Clover's Luck Read online

  The Magical Animal

  ADOPTION AGENCY

  1 CLOVER’S LUCK

  BY Kallie George

  ILLUSTRATED BY

  Alexandra Boiger

  Dedication

  To my Nono, who knew I would be a writer way before I did

  —K.G.

  To Vanessa and Andrea, with love, always

  —A.B.

  Contents

  Dedication

  ONE Clover

  TWO The Agency

  THREE The Small Animals

  FOUR The Stables

  FIVE The Note

  SIX Moondrop’s Mishap

  SEVEN Snort’s Sneeze

  EIGHT Esmeralda’s Enchantment

  NINE A Wicked Plan

  TEN Serendipity

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Clover

  Luck is like magic. It’s mysterious and exciting and impossible to explain. It can’t be described by equations or logic or even by books. You just have to believe.

  Clover believed. She believed luck existed—and that all of hers was bad. From the time she was born under a moon as thin as a cat’s whisker—a bad omen, she’d decided—her life had been filled with one misfortune after another, from burst bike tires to burnt toast. Not to mention problems with pets.

  She tried everything to change her luck. She painted her room bright green, the color of lucky clover, her namesake, and pasted shooting stars on her ceiling that she could wish on every night. She hung a horseshoe over her bed and collected shiny pennies in a jar that she kept on her windowsill. She even carried a lucky charm with her at all times. This morning she had tucked a wishbone in her pocket. But nothing seemed to work.

  The wishbone certainly wasn’t helping her now. It was only the first day of vacation and already her whole summer had been ruined. Her best friend, Emma, had just called to tell her that she was going to Pony Camp after all. Both Emma and Clover had wanted to go, but the camp was full. This morning, though, someone had canceled, and Emma’s name was first on the waiting list.

  “Cheer up,” Emma said when she gave Clover the news. “Maybe someone else will cancel, and you can come too.”

  But Clover knew that would never happen.

  The camp lasted till school started. So much for sleepovers and sharing ice cream. So much for adventures and excitement. So much for spending the summer with her best friend.

  “At least I have you,” she said to Penny, her new pet canary. “I can train you to sing and, well, do all sorts of things. It’ll be fun.”

  Clover checked to make sure her bedroom window and door were tightly shut before taking Penny out of her cage. She was stroking the bird’s yellow feathers when … Smash! A baseball broke through the window, narrowly missing the jar of pennies and a jade tortoise paperweight, and landed on her bed with a thump.

  “Oh no!” Clover cried.

  Quick as a wink, with just one tweet, Penny left Clover’s finger and flew out through the hole left by the baseball.

  “OH NO!” Clover cried even louder.

  She ran out of her room, down the stairs, and out the front door. “Penny!” she shouted, racing after her bird, her shoes pounding the pavement. “Penny, come back!”

  The street was empty. Whoever had thrown the ball was gone. Penny soared over the lawn and headed down the street. Clover chased after her.

  At the end of the block, Penny perched on a picket fence. Clover tried to sneak up on the bird, but the moment she was within arm’s reach, Penny took off, flying down the next block. Penny landed a few more times, but Clover still couldn’t catch her.

  Soon they reached the edge of the village. Penny kept on going. Clover had a stitch in her side, but she didn’t stop either.

  She ran through farmers’ fields, over rolling hills, and along a twisty path that grew ever more rough and overgrown. She had never gone so far from the village. The stitch in her side grew into a knot.

  The path took a turn, and she lost sight of Penny for a moment. When she rounded the bend, she froze. There before her was a line of trees and bushes, blocking her way like a great green wall. The Woods.

  Her canary was perched atop a small, twisted tree, like a tiny star.

  “Come to me, Penny! Good little bird,” Clover called, holding out her finger. But as she crept closer, Penny gave a cheeky tweet and flew off, disappearing into the Woods.

