More Than Magic Page 7

  “What was the fight about?”

  “They say I’m a drag. That I spoil everything, all because I was trying to find Dad. They just gang up on me sometimes. So I said I wouldn’t go home with them after the party. Your dad said I could stay here.”

  “In the home theater.”

  “No. I thought I’d watch some TV. I actually watched your show. Super-Rory-Us. It’s sort of fun.”

  “You liked it?”

  “Yeah, I saw the one where the witch tries to turn the owl into a rock so she can get gold.” She gives a sly little smile, then adds, “Sound familiar?”

  I blink. Is she saying what I think she might be saying? Is she that smart? Or is she saying that her mom is a gold digger?

  “Oh, Constance!” I whisper.

  “Constance?” Her face breaks into a huge smile. “You’re calling me Constance?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is the owl in any other episodes? My dad really likes owls.”

  “My mom liked them too. I think she would have had the character continue, but…” I look down at my hands.

  Constance doesn’t say anything for a minute. “You know, my dad is a member of the Audubon Society.”

  “Really?” Somehow I cannot imagine Bernice being married to a member of the Audubon Society.

  “Yep. He’s a birder. A real lister.”

  “Lister?”

  “Yeah, he identifies birds in the wild. I used to go with him.”

  “Where?”

  “Virginia. But someday we were planning on going someplace really exotic, like Patagonia, in South America.”

  “Owling?”

  “Yeah! You go out at night and you listen. And when you hear one, it’s haunting. Magical. And you know what the most beautiful owl sound is?”

  “Don’t they all just hoot?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. The most beautiful sound is the one made by screech owls.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Really. They don’t screech at all. It’s like chimes.” Constance closes her eyes. I can tell she’s remembering being with her dad, listening to the magical sound of an owl.

  At that moment my phone bings. “Got to take this.” I run back to my bedroom. It’s from Eli. Call me now.

  —

  “Eli, this is really hard to explain on the phone. But you’ve got to come to Starlight Studios with me tomorrow. Things are happening that you won’t believe.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve crossed over.”

  “Crossed over to where?”

  “Ecalpon.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know, it’s crazy! But I need your help. We all need your help.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Me, Rory, Prince Thunderdolt Lowenbrow.”

  “Ryder, you’re talking as if they’re real. This is hard to understand—it’s the middle of the night!”

  “I know, sorry! But they’re real. You need to come with me, first to Starlight Studios, then to Ecalpon.”

  “I have a parkour practice. It’s free running—my specialty.”

  “Okay. When can you get to the studio?”

  “By lunch at the latest.”

  “Okay…and…”

  “Yes?”

  “Prepare yourself.”

  “For what?”

  “Going to Ecalpon!”

  It’s midmorning the day after the party, and I’m at Starlight Studios with my owl drawings. I don’t want anyone in the studio to see them. I used to think the place where they “Make Magic Happen” was the coolest. Not anymore.

  I like my sketches, but to make Constance into a fully animated character takes a lot of code, a lot of programming. Since the owl was on-screen only briefly in that one episode, not much code exists for her. Eli cannot get here soon enough.

  “Ryder.” Cassie looks up at me from a layout for a new show about dinosaurs. “I have to go to a meeting, so I hope you don’t mind being here on your own. It should only be about a half hour. You can go back to the texture files I showed you earlier and fiddle around with the T. rex skin.”

  You bet I’m going to fiddle around, I think. But not with any dinosaur skin. Feathers. My barn owl needs plumage. “Oh, cool!” I say. I’m becoming a terrific pretender, or maybe a liar. Strange, I pretend more in the real world than in the make-believe world.

  Earlier, Cassie showed me how they made the textures for the dinosaurs’ skins. The digital programming has certainly advanced since I sat on Mom’s lap as a five-year-old. But Eli must know all about this.

  “I can pick up some lunch for us,” Cassie says. “What would you like?”

  “Pizza!” I say quickly. “And remember, Eli is coming.”

  “I left a pass for him at the desk. You know, the commissary is pretty slow with the pizza.”

  I almost blurt out, I know, that’s why I want it! Instead I say, “That’s fine, I’m not hungry yet.” I need to buy all the time I can. TD said time is slower in Ecalpon, but I’m nervous. What if our plan doesn’t work? And I keep wondering if I should’ve told Constance what I have planned for Constance the owl in Ecalpon. No—I need to get the barn owl fully rendered. Dad seemed pleased when he came into the kitchen this morning and found me and Constance talking. He invited her to stay for a few days until things “blow over.” So she’s going to be around.

  Cassie stops at the door and composes her face into an imitation of jolliness. “Have a good time with that texturing program.”

  “Oh, that’ll be fun.” Lies, lies, lies, I think. I’m doomed to die in a cesspool of lies. But Starlight Studios is murdering my virtual self and it feels as if the dagger is plunging directly into my very real heart. That heart is thudding away at the moment so loudly I’m afraid Cassie will hear it.

  “I’ll set it up for you before I go.” She comes back to the computer. This could be a real break! I might not have to wait for Eli to come with the codes.

  My eyes are glued to the keyboard as she types. Ryder, if you ever used your brain, use it now. Remember that password. Cassie’s fingers move fast but I get it.

  Cassie gets up to leave. “See you soon, Ryder. Pizza, any special toppings?”

  “No,” I say quickly. I don’t want thoughts of pepperoni when I’m trying to remember her password. I scribble it on scrap paper, get my drawings, and go to scan them in. Then it’s back to the computer keyboard.

  Password works, I’m in! But, what’s happening? I’m transported into a weird ghostly landscape swirling with fog. “This is just too strange,” I mutter.

  “No! This is perfect.” Dim voices are coming toward me and spectral figures advance.

  “Welcome to the land of wireframes.” It’s TD. He’s lumbering toward me. Rory is by his side. They look like mummies but walk like zombies.

  “Wireframes?” I whisper. They are sort of like mannequins, solid but at the same time blank, no faces, no skin.

  “That’s not you, Rory! It can’t be.” I am looking at a shape that is waaaayyyy too old for me or for Rory. And I don’t mean Granny-type old. And something else is different too: from the top of her head, gleaming hair falls down straight past her shoulders. Not a curl or a cowlick in sight.

  “It can’t be you,” I whisper.

  Then this blank face begins to speak. “It won’t be me!” There is a chilling disconnect between the voice and the body as Rory stomps her foot just the way I do when I am mad. But things jiggle where they shouldn’t. She’s moving toward me but not exactly walking. More like tottering. There is something awfully familiar about it. It can’t be. I stare at the figure’s feet. Rory is right. This is Bliss.

  “Those boots?”

  The figure that is supposed to be Rory sighs. “Stiletto heels. I suppose you could say they’re a kind of weapon.”

  “What happened to your slingshot, your bow and arrow?”

  “Gone! Gone! Gone!”

  Rory of course told me all this, but now it’s right in front o
f me.

  And then something very strange happens. A tiny oval begins to sparkle just beneath where her eye should be on the wireframe. I step closer.

  “Rory, are you crying?”

  “I think so, but I’m in wireframe. I’m off script. I’m not even in Ecalpon yet, right?”

  TD’s eyeless face seems to peer at her. “This has to be a miracle of some sort. I…I…I don’t believe in miracles….I believe in science…the science of animation.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t believe in miracles?” I say. “All this is a miracle—Rory stepping out of my television set, me going into your world—it’s all miraculous.” I think of Eli’s game. “And what about the Red Sea closing for Moses?”

  “Moses? Red Sea? What does that have to do with me?” TD asks. “Am I Jewish?”

  “What do you think? My mom based you on Eli.”

  “I’m a Jewish prince!” he exclaims. I nod. He says, “Moses? I’m Moses?”

  “Not quite, buster!”

  “But you just said that your mom invented me and I told you I felt that she knew about my…er…uh…”

  “Secret life?” Then I remember Constance and the owl sketches. But I don’t think this is the time to bring up my idea for a new character.

  “Yes, my interest in science, and you said I reminded you of that boy Eli that your mom used as a model for me. And you were going to bring him across. Where is he?”

  “I’m hoping he will be here soon.”

  “Eli Weckstein! Could he teach me parkour? It’s so much more interesting than jousting. Don’t you think?”

  “I guess.”

  But TD’s suddenly very quiet, watching the wireframe of Rory. Another tear melts out of her featureless face. He lifts a finger and touches her cheek.

  “It is a miracle,” he whispers quietly as Rory stifles a sob. “She’s crying real tears. I feel it.” He touches her cheek again. Until this moment TD and Rory were animated characters in a make-believe world, and right now they are both just skeletons of those characters caught in the in-between space of wireframe. However, those faceless wireframes of TD and Rory are looking at me as if they have eyes.

  TD suddenly bursts out, “Ryder, you don’t understand how much of a miracle this is. We have no skin, no faces, no color. This cannot be happening. There cannot be tears, not yet. That is the miracle. The miracle of Rory!”

  —

  There is a soft whirring noise, then a sort of bleep, and a very metallic sound as if a trash can has been turned over. A real one, not a virtual one.

  “Eli!” I shout.

  “Yeah. Where am I?” He staggers toward me. “Holy moly, WIREFRAME!” he exclaims. “But I don’t understand. The codes worked. But this is—”

  “I know, Eli. This is just a way station on the road to Ecalpon.”

  TD now comes up. “Allow me to introduce myself. No need to bow. I am a scientist first. A prince second. It’s very low on my list of priorities. We have just experienced a miracle.”

  “You’ve experienced a miracle!” Eli says. “What about me? What have I experienced?”

  Then there’s a fluttering in the air.

  “What’s that?” everyone says at once.

  “My sketches for a new character who I think can help us. We’re writing her back into the script. This is our choice, our chance to make things right. But she’s not in wireframe yet,” I reply.

  “I know where the codes are,” Eli says.

  “How can she help us?” Rory asks.

  “In ‘real life’ she’s Connie.”

  “Connie?” Rory gasps. “One of the Three Happys?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Ryder, they’re the enemy.”

  “Not Connie. I mean Constance. She is like her name. Steadfast and true.”

  “An enemy you can trust? Ryder, you better be right or we’ll be in big trouble.”

  I could tell Ryder was very confused when that tear slipped from my nonexistent eyes. From Ryder’s point of view, my wireframe crying might not be a big deal. She might think it was a glitch in the code. But I believe this tear is the kind of miracle that comes straight out of a fairy tale, like in “Sleeping Beauty” when the prince wakes her up with a kiss. Sort of. Thank heaven I didn’t have to kiss TD and he didn’t have to kiss me. The tear has nothing to do with any prince. It is simply magical.

  I turn and begin to lumber toward Ryder. She shrinks back a bit. I do look sort of like a zombie.

  “Ryder, listen to me. If this can happen”—I point to my cheek—“if this tear is real…”

  “It looks very real, Rory. More real than the rest of you.”

  I know she’s looking at my body and I feel her eyes traveling down to the stiletto-heeled boots. Of course, that’s just the front of me. I turn slightly. “And you’re not going to believe my butt. Look at it!”

  “I’d rather not,” Ryder says.

  “This is terrible.” Eli is stunned. “My dad had hinted that there were some changes Cassie wasn’t pleased with.”

  “That’s an understatement. But Eli, if this is real, this tear, it means things can change. We can change them. The four of us,” I say.

  “Maybe the five of us,” Ryder says.

  “Oh—the owl,” Eli says.

  “Rory is right.” TD has fire in his voice. “We can change all of it.”

  “Where do we begin?” Ryder asks.

  “With me,” I cry. “Get rid of the high-heeled boots. I want my old ones back. I can’t walk, run, or ride a horse in these things. And most important, I want my old body back.”

  “You do kind of defy gravity,” Ryder says.

  “No,” TD replies. “You’ve got it wrong. If she defied the laws of gravity, she would be floating.”

  “And this stupid wand.” I toss it as hard as I can.

  “Hasta la vista!” Ryder yells, getting into the spirit.

  “Here’s what we’ve got to do,” TD says. “Sneak our old selves, our true selves, back into these wireframes.”

  Eli is nearly jumping out of his skin—he’s so lucky to have skin to jump out of. It’s not exactly skin as he knew it. He’s arrived as a cartoon just as Ryder did when she came to Ecalpon.

  “I think I know what you’re talking about, TD—a Trojan horse,” Eli says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s from history,” Ryder answers.

  TD steps closer. “There was this ancient city of Troy, and the Greeks wanted to get inside and capture it. They created this huge wooden horse and all of the best Greek soldiers climbed into it. The Trojans thought they had captured a war trophy and pulled the horse inside the city gates, but guess what?”

  “The soldiers jumped out of the horse and took the city!” I gasp.

  “Shazam!” Ryder exclaims. “And Eli can write a Trojan horse program to undo what has been done to you, Rory. Get your body and boots back. Bury all the good stuff deep in the wireframe so they can’t find it. Then it will pop out for the movie premiere. Can’t you, Eli?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I get it now,” I say. “We’re kind of like the secret soldiers.”

  —

  “But how?” I ask. “You make it seem so easy.”

  “We’re in the best starting place we can be,” Eli says. “Right here in wireframe with you. I just have to find the trash.”

  “I think you stumbled over it when you came in, Eli,” Ryder says.

  “The trash?” TD and I say. “There’s no real trash in our land,” I say. “We have slop pails in the barn, but they’re just props.”

  “Yes, it’s virtual trash here,” Ryder says. She seems very cheerful for some reason. “But please remember we’re not all the way into make-believe.” She goes on. “We’re in the outskirts. That’s what wireframe is. On every computer screen there’s a little trash can icon. So what we got to do is…”

  “Empty it?” I say.

  “NOOOOOO!” Ryder is jumping up
and down in complete alarm. “Never empty it. Carefully unpack what we need. It’s full of valuable things that you need to get your old self back. Your old body, your old boots, your bow and arrow. And then we’ll save them in a hidden place until just the right moment, when they spring to life. Or, pardon me, into a full-blown animation.” Ryder steps up very close. “Rory, you’re right.” Her voice is grave. “Your tear is real and miraculous. This is the magic that will let our plan happen like a true fairy tale—our electronic Tinker Bell moment, our Sleeping Beauty moment—just watch. A tear and a trash can. That’s all we need.”

  At that I shed another tear. This time a tear of true happiness.

  Aladdin’s cave could not have spilled over with as many riches as that virtual trash can on Cassie’s computer. We unpacked it as if we were handling precious gems. The first thing we found was the ax I always dreamed of for Rory.

  It’s an ax or maybe a sword—a swax! The curve of the blade and the handle are works of art. In a bottom corner of the scanned drawing are Cassie’s initials, CGS. “Can you see this, guys?” I ask. “I mean, since you don’t have eyes yet.”

  “I can see it!” Rory says breathlessly. “I think it’s my tears. They’re like a lens.”

  “I can almost see it,” TD says. He bends very close to the sketch. I see Rory raising her wireframe hand as if she is imagining how she might grasp this weapon. “Goldarn, what I could do with this blade.”

  “Rory, you sound like Granny.” We grin at each other.

  “Well, she is sort of my granny too, Ryder.”

  “But you’ve never met her.”

  “I know, but she kind of seeped into me somehow.”

  “Digital genetics?” Eli mutters. “Let’s see what else is in the trash can!”

  We find sketches and texture codes for Rory’s old hairstyle. There is code for everything: body types, faces, animals. Eli and I sort all of this out.

  “Okay,” I finally say. “I think we have the ‘guts’ for our Trojan horse. Now we need another trash can to put this in for when we want it.”

  “Maybe a locked trash can,” TD says. “One that only we know the combination to.”

  “Good idea,” Eli says.