Clover's Luck Read online

  From the time she was tiny, Clover had loved animals. Her first word hadn’t been “Mama” or “Papa”; it had been “meow.” And when she was three, she had painted whiskers on her cheeks every day for a month. All she wanted to do was be with animals. She hoped the Agency was her answer.

  She curled up in her covers, patterned with ladybugs, and went to sleep, dreaming of Penny flying happily through a forest filled with magicians’ pets—doves and rabbits and small white mice.

  The next morning, ten minutes early, with the sun still low in the east, Clover opened the Agency’s door.

  Mr. Jams greeted her at the front desk. “You came back. Wasn’t certain you would.”

  He was wearing the same shirt with black smudges down the front. The room still smelled like smoke, but now also of cinnamon toast. Mr. Jams was holding a big slice.

  “Right, let’s get started. You may have already heard about some of the animals here. After all, most of them have been written about in tales of luck and love, wonder and wishes. Fairy tales …” He said this with a grimace. “Not that I don’t like fairy tales,” he added quickly. “I do. It is just that our animals’ true tales are not so enchanting.”

  He took a big bite of his toast before continuing. “In this room, you can read their real stories.” He gestured to an antique-looking cabinet behind the desk. “All the files on each animal are kept in here.” Then he pointed to the enormous golden book on the stand. “That is the Wish Book. All those who come in and are looking for an animal that we don’t have can make their request in it. That way we can call them when the animal they desire arrives.

  “But,” he added sternly, “you must examine every customer who comes in with a careful eye—even those who have been here and made a request before. Is he or she suitable? Has the person come to the right place?”

  “What do you mean ‘suitable’? Do you mean whether or not they are magicians?” asked Clover.

  “No. Suitable, meaning right for the particular animals here,” said Mr. Jams. “Who are, by the way, anxious to meet you. I told them all about you.” Mr. Jams strode through the door behind the desk, turned, and, with a wave of his hand, beckoned Clover to follow. “This way.”

  Mr. Jams kept munching his toast as they passed a storage room filled with boxes. A rope ladder hung down from the ceiling like a swing. There were cages too—some with bent bars, and one that looked like it had been melted. I wonder if there was a fire here, Clover thought. Before she could take a closer look, Mr. Jams continued down the hall.

  They passed more rooms: a laundry room, a washing room with tubs of various sizes that hung from the ceiling like strange decorations, and a kitchen that contained the biggest refrigerator she had ever seen, with three separate doors. In one corner sat a giant black cauldron. She didn’t know cauldrons like that really existed.

  Halfway down the hall, Mr. Jams pointed to the right. “This way leads to my quarters.” He pointed to the left. “That way leads to the room where we keep the smaller animals. Straight ahead leads to the stables, where the bigger pens and stalls are.”

  A muffled roar came from that direction. Clover jumped. So did Mr. Jams.

  “Cripes and clawscratch! Snort must be in trouble again. Acquaint yourself with our smaller pets. I’ll be back momentarily.”

  Mr. Jams hurried out, gulping down the last bit of his toast as he went.

  With a knot in her stomach, Clover opened the door and stepped into a big room lined with small cages and tanks. It was warm and smelled like the forest.

  In the first tank was a tiny pool of water surrounded by moss. Nestled in the moss was a glass ball, and sitting on top of the ball was what Clover thought at first was another lump of moss. But the card on the bottom corner of the tank said it was a toad named Esmeralda.

  Clover was disappointed. She had been expecting magicians’ pets like cute white bunnies, not a warty green toad.

  But then she read the rest of the card and gasped.

  HISTORY: This toad was discovered long ago in a well, abandoned and under a curse. Unfortunately we could not lift the curse, but its effects appear to be benign. Our oldest resident, Esmeralda would make the perfect companion for a patient, color-loving client.

  A curse? What does that mean? Clover looked back into the tank and, to her amazement, Esmeralda’s warts had changed color. Instead of green they were now a startling orange!

  “Oh!” Clover pressed her face against the glass. Suddenly, Esmeralda snapped out her tongue, hitting the glass right above Clover’s eyes.

  She jumped back in surprise. The toad seemed to glare at her.

  “I’m sorry,” said Clover. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” The toad let out a loud croak, then hopped into the water with a splash.

  Cautiously, Clover turned to the tank that came next.

  It was quite a bit larger than the toad’s tank, and decorated like a miniature forest, with ferns and moss and sticks and a few lumps of what seemed to be white sugar. Clover looked closely, but she couldn’t see anything else. Then out from the ferns paraded five tiny horses—the smallest, prettiest horses she had ever seen. They were all shades of gray and white with tails no longer than her little finger, and hooves no bigger than her fingernails. Two jumped over the sticks, which to them were as big as logs, while the others settled in to lick the sugar cubes.

  “Miniature horses!” she cried. “They’re so cute!”

  She read the card.