  Keep away, keep away, the Woods are where wee beasties play. The rhyme sung at school echoed in Clover’s head. People from her village stayed far away from the Woods. They were a strange place, and even stranger lands lay beyond them—or so the rumors rang.

  The trees ahead creaked and groaned, and shadows flickered. An eerie breeze whistled through the branches as if in tune to the rhyme.

  Clover gulped and reached for the wishbone in her pocket. So far it hadn’t proved lucky, but she would give it one more chance.

  She took a deep breath and looked for a path. There was a tiny trail so overgrown it was hard to see, but when she pushed past the first few bushes, it opened up.

  The trees cast dark shadows, but were also lush and green. Rotting logs covered the forest floor, yet so did feathery moss, dotted with white flowers. The air smelled clean and fresh.

  The Woods were beautiful, and only slightly ominous. They weren’t strange at all. But Penny was nowhere to be seen. She was gone. Really gone.

  “Stupid bad luck!” Clover said, blinking back tears. She reached into her pocket again and pulled out the wishbone. “This is the worst charm yet!” She threw it away as hard as she could.

  The wishbone glanced off a stump, bounced back, and almost hit her in the face.

  But Clover didn’t notice. She was staring at a large sheet of thick yellow paper nailed to the trunk of a nearby tree. The paper was curled and faded, the handwritten message streaked from rain.

  Clover stepped closer to read it.

  DO YOU LOVE ANIMALS?

  DO YOU WANT TO HELP THEM

  FIND HAPPY HOMES?

  OUR AGENCY NEEDS YOU!

  VOLUNTEER AT THE M.A.A.A.

  At the bottom were little slips of paper with directions.

  Not one had been torn off.

  Clover read the notice again. And then a third time. She desperately wanted a pet of her own. But Penny’s escape made it clear—once and for all—that she was just too unlucky.

  If I worked at an animal adoption agency, she thought, I could be with animals without actually owning a pet. I could help them. I could set things right.

  Carefully, she tore off the first slip and read it.

  “The M.A.A.A.—#1 Dragon’s Tail Lane. Down the path. Just around the bend. Follow the signs.”

  She hesitated for a moment. Going into the Woods to chase her bird was one thing. Going to apply for a volunteer position was quite another. Who would run an animal adoption agency in the Woods? Weren’t beasties supposed to be the only creatures that lived here?

  Clover looked around again. The treetops bobbed in the wind. A squirrel chattered to its friend. Already there were creatures other than beasties.

  Just around the bend, thought Clover. That’s not too far to go. I can at least check it out.

  Folding the slip in two, she stuck it deep in her pocket and set off down the path, in search of the first sign. Despite her unluckiness, Clover always kept a hopeful heart.

  2

  The Agency

  Signs were scarce, and it took Clover much longer than she expected to wind her way through the Woods.

  At one point she reached a place where the path branched in many directions. Nailed onto a hu
ge tree in the center were several signs shaped like arrows. SHOPPES made sense. Though she was surprised to find there were shops in the Woods. What kinds of shops would they be? Not ordinary ones that sold shoes or sweets, surely. But if there was an adoption agency, who knew?

  MEADOWS and OUT also made sense. The OUT sign pointed to the path that she was standing on, so it must mean out of the Woods and to her village.

  But HEART and BEYOND were a little more puzzling. The HEART sign pointed down a dark, twisty path. Maybe it leads into the heart of the Woods, thought Clover. So, did BEYOND mean there were villages and towns on the other side of the Woods? She looked to see what kind of path it pointed to and nearly tripped on an arrow lying flat on the ground.

  She picked it up. M.A.A.A. was etched into the wood in black letters.

  “Oh no,” Clover moaned. “Now how will I find it?”

  She looked again at the other arrows. All the paths except the one to the far left were clearly marked. Was that the path to the Agency? It had to be.

