More Than Magic

  “Of course not. See those jars?” She tips her chin toward the shelf.

  Bethilda nods.

  “You know what they are?”

  Bethilda shakes her head. “Wens?”

  “Yes, wens, a kind of wart. Part of my spells. Spells I am known for. They make pretty people ugly. I can do the same to you. I can bring back that gap in your teeth and give you a nice wart on the tip of your nose for good measure. A fine lady-in-waiting you’d make then.”

  Bethilda’s teeth are clattering in fear. She can’t help wonder why the witch herself has a wart on her forehead. A spell gone wrong? “Oh dear.”

  “Oh dear is right, my dear!” the witch snarls; her long tongue unfurls. She licks her lips as if enjoying the vision of an ugly Bethilda gap-toothed and with a wart on her nose.

  The tongue fascinates Bethilda. Is it forked? Bethilda has a sudden insight. “You know, Wart, I mean Witch. I…I…I think you’re wrong about one thing.”

  “Me, wrong?”

  Bethilda remembers something she had heard the children whispering about and suddenly feels a bit braver. “You didn’t close the gap in my teeth.”

  “If I didn’t, who did?”

  “It happened in wireframe.” And that is most likely where the wart on the witch’s forehead came from.

  “Wireframe? What are you talking about?”

  “That’s where the children go to. The in-between place. It’s…it’s the…source of what they call CGI.” A tornado of words from a foreign language swirl through Bethilda’s head, fragments of the children’s talk. “Computer-Generated Imagery—animation! How we exist. Why we exist.”

  “How do you get there?”

  “The slops pail.”

  “The slops pail?”

  “Yes, in the barnyard—where I put the slops, the tea dregs, the breads crusts, the wormy apples for the pigs.”

  “The trash?”

  “One person’s trash is another’s…the pigs love those scraps! For the children it’s a treasure trove, their passageway to the In-Between, and maybe beyond.”

  The witch’s eyes blaze a fiendish red. “TAKE ME THERE!”

  “Eli, you have an orange peel on your ear,” Ryder says as Eli stumbles into wireframe.

  “One person’s garbage is another’s portal.” Eli flicks off the orange peel. “And helloooo, Cassie! Just got the news about you.”

  TD steps forward. “A round of applause for Constance.”

  “Yes,” Cassie says. “Constance brought me across using the slops pail of the barnyard—Oh, wow! How did you ever hook it up with the trash can icon on my desktop? And how come Rory and TD came out clean in wireframe? No tea dregs or peels on them?”

  “Because we’re in wireframe. No time for all that now,” I say. “We have a spy!”

  “Whhhhaaat?” Eli shrieks.

  “Bethilda. She’s been acting strange. You know how she is—always curtsying. She’d give anything for me to be a princess. She’d be a servant to a princess instead of a peasant girl who likes to fight bad guys, ride horses, hurl axes, kick butt, and not be bored to death.”

  “But she’s been your family’s loyal servant for years.” Ryder’s brow crinkles; she’s thinking hard. “Come to think of it, if your mom and dad and you are peasants, how can you afford a servant?”

  Eli rolls his eyes at this question. “Ryder, it’s Hollywood! They make up stuff all the time. They aren’t into accuracy.”

  “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t truth,” I blurt out. Eli and Ryder look at me, confused. But I can see that TD sort of understands. I am thinking about how my mum talks about the real world. How she used to speak of it before all this princess stuff; the two words would twinkle like the brightest stars. Mum considered our virtual world inferior, like frayed fabric, secondhand goods. But with the changes, the more Mum hears about the real world, the more she mutters them beneath her breath as if they were foul and terrible.

  I’m not sure how to explain this to Ryder and Eli, but the way they look at me, I have to try.

  “Look,” I say. “Even though we are only wireframes now, when the film runs, when the color and texture are added, we become animated figures again, scooting around in Ecalpon. There is a flicker in each of us that has nothing to do with reality but with…well…truth, the truth that originally flickered in Andy’s imagination. It was a kindling that grew into the flame of what we now are. I…I…I don’t know how to say this….It’s coming out all wrong….”