  NAMES: Acorn, Hickory, Tansy, Butternut &

  Buttercup

  SPECIES: Fairy Horses

  AGE: 200 years

  HISTORY: These gentle horses were rescued from a cave where they were being held captive and mistreated by ogres. They are workhorses by nature, and with consistent good treatment would happily plow a fairy’s field or pull a small wagon filled with peas or flowers.

  A shiver of excitement ran through Clover’s body. What else might she find? She turned quickly to see the next animals.

  In a large tank, a big black rock rose up to form a peak like a small volcano. Lounging on one side of the rock, like thin sticks of red licorice, were two salamanders. They were unlike any salamanders Clover had ever seen. Steam rose from their nostrils. Clover touched her fingertips lightly to the glass. It was hot.

  The card said:

  NAMES: Ash and Flame

  SPECIES: Elemental Salamanders, commonly known as Fire Salamanders

  AGE: Indeterminate, considered immortal

  HISTORY: The previous owner gave these salamanders up because she feared the long-term commitment of an immortal pet. They are perfect adoptees for a family with a constantly heated hearth.

  Clover turned to the next cage. It was empty. She took a deep breath. She was trembling. These aren’t magicians’ pets at all. They must be the pets of the strange people that live in the Woods and Beyond. She had always imagined that the creatures that lived in the Woods were scary—after all, they were called “beasties.” But so far this hadn’t been the case. These animals certainly weren’t scary beasties. They were magical. Really, truly magical.

  Although she believed in luck and charms, she had never believed this kind of magic existed. She wished her best friend were around. Emma would love this. She was always talking about the magic creatures found in her storybooks as if they were real.

  And now it turned out that they were.

  4

  The Stables

  “That used to house a grimalkin, a witch’s kitten.” Mr. Jams’s voice startled Clover. He was standing beside her now, pointing to the empty cage.

  “Witches’ cats are usually black, but that fellow was white. I found him in a ditch in the Woods. Some cranky witch must have culled him out of a black cat’s litter, or maybe the mother herself abandoned him. Anyway, he was adopted right before you arrived yesterday, and the witch who adopted him seemed particularly pleased that he was white. A bit of an unusual case. But enough of that,” he said. “It’s time for you
to meet the other animals. Come on. Don’t just stand there tongue-tied like a troll.” He chuckled.

  Clover followed Mr. Jams out of the room for small animals and down the hall that he had told her led to the stables.

  He pointed to a closed door on the right. “In there we have an aviary for phoenixes and other magical birds, but we haven’t had any of those for a long time. And through that door,” he said, gesturing to the one beside it, “are large tanks, in case we get abandoned sea serpents or hippocampi.”

  He noticed Clover’s puzzled expression and explained, “Hippocampi are sea horses. Not the tiny sea horses you may be familiar with, but actual sea horses. Horse from the waist up and fish from the waist down. They eat only sea foam. It takes hours to froth up salty water, so be thankful we don’t have one right now.”

  They passed several other rooms with closed doors and soon reached the end of the hall. “Through here are our stables, where we keep our unicorns. You know what those are, I assume?”

  Clover nodded promptly, and held her breath as they walked into the stables. Soft whinnies and the sound of swishing tails greeted her, along with the smell of hay and, strangely, smoke. It was a giant barn with large stalls in two rows facing each other.

  The stalls on the left housed unicorns more beautiful than any picture in Emma’s books. They poked their heads up over the gates, their long horns raised toward her. Their manes and horns were as white as milk. A few looked directly at her with their blue eyes. The unicorns were much smaller than Clover imagined unicorns would be—hardly as tall as she. The smallest one, closest to the door, came up to her shoulder.

  Clover could barely believe that only a day ago she had been jealous of Emma going to Pony Camp, and now here she was, face-to-face with honest-to-goodness unicorns.

  “We always have a lot of unicorns,” said Mr. Jams. “At the moment there are half a dozen. That is a manageable herd. But at times we have had as many as a dozen. Unicorns are popular gifts for young princesses, and, well, spoiled princesses get a unicorn whenever they demand one. All too often they become bored with their new pet and abandon it or give it to us. But unicorns are easy to look after. Water and mush is all they need. They’re shy, and the ones we get here often feel unloved. They need a gentle touch. That little one came to us only a few days ago,” said Mr. Jams. “But he is very sweet. Hold out your hand. And mind his horn.”

  Clover did. Gingerly the little creature nuzzled her fingers. His nose was soft, dry, and cool.

  She could see how thin he was. Every rib was visible. His tail was so long it dusted the ground, and his forelock fell over his eyes. But saddest-looking of all was his horn, which was rounded and short, as though it had never properly grown.

  “Poor thing,” murmured Clover, picking up a handful of hay from a barrel beside the stall and holding it out. The unicorn quickly ate it up. Clover glanced at the card on the stall gate.

  “Mistypoo Moondrop,” she read aloud. “Mistypoo? Is that really his name?”

  “That’s a princess for you,” Mr. Jams said with a grunt. “Less sense