More Than Magic

  —

  “And what about the coronation?” Rory sighs as she takes a sip of the broth. “That will be so gross.”

  “I don’t care about the coronation. That’s minor,” I say.

  “Minor!” TD, Rory, and Eli explode.

  “Permit me, Ryder,” TD says. “If I may take just a moment—say 720 frames. I’m a prince. I know about coronations and this is nothing to be casual about. You do not want to do one or attend one. They’re a great waste of money and time that could be better spent on improving the lot of the villagers, farming techniques, education.”

  “But it’s Bliss who is going to be crowned at Starlight Land. Not me. Not Rory. Let Bliss have her day. I don’t care.”

  “Yes,” Constance says, nodding, “let Bliss have her day.” She’s perched on a rafter, looking down at us. “The coronation happens before the movie premiere by several hours. The shock value of the movie when the original Rory is revealed will be even greater if there’s a coronation beforehand.”

  “You are living up to your reputation for wisdom, owl,” Eli says.

  “You are so right, Constance.” Rory’s eyes grow as big as saucers. “I’m not going to worry about a stupid real girl getting a fake crown. It’s the movie that counts. In this case the virtual world is going to be much more real and truthful than the real world.”

  I look at Rory with amazement. “Oh, Rory!” I say in awe. “Our hearts are in the virtual world.”

  Now tears glisten in Rory’s eyes. “You think I really do have a heart, Ryder? Even though I’m just a cartoon?”

  “Of course you do. And so do you, TD. You both have every bit as much of a heart as either Eli or me or Constance. You’ve got heart.” I hug them.

  Then, “Let’s get started!” Rory says.

  —

  We work feverishly. In Ecalpon the sun begins to set. TD has to get back to his castle. Rory’s parents have returned from the Coddington market with Bethilda, who shuffles about, downcast.

  “So you think maybe you can make things all right again?” Rory’s mom asks.

  “Yes, we will, Mum,” Rory says.

  “But what can you do exactly?” Rory’s dad asks.

  “It has to do with the wireframes, Da. You know, those are sort of our basic skeletons. Before they texture us.”

  I’m looking at Bethilda, and have a funny feeling. She’s listening awfully carefully.

  Rory turns to me. “Speaking of texture,” she says, “Ryder changed my hair back.”

  I give Rory a quick kick under the table and flick my eyes toward Bethilda.

  Rory gets it immediately and changes the subject. “I mean, don’t worry, Mum. I think things will be fine.”

  I say it’s time to leave, time for us to go back to the real world via the trash can icon on Cassie’s computer. Eli walks ahead while Constance lights on my shoulder.

  “We’re still off script, right? So I can talk.”

  “Of course. What’s up?”

  “You’re kind of jittery.”

  “I’m worried someone could follow us to the Valley of Deletions and find out about our ‘laboratory,’ as Eli calls it, and Cassie is no fool. My dad? Well, he wasn’t a fool until he met your mom. Sorry.”

  “Don’t feel sorry. I agree.”

  “Was your dad a fool too, Constance?” I ask.

  “I think so. A sweet fool, like your dad.”

  “Why won’t he call you or write you or anything?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighs. “So you’re really worried about someone finding out about the changes?”

  “Cassie is the only one who might be able to—if she wanted to.”

  “What do you mean, if she wanted to?”

  “She doesn’t like what’s going on at all. She loves Super-Rory-Us. Even better than Dad really. This job is her life.”

  “Hmmm…,” Constance says.

  “Hmmm what?”

  “Just thinking about life.” Constance rustles her wings.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Just thought I’d take a little flight to the Valley before we go back.”

  “Okay, see you back in…in reality.”

  “Yeah, reality!” Constance gives me a wink and we both laugh.

  Dear Ralph,

  As you know, I am not pleased with the changes in the movie that are being introduced into the television series. I find the sudden maturation of Rory offensive on every level and a betrayal of the core values of making Rory a character of substance, not just pretty. In view of that, I would like to have my name removed from the credits as director of animation. I directed none of this.