  “No!” Ryder says. “It’s coming out right. Look, a tear!” She points to my face.

  I lift my hand to feel my own tear. I continue, “This seems strange because what I was about to say is that Starlight Studios is forcing the animators to drench that flame. The flame that is us.”

  “It’s so true,” Cassie sobs.

  TD steps toward me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “ ‘This above all: to thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.’ ”

  “Oh, man, that is so cool!” Ryder is awestruck.

  “Not me, Shakespeare. Polonius, in Hamlet, act one, scene three.”

  “Whoa!” Ryder exclaims, and turns to Eli. “Eli, did you know that? Given your close resemblance to TD.”

  “Are you kidding? Between my Torah portion and parkour, I don’t have room for Shakespeare!”

  Ryder is looking at us so deeply. She says, “I think this flicker that you are talking about is what my granny would call ‘soul.’ Yes, soul. You both have soul.”

  TD and I are both smiling.

  “You know what we have to do, guys?” Ryder says.

  “Get Granny!” I say.

  It came to me all at once as soon as I said the word “soul.” There was an echo of what Granny had said about Mom and how everything she touched with her paintbrush or pencil had soul. We are not really in Ecalpon but wireframe. So it is a quick trip to the trash can icon on Cassie’s computer and then back to my bedroom.

  When I get back, I call Granny.

  “Ryder, we just hung up.”

  I glance at the clock. Less than a minute has passed. “Granny, the rest of the story. The part I didn’t tell you.”

  “Yes, dollin’.”

  “I’m ready to tell it. But you’ve got to come to Bel Air to hear it.” I almost said “come to Ecalpon” but stopped myself in the nick of time.

  “You sound feisty as a polecat in a barrel of live fish.”

  “I am, Granny. Call Dad’s secretary to get you an airplane reservation fast.”

  “I’ll jump on it quick as a cricket on a hot griddle. Should I bring a casserole?”

  “No, it’s okay. You probably can’t bring it on the plane.”

  “But your dad loves my tuna casseroles. I’ll just bring a small one for him.”

  Granny rarely travels without a casserole. Hot tuna, hamburger, you name it. It’s part of South Dakota culture. I can imagine the look on Bernice’s face when a steaming tuna casserole is set on the table. Bernice’s favorite dinner is an organic potato topped with boiled kale.

  Although I had been gone less than a minute, it has been a long day, especially when one considers that I pushed three people into a swimming pool, got grounded, then crawled down the Trash Can Trail and back. I am plumb tuckered, as Granny would say, and the minute my head is on the pillow I conk out.

  —

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep when I hear the phone ring.

  “It’s Eli. Turn on your television.”

  “Why?”

  “Just turn it on—channel 31. Show Biz Tonight.” His voice is tense.

  I grab the remote. Bernice’s face looms up. She flashes the biggest smile she can, and then her face rearranges itself into a fake somber look of pain that she is enjoying immensely. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. She quickly controls it.

  “To answer your question, Jameson, of course it could be a very difficult position. But you h
ave to know that I understand there will never be another Andrea Holmsby. She was a genius.” She whips out a hankie and dabs her eyes as the camera cuts to the interviewer, James Jameson.

  “But they say that the movie is pitched toward a slightly older audience. You are the new coproducer of the movie Glo-Rory-Us that opens in just a few days.”

  “Yes.” A tongue flick. “I have three wonderful teenage daughters, so I understand that age group.”

  “Coproducer!” I gasp into the phone.

  “Yep. That’s why my dad just quit being your dad’s lawyer. He couldn’t take Bernice anymore.” He starts to say something else.

  “Wait! I want to hear Bernice.”

  “Well, yes, Jameson, there will be some changes. These changes are being introduced in the movie and will continue to be integrated into the television series. You know, that’s what life is all about. Change. The demographic for Super-Rory-Us is growing up, a little more sophisticated.” She holds up the Rory doll. “This is going on sale tomorrow. The new Rory.”