  Leaning the arrow against the tree, she started down the path to the left. It wasn’t long before she came to a clearing, and she could see what appeared to be a charming cottage in the distance, with smoke curling out from a chimney. Where the path narrowed, there was a sign that read DRAGON’S TAIL LANE. There wasn’t really a lane to speak of, not like at home, but there were no other buildings in sight, so that had to be it. A sense of well-being filled her. She felt almost … lucky.

  But that feeling lasted only a moment. Dark clouds had filled the sky, and it began to rain. Hard. Soon raindrops dripped from her nose.

  To top it off, a lady clutching a white kitten bustled by and bumped into her. Clover stepped out of the way and right into a mud puddle.

  Dressed in a billowing black raincoat, her face hidden by the floppy brim of her hat, the lady looked like a thundercloud. The kitten, unprotected and dripping, mewed as they passed.

  “Mind your way,” snapped the lady, as though it were Clover’s fault.

  Mind your kitten, Clover wanted to reply, but the words caught in her throat as the lady hurried away.

  Clover thought things couldn’t get worse.

  But, of course, they could. And they did.

  The Agency was tucked away at the end of the path, which curved like a giant tail. Whether it was like a dragon’s tail, as the sign said, Clover wasn’t sure. The only dragons she had seen were those in storybooks.

  This Agency too seemed like it had popped out of the pages of a storybook.

  Number 1 Dragon’s Tail Lane was a large, low-lying wooden building with a thatched roof covered in moss as thick as fur. Vines snaked up its sides, and a thin tendril of smoke rose out of a chimney at the back. Protruding from the right was a rickety tower. An old wooden fence circled the building like a toothy grin. At the front gate stood a small, sleepy-looking garden gnome. Over the gate a sign read:

  WELCOME TO THE M.A.A.A

  The bottom of the last letter A was partly missing, and ragged, as though something had bitten it off. Something big.

  It didn’t scare her exactly, but it was startling. Clover felt in her pocket, forgetting for a moment that she had thrown her wishbone away, and touched the slip of paper she had torn off the sign instead. Her heart took courage.

  Feet squishing in her shoes, she trudged through the gate, up the path, and up the steps. An ENTER sign hung on the doorknob, but underneath, in tiny letters, were the words AT YOUR OWN RISK. This sign looked eaten too—nibbled around the edges. The doorknob was made from wood, carved in the shape of a beak.

  Slowly, she pushed open the door.

  The room smelled faintly of smoke and looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years; everything was dusty and old. There was a tilting bookshelf brimming with books and a desk piled high with papers. A red quill pen stuck out of a bottle of ink. A small silver bell perched on a stack of papers on the desk with a sign reading RING FOR SERVICE.

  Beside the desk, on a thick rug, were two chairs and a couch around a small coffee table. On the table were pamphlets titled From Spark to Flame: How to Encourage Friendly Fires; Proper Care of Unusual Eggs; and Troublesome Toads: When Warts Turn Weird.

  An enormous golden book rested on a stand, in a corner by itself.

  Although the room was cluttered, there were no pictures or posters of cute little animals on the walls like Clover was used to seeing at every pet shop and vet’s office she had ever been in, only a slogan on a hook behind the desk: NO ANIMAL IS TOO UNUSUAL TO ADOPT. Clover liked that. Perhaps this agency dealt with pets like parrots and hedgehogs.

  She rang the bell, being careful not to knock over the papers.

  She waited for a long time, but there was no response.

  She was about to leave when a door behind the desk burst open and out came an old man.

  “Wait a minute. Don’t be so impatient,” he called, as though he was annoyed at being disturbed.

  He was only a tad taller than Clover, with a short, pointed white beard. His shirt was streaked with soot.

  He examined Clover with raised eyebrows, from her mud-splattered stockings and dress to the water dripping off her freckled nose.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “Excuse me, is this the Animal Adoption Agency? This is my first time in the Woods. I lost my bird and found you instead.”