  Sincerely,

  Cassandra Grant Simon

  Just as Cassie finishes typing her name, she notices a fluttering in the lower left-hand corner of her screen, close to the trash can icon. Didn’t I just empty the trash? she thinks. Oh well, I’ll do it again.

  —

  A few flurries of digital code swirl down on Constance’s head as she flies through the gusts stirring up in the Valley of Deletions. She blinks. Flips her head up, down, and spins it around as only an owl can do to see if there is anything she needs from the trash. Not much. She is on her way to get what they all really need—Cassie! She now realizes what her mission is. Ryder had told her that there would be a role for her. She hadn’t quite figured it out and this part would be strictly off script. Constance doesn’t care about being a star, just being loyal, faithful, and constant—and, like Cassie, faithful to the original Rory. But how much of a racket will she have to make before Cassie notices her?

  Suddenly everything goes black. Criminy, she pulled the plug! That was Constance’s last thought.

  —

  “What the heck? We never lose power,” Cassie murmurs as she reboots her computer. Weak pulses of light sweep across the screen. The trash can icon is teetering this way and that as if it were dancing a little jig. Then, floating through the throbbing twilight, little dots—the pixels of illumination from which images are composed—begin to come together.

  “An owl?” She blinks. How can that be? They trashed the owl code. It had been one of her favorite episodes. But these pixels are collecting before Cassie’s eyes. There is a scan of a very preliminary drawing. She feels a cold tingle trip down her spine. The line of the sketch is very similar to Andy’s. It’s as if a ghost is hovering beneath the screen’s surface. The scan begins to morph into something much more distinct. “Good grief! That owl!”

  “What do you mean, that owl?” Constance hoots from the screen.

  Cassie’s hand hits her chest. I’m hallucinating! This can’t be real.

  “I am real, Cassie. I have never felt more real in my life.”

  Cassie coughs slightly. “Uh, I’m afraid you had such a brief appearance that we never got around to naming you.”

  “I have a name now. Constance.”

  “This is bizarre,” Cassie whispers.

  “It is not!” Constance says.

  Something is happening to Cassie. She’s feeling quite dizzy, as though she were slipping away.

  “You okay?” The owl is looking up at her. It is a beautiful owl.

  “Where am I exactly?”

  “Almost to Ecalpon,” Constance hoots softly.

  “What? Why are you bringing me here?”

  “You were about to resign, weren’t you? You said you didn’t want credit for the movie.”

  “Yes. That’s true.”

  “You don’t have to resign. You don’t have to take your name off the movie. You can help us change it.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes, us,” two voices say.

  “Rory! TD!” Cassie blinks, amazed.

  “You’re on our team. I hope that’s real enough for you,” Rory says.

  “Who else is on the team?” Cassie asks.

  “Ryder and Eli,” Constance says.

  “But where are they?”

  “Back in the real world,” Rory
answers. “Come with us to wireframe and we’ll explain. We need your help now!”

  “You need me?” Cassie’s voice is full of wonder. “Me?”

  “You’ll help us, won’t you?” Rory asks.

  Cassie nods. “Of course I’ll help. But we don’t have much time.”

  “Oh, Cassie, you are the best,” Rory says, and flings her arms around Cassie and hugs her as tight as she can.

  Cassie looks down at the curly hair and kisses the top of Rory’s head. She feels tears stream down her face. I am in Ecalpon and I am crying real tears!

  Constance said she wanted to hang around in the Valley of Deletions when Eli and I left. Maybe she wanted to scavenge some old parts of herself. When I get back from Ecalpon, I decide to take a swim in our pool. Joy and Bliss are stuffed into their bikinis and draped over lounge chairs, sunning themselves. They don’t swim. They tan.

  “Oh, you,” Joy says. Joy is worse than Bliss. She never calls me by my name. She also orders me around my own house. Like when I put her special diet cookies in the freezer because she left them out and they drew ants. “How could you do this? You ruined the taste! Let me make this very clear: you are not to touch my things ever!”

  In a generous moment, I decide to share my thoughts.