  “My! My!” Jameson leers. “Whooo-eee! Rory’s grown up.”

  I’m in deep cringe and pulling the sheet over my face. My toes curl.

  He goes on. “Hasn’t Cassandra Grant Simon, the animation design director, called this new Rory an ‘atrocious and outrageous mercenary ploy’? She says, and I quote: ‘It betrays the original concept of a feisty, inventive character that was created to give young girls a strong model.’ Ms. La Tripp, what kind of message do you think you are sending here?”

  “A wonderful message. A pretty face, a lovely figure, is not at odds with girls’ intellectual…and their…their…aspersions. Their aspersions need not be in conflict with being gorgeous.”

  “Aspersions!” Eli shrieks in my ear.

  Jameson coughs politely. “I think you mean aspirations, not aspersions, Ms. La Tripp.”

  “Whatever,” Bernice giggles.

  “Well, it’s been very nice talking to you and I know we all look forward to seeing the new movie Glo-Rory-Us with the incomparable Rory!”

  “Eli, what are we going to do? My dad must have lost his mind.”

  “Ryder, we’re going to keep going, one wireframe at a time. We’re almost ready for texturing. We have Cassie, so it will go a lot faster. When does your granny get here to knock some sense into that idiot Bethilda?”

  “Maybe tonight if she makes the connection.”

  “Good. I put a short-term virus in the editing program. Everything shut down three hours ago at Starlight Studios. They’re going nuts over there.”

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know as soon as Granny gets here.”

  “Okay. See you in Ecalpon.”

  “God willing and the creek don’t rise.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, that’s a Granny thing to say. I’m getting into Granny mode.”

  We say goodbye. Soon after Eli leaves, there’s a knock at my door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Dad.” The voice is weary.

  “Come in,” I sort of growl.

  Dad walks in with a bouquet of flowers. I sigh. “Another make-up present, like with the TV, huh?”

  “Don’t be so hard on me, Ryder.”

  “Me? I’m the one who’s grounded!”

  He shakes his head. “You pushed Bernice and Joy and Bliss into the swimming pool. How nice was that?”

  I look up at him and give him a half smile. “Not nice at all, Dad. And guess what? They are not nice people. They are treacherous.”

  “Treacherous! Now, don’t you think that is a pretty heavy word to use? Bernice was kind to me when I really thought I just wasn’t going to make it.”

  “I wouldn’t call it kind.”

  “Can we not argue?”

  I don’t say anything. It’s hard for me to imagine what I could possibly talk about with Dad these days.

  “I do have some good news,” he says. “Your granny is arriving tomorrow morning. Okay if she bunks in with you, since Connie is in the guest bedroom?”

  “Sure.” There is a long pause.

  “You know, she might like Bernice, Ryder.”

  I give him this are-you-completely-nuts look.

  “Your granny loves me. She wants me to be happy. She told me that after your mom died. She said I was too young to be a widower.”

  I can’t resist. “And I am sure she thought of someone just like Bernice.”

  “I never knew you had a cruel streak, Ryder.”

  I bite my bottom lip. I’m not cruel. I’m disgusted.

  He looks down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve had a tough day. Uh…some sort of virus affecting the edit. We’re really up against the wall with the premiere….I’m sorry, I love you. Let’s talk more after a good night’s rest.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  He walks out of the room with the bouquet of flowers still in his hand. It’s as if a shadow is leaving. A shadow of what he had once been.

  It’s nearly ten o’clock the next morning when Granny shakes my shoulder.

  “Wake up, chicken, I’m here, and look what I brought you.”

  “A tuna casserole? You got here fast.”

  “Got the first flight out this morning, crack of dawn. But no, dollin’, not a tuna casserole.” She laughs that tinkly laugh that reminds me of water running down a creek. Hair streams from her bun, and her specs, as she calls them, are slightly askew. She looks like a ruffled bird that’s been blown off course. Now she reaches down into a deep bag and pulls on something. I lean over the side of my bed to see.