  The old man’s bushy eyebrows rose higher. “I’m sorry,” he said after a pause, “but we can’t help you here. Lost birds are a lost cause; but if it is in the Woods, it will surely make friends.”

  “Oh,” said Clover. “I hope you’re right. But that’s not why I’m here. I came to volunteer.”

  The man looked her up and down again intently, then shook his head. “You’re out of luck.”

  “I always am.”

  “I didn’t mean—” the man began, seeing how upset she was, but Clover kept talking.

  “I’m especially unlucky with pets. My fish jumped out of his cup and went down the drain when I was cleaning his bowl. My mom was allergic to my puppy, and we had to give her away. My kitten decided he liked our neighbor’s house better than ours and stayed there. And now my bird …” Clover gulped.

  “I highly doubt—” The man tried to jump in again, but Clover still didn’t stop.

  “My parents like me to have a pet, because they’re so busy working and don’t want me to be lonely. Plus they know I love animals. But I’m too unlucky to keep a pet myself. Maybe I can help out here instead. I saw your notice on a tree.” Clover showed him the slip of paper.

  The man tugged at his beard with one hand and tapped on the desk with his other.

  Clover slumped. “I’ll … I’ll go now.”

  “Wait,” he said. “What animals are you afraid of?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “None. Not even big ones. I went to the zoo once in the city, and I saw an enormous elephant and two huge lions. I wasn’t scared at all. In fact, I felt sorry for them. They looked so unhappy.”

  “Can you help every day?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “But what about school?”

  “It’s summer. There’s no school.”

  He nodded. “Ah, of course. Good.” He leaned closer, resting his elbows on the desk and looking straight into Clover’s eyes. “Now for the most important question. You must answer honestly. Can you keep a secret?”

  “Yes,” she replied, slowly but without hesitation. “I don’t really have many people to tell things to anyway.” This was especially true now that Emma was gone.

  The man nodded. “Then I’ve changed my mind. You may have bad luck with regular pets, but you might fit in perfectly here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My name is Mr. Jams, and this”—the old man paused and gestured to the room—”this is the M.A.A.A.: the Magical Animal Adoption Agency.”

  “Magical animals?” Clover’s eyes grew wide.

  Mr. Jams pulled out his pocket watch. “Oh,
cripes and clawscratch! I don’t have time to explain right now. I have a lot to do today. Be back here at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow, and I’ll begin your training.”

  “Tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course, and don’t be late,” said Mr. Jams sternly. With that, he turned, pulled open the door behind the desk, and disappeared.

  The small sign on the wall shook as the door slammed shut. Clover reread the words on it:

  This time, they made her tingle.

  3

  The Small Animals

  By the time Clover got home, it was already late afternoon. Her parents were still at work at the mayor’s office, as usual. Clover didn’t really mind. She was used to it. She had everything she needed, including a number for emergencies, and her parents always checked in to make sure she was okay.

  Besides, being alone meant that it was easy to keep secrets. It also gave her plenty of time to ponder things, like what Mr. Jams meant about the magical animals.

  She thought about it as she cleaned up her room and taped cardboard over her broken window. She thought about it as she warmed up the supper her parents had left for her in the fridge. (It was her favorite, macaroni and cheese.)

  She was so distracted thinking about magical animals that she dropped and broke not just her glass but also her plate when she was doing the dishes. And at bedtime, her toothbrush slipped into the soap dish, and no matter how much she rinsed it, it still tasted like soap.

  Even so, she couldn’t stop wondering what Mr. Jams had meant.

  They must be pets for magicians, she finally decided. She liked that. Maybe magicians’ pets had their own built-in luck.

  When Clover’s mom called just before bedtime, Clover told her about Penny but not about the Agency. Her mom listened sympathetically and afterward, encouraged by the conversation, Clover sketched a picture of her lost bird. It took a mix of her gold and orange colored pencils to get the color right. When she was done, she pinned it onto her Memory Wall, next to the pictures of her fish and her puppy.