  “Hey, guys, you know about the ozone layer thinning, right?”

  “Ozone, is that a diet?” Joy asks.

  “No, that’s the Zone Diet.” Bliss rolls over.

  “What’s ozone?” Joy asks.

  “It’s a layer in the Earth’s stratosphere that is being depleted and letting in harmful UV rays that give you skin cancer,” I answer.

  “Miss Smarty Pants!” Joy says.

  “People are so freaked about all this climate stuff,” Bliss says. “If I can’t see it, it’s not real.”

  “Okay,” I say. We live in Bel Air, a suburb of Los Angeles, sometimes known as La La Land. Everything here is make-believe.

  “Where’s Connie? Is she still mad at Mom?” Joy asks.

  “How should I know?”

  “Well, you’re soooo smart. Connie’s been living here, hasn’t she?” Joy is nastier than a Komodo dragon. Oh dear, I just insulted the Komodo dragon. I get up and slip into the pool.

  “Don’t splash us!” Bliss yells. “We’re doing a photo shoot later.”

  I duck under the surface and swim across the pool. I’m a whiz at swimming underwater. I don’t even close my eyes; the chlorine doesn’t bother me. But suddenly I pause. This was what I imagined at the Lizard Stone in Ecalpon when I felt as if I were plunging into the slit in the lizard’s eyes. I am in a free fall—an underwater free fall in my own swimming pool. It’s weird—for a second or two I’m not sure where I am, Bel Air or Ecalpon. I am no place. I panic and break through the surface, sputtering and splashing. Bliss and Joy start yelling at me, and just then Bernice comes out.

  “What is it?” Bernice says.

  “She got water on us!” Joy hisses.

  “Don’t you know what’s going on here, Miss Ryder Holmsby?”

  “Yep, I’m swimming.”

  “I can see that. We are waiting for Anton D’Antonio, the fashion photographer. The girls just had their hair done for a photo shoot for our breakout collection—BJC. I wish I could find Connie, but her loss. Sugar Babe is about to sign on the entire line. I don’t want anything to jeopardize this. So OUT! OUT! OUT of the pool, OUT!”

  At that moment half a dozen people come around the side of the house with all sorts of photo equipment.

  I climb out dripping wet and go up to Bernice. She backs off as if I’m covered in slime, a walking toxic wasteland.

  “Don’t get me wet,” she says.

  “Does Dad know about this?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she snarls.

  He doesn’t know. That’s obvious. But when she snarls, my heart almost stops. I sway a bit. Get a grip, Ryder. Get a grip! I’m stunned. Could this creature standing in front of me be the Witch of Wenham? How could it be? Did Mom know Bernice? Mom created all the characters, not Dad. But where would Mom have met her? Mom never went to the Inner Radiance Meditation Center. She didn’t believe in that stuff.

  What would Rory do? Seized by an irresistible urge, I run over to Bernice and give her a shove. Splash! Bliss and Joy scream. Quick as Rory in a sword fight, I whip about and push each of them into the pool. One second later Dad arrives. Bernice is livid. The Happys are sputtering.

  “What is going on here, Bernice?” Dad says.

  “We were just going to do a fashion shoot. I was going to explain it but I just—”

  “Fashion shoot! No way. I don’t want Ryder or my home in some magazine. Why didn’t you ask me? Ryder, I’ll talk to you later.”

  I try to look sorry as I slink out….

  Later, Dad is pretty mad at me as well for pushing them all into the swimming pool. So the bad news is I am grounded. But the good news is maybe Dad will break up with Bernice!

  —

  I don’t mind being grounded. How can I be grounded if I can cross boundaries Dad never dreamed of? But when I go to my room I don’t immediately cross over to Ecalpon. I sit at my desk and make a character chart. I start sketching the characters in Super-Rory-Us and the real people that I guess inspired them.

  There’s not always a one-to-one matchup. Mom took parts of one person, like a smile or a grimace, scraps of another, little quirks, and put them together. Mom could have seen Bernice around LA at a Pilates studio, not far from the Inner Radiance Meditation Center, or a coffee shop nearby. Mom didn’t need to know someone for them to filter into her art. She could have caught just a glimpse of Bernice with that haystack-on-fire hairdo. She usually carried a small notebook with her to sketch.

  Characters for Mom were a lot like her patchwork quilts. I wish I had Mom’s crazy quilt that I slept under back in Deadwood. To sleep under that quilt was like sleeping under a blanket of memories.

  I start to miss Granny so much. I wish I could be with her right now. But getting there is harder than getting to Ecalpon. Maybe Granny can send me the quilt. It would make me feel better. I reach for my phone. Her number rings and rings. I hang up but a minute later she calls back.

  “I’m on the roof, chicken, watching the sunset. I heard the phone ringing downstairs. I sensed it was you. How you doing?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “I guess not! You sound sick as a lamb with the scours. What’s wrong, chicken?”

  Then it’s like a dam bursting. “Everything, Granny!”

  “Now, just calm down. You know what Calamity Jane said when she was cornered by those rustlers down by Bitter Creek. She said to herself, ‘I’ve faced bears, I’ve faced rattlers, I dang near got run down by a stampede of buffalo. But there’s nothing you can’t fix with just a little bit of a think.’ ”

  I tell her the whole story about Bliss and Joy and Bernice and how I pushed them into the swimming pool and how stupid and mean they are and how Dad doesn’t get it even though he was stopping the fashion thing. And then I take a big breath.

  “You finished, dollin’?”

  “I guess, but, Granny, I just think it would be better if I came and lived with you. I want to live in Deadwood. I could go to school there and sleep under that crazy quilt Mom made.” There’s a long pause on the phone. It makes me nervous. “Granny? You do want me to come, don’t you?”

  “Why, of course, dollin’. Of course.”

  I know what she is going to say next. The thing grown-ups always say, something like “Now, let’s think about this,” or “Let’s take this one step at a time….” But instead she says, “Have you told me everything that’s bothering you? I feel that you’re leaving something out.”

  “I’ll say!” a voice behind me rasps. I wheel around. Rory! She’s bright red, vermilion to be exact, and seething mad.

  “How did you get here, Rory? I didn’t even have the television on.”

  “The Trash Can Trail! Your computer is on.?
??

  Meanwhile I hear Granny on the phone. “Listen, chicken. Give a call when you’re free. And those idiot girls—the Three Jokes? They don’t deserve the snot on your sleeve. So wipe that snotty nose and do what needs to be done.” She pauses dramatically. “If you catch my drift, chicken.”

  “I do! Bye, Granny!”

  Rory cocks her head to the side. “Did you catch her drift? You should have told her how brave and good-hearted Constance is.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We got worse problems than Bernice and her wee-brained wonders.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s good news and bad news. The good news is that Cassie has come over to our side.”

  “What? She went to Ecalpon?”

  “Yep. She’s in wireframe right now, helping us. TD is with her.”

  “That’s great! What’s the bad news?”

  “We’ve got a spy.”

  The Witch of Wenham skewers Bethilda with her dark eyes, which gleam like the blackest agates. In her arms she cradles the lizard Jeeves; his yellow eyes make Bethilda slightly queasy. “Did you find out anything?”

  “Oh, yes, that,” Bethilda says with a sigh.

  “Yes, that!” The Witch rolls her eyes. The slits in the lizard’s eyes flash that strange blue.

  “Well, you see, the children come and go.”

  “I know they cross over. But when they are here, where do they go?” the witch presses.

  “There is Ecalpon and…this other place that is…hard to describe.”

  “Try!” The agate eyes drill into her and Bethilda knows she is slipping into something deep and dark.

  She speaks in a shaky voice. “Well, there is the real world, but sometimes they slip off to some place in between.”

  “In between what?” The witch scratches her chin. “ ‘Some place’ is not good enough. Find out the place. I need results. You want that gap in your teeth back? I can give it to you, and much more. I’m not called the Witch of Wenham for nothing.”

  “You aren’t?” Bethilda blinks.