was something Clay might have said himself, but hearing it from someone else irked him for some reason.

  “Trust me, I know—” She held out his wallet, which she had apparently pickpocketed sometime in the last few minutes.

  “Ha-ha,” said Clay, grabbing the wallet from her.

  “But seriously,” said Leira, “maybe your brother was part of a heist that went wrong.”

  “You mean you think the police are after him?” Clay tried to picture his brother as a criminal on the lam.

  Leira nodded, wide-eyed. “Yeah, or else, like, some bad guy who’s mad he didn’t get his jewels or whatever? That’s why your brother can’t communicate! He’s being watched!”

  “You seem pretty excited about it,” said Clay.

  Her face fell. “Sorry. I mean, he is your brother.”

  “That’s okay,” said Clay, even though it wasn’t, or not entirely. “But I doubt my brother was in a heist. He’s too… logical. And he’s a terrible liar.”

  Then again, Clay reminded himself, Max-Ernest had hinted more than once that he was involved with dangerous secret activities. Could his absence have been forced on him in some way—even if he wasn’t a criminal?

  “Anyway, that sucks, him disappearing like that,” said Leira. “I don’t know what I would do if that happened to my sister. I mean, I hate her half the time. She’s this totally annoying know-it-all bookworm. But still—”

  “I know, my brother, too,” said Clay.

  “Your brother, too, what?”

  “My brother is a totally annoying know-it-all bookworm, too, but yeah, I miss him… sometimes.”

  It was the first time in a long time that Clay had acknowledged missing his brother. It felt surprisingly… good.

  He and Leira looked at each other for a moment. Clay wondered, suddenly, if he had made a friend.

  An older girl with long hair and longer legs walked by, carrying a gardening hoe.

  “Back to work, Worm!” the girl called out to Clay. “Or you won’t just be serving lunch—you’ll be lunch! And that goes for you, too, Leira. I don’t want you messing things up for our cabin!” She pointed her hoe at Leira as if it were a weapon.

  “Sheesh. Who was that?” asked Clay after she’d gone.

  “Adriana. My counselor,” said Leira. “Do yourself a favor and don’t get on her bad side.”

  Clay’s Worm-mates had come over to see what the fuss was about.

  “You make it sound like she has a good side,” said Pablo. “That girl is mean.”

  “Well, she’s got a good-looking side, anyway,” said Kwan. “Two of them, front and back.” He wiggled his eyebrows over his empty eyeglass frames.

  “You’re gross,” said Leira. “Worm.”

  “Get over it, man,” said Jonah. “She ever hears you talk like that, you’re toast.”

  “She’s Flint’s girlfriend,” he added for Clay’s benefit.

  “Flint wishes,” said Leira, snickering.

  There was no cafeteria or dining hall at Earth Ranch. There wasn’t even a proper kitchen. In the back of Big Yurt, there was a counter on which food could be prepared, as well as bins and cabinets for storing food and food-related items. But there was no stove or oven, no freezer or refrigerator. Occasionally, desperate campers cooked over an open fire or used another natural source of heat, such as a rock that had been sitting in the sun or, if you were willing to walk, one of the nearby steam vents that released heat from the molten lava underneath. Mostly, they ate their food raw.*

  Today was an “earth to table” lunch, which meant you had to assemble your own lunch from the ingredients piled on a long table outside Big Yurt. Imagine a salad bar with no condiments and all the vegetables barely out of the ground. The other campers seemed to have very little trouble with this arrangement, whether they were chopping kale or peeling cucumbers. Clay had more experience cooking for himself than the average twelve-year-old, but he was used to ingredients that came in packages; his idea of preparing a meal was to press START on the microwave, or if he was really ambitious, to open a box into a pot of boiling water. As a member of the losing cabin, he was supposed to be helping make the girls’ lunches; alas, he couldn’t even figure out how to make one for himself.

  Not knowing what else to do, Clay put a mango on his plate. Maybe it wasn’t a full lunch, but it was his favorite fruit. If only he could figure out how to get the skin off.

  The members of Earth Cabin sat at the table farthest from Big Yurt, closest to the edge of the gravel patio. Directly below, shaded by a large cedar tree, was the Earth Ranch dock. A long rope hung from the tree, and as he sat down next to Jonah, Clay watched one of the older boys swing from the rope and jump into the water. It looked like a big drop.

  The lake beyond was obscured by vog.

  When Clay glanced back down at his lunch plate, his plate was empty. He looked around to see where his mango had fallen.

  Leira tossed the mango to him from the opposite side of the table. The other boys laughed.

  “Very funny,” said Clay.

  “Yeah, well, what happened to the lunch you were supposed to make for me?” She gestured to his tablemates. “They all made them for the other girls.”

  “Sorry,” said Clay, looking around to see if any counselors had noticed his lapse.

  “No worries. I covered for you.… Besides, I’d rather take your money than your food.” She held up his wallet.

  Clay shook his head. Not again.

  “C’mon. Give it back.”

  He tried to snatch the wallet from her, but she was too fast for him.

  “Admit it: I’m good at it,” said Leira.

  “Stealing? Yes, you’re good at it. You’re an awesome thief.”

  “Thanks.” Leira handed his wallet back to him. “It’s all about controlling your attention. Making sure you’re looking over there”—she pointed across the table—“when I’m actually over here.”

  She held up Clay’s wallet again.

  He groaned. “Give me a break—”

  Grinning, Leira tossed the wallet back to Clay. “Now I’m going to get that lunch you were supposed to get for me, slacker.”

  “I think somebody has a crush on you,” said Kwan as soon as Leira had left. He tossed a carrot at Clay.

  “No, she doesn’t,” said Clay, reddening.

  “And maybe you have a crush on her,” said Pablo. He took a cue from Kwan and tossed a chunk of cucumber.

  “No, I don’t,” said Clay, fending off the vegetable missiles.

  “It’s okay, you can have her,” said Kwan. “I got all the other ladies lining up already.”

  “Lining up to do what,” said Pablo, “throw water in your face?” He flicked water at Kwan.

  A few tables over, Buzz stood up and gave them the cut it out signal; there would be no food fights today.

  “You may as well admit it,” said Jonah to Clay. “There’s nothing wrong with having a crush on somebody. My mom says it’s normal for kids our age.”

  “I repeat, I Do Not Have a Crush on Leira,” said Clay, who couldn’t stand to be the subject of this kind of speculation. “She’s nice and all, but she’s totally irritating. I swear, if she takes my wallet one more time—”

  “Uh—” Jonah pointed.

  Clay looked over his shoulder. Leira was standing behind him, her face crimson. She held his wallet in her hand.

  “I thought you went to get your lunch…” said Clay nervously. How much had she heard?

  “I told you to pay attention. Worm.”

  Clay couldn’t tell whether she meant that he should pay attention to where his wallet was or to what he was saying. Either way, she didn’t seem happy about it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “They were bugging me, and I was just—”

  “Sure.” Leira handed him his wallet and walked away.

  Clay thought he should run after her and try again to apologize, but he didn’t know what exactly
he would say. He felt terrible.

  Kwan shrugged. “Told you she had a crush on you.”

  “Not anymore,” said Jonah.

  “Now she hates you,” agreed Pablo.

  Clay was about to reply when he noticed that some of the clouds lingering around the lake had lifted, revealing the ruins of an enormous white stone edifice sitting on a black rock bluff. From where he was sitting, the broken columns and crumbling walls looked like the remains of an ancient temple rising out of the vog.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Price Palace,” said Kwan. “You know, the guy whose island this was? Supposedly, it was huge. Just like a palace in Europe or wherever. All marble and gold and stuff. Then—”

  He waved his hand, and mimicked the sound of a volcanic explosion.

  Clay squinted, trying to imagine a palace where the ruins now stood. “You guys ever check it out?” Clay asked.

  The others all looked at one another. Nobody seemed to want to answer.

  “He tried,” said Jonah finally, pointing to Pablo. Pablo shot Jonah an angry look from under his Mohawk, but he didn’t deny it.

  “What happened?” asked Clay.

  “They always know when you cross the Wall of Trust,” said Kwan.

  “Who?”

  “The bees,” said Kwan.

  “That’s crazy,” said Clay.

  “Oh, yeah? Explain this—” Pablo pushed up his shirt sleeve. His arm was covered with welts. “That’s from when I tried to go to the ruins—those crazy bees kept stinging me until I ran all the way back to camp.”

  “Whoa,” said Clay, horrified.

  Pablo nodded. “It’s stupid to call it the Wall of Trust if there’s no way to cross it, right? Where’s the trust in that?”

  “What’s in the ruins that they don’t want you to see?” asked Clay.

  “Heck if I know,” said Pablo.

  “Well, what happened there?” Clay persisted.

  “What does it look like?” said Kwan. “The volcano erupted.”

  “Price was capitalist scum. He leeched money from poor people,” said Pablo. “I say, good on old Mount Forge for knocking his place down.”

  Jonah shook his head. “Don’t talk like that, dude. Say it too many times and the volcano will come for you, too.”