  “You brought Mom’s crazy quilt.”

  “I think it missed you.”

  “I sure missed it.” I pull it onto the bed. “This quilt is so much like Mom and the way she went about thinking and making beautiful things.”

  “Yes, a little of this, a little of that. She could find good and beauty in almost anything.”

  “Look at that embroidery around the penny.”

  “That’s an old penny from the 1800s.” She brushes her hand gently over the quilt. “Sort of like time travel, or living history. Makes everything so alive.”

  We talk on and on about the odd details in the quilt. “Sometimes things don’t match up quite exactly,” she says. “And that’s when it really gets interesting.”

  “Granny, we’ve got a situation where things don’t exactly match up.”

  She tips her head to one side. I see a sly glint in her eyes. “Now, what might you be talking about?” I get the feeling she already knows a little bit.

  “Granny, I know this might seem weird to you.”

  “Not at my age, dollin’. The only thing that seems weird is that I outlived my daughter.”

  Her words catch me up short. So I come out and say it.

  “Granny, you were the first to suspect something when I was in Deadwood and we watched the Rory show that night. You thought something didn’t seem right. Something is wrong in Ecalpon.”

  Granny sits very still on the side of my bed. Her face is solemn. “They’re messing with your mom’s art, aren’t they? They’re making Rory into something she’s not ready to be.”

  I nod. “To fix it…” I sigh. How to explain crossing over, all this computer animation stuff, to Granny. And Constance, the good sister. I take another deep breath. “Granny, me and my friend Eli, and others, we’re fixing it and now we need your help.”

  “I’ll do anything I can.”

  “Think of this as a trail ride. We’re going to follow the Trash Can Trail.”

  “The Trash Can Trail. How romantic!”

  “We’re going after rustlers.”

  “Rustlers. Well, sakes alive.”

  “They don’t rustle cattle. They rustle characters. They change them.”

  “Rebrand them like they do with cattle? There are all sorts of tricky ways of doing that or erasing brands and things.”

  “This is sort of like that.”

  “How do we ride this tra
il?”

  “I’ll show you.” I get up and turn on my computer. Then I turn on the television and mute it. I’m so excited; I just hope it isn’t too exciting for Granny.

  “Keep your eye on the television screen, Granny.”

  “All I see is a little trash can and then, in an upper corner, a tiny TV screen with the Rory show.”

  “Yes. And on the big TV screen is a tiny picture of my computer screen. Hang on, I’ll enlarge it. Now watch carefully.” I hear a little crackle.

  “Ryder, the screen is going squiggly.”

  “Don’t worry, Granny!”

  “Yeah, don’t worry,” says another voice.

  “Who’s that?” Granny says, and then, “Oh, my stars and garters! It’s you!”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s me.” The “ma’am” is a nice touch on Rory’s part. I know Granny appreciates it. Rory is sitting there on the edge of the television set with her legs dangling over the side.

  “Rory, meet Granny. Granny, meet Rory.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, dollin’.”

  Rory and I both sort of squirm with happiness. It’s nice to hear Granny call her dollin’.

  “You as well, ma’am.”

  “Just call me Granny.”

  “All right, Granny, if you’ll step this way, we’ll set off.”

  —

  “I’ve lost all track of time,” Granny says as we step around the chickens and piglets in the barnyard. “Now, where were we before we were here? That in-between place?”

  “Wireframe,” Rory says.

  “Those were spooky figures. You say all the changes are being made there, and you buried the old original drawings in some valley yonder?”

  “Yes, the Valley of Deletions.”

  Eli materializes. This time he has a tea bag in his hair. “Hello, Mrs. Ryder.”

  “That’s basically it,” Rory continues. “They’re in the Valley now, but as we assemble the old version they can be buried deep inside the new wireframes. They’ll come out when a signal is given—right during the first showing of the movie.”

  “But now you’re worried because of this spy. Bethilda of all people.” Granny sighs.

  “She was based on you, Granny,” I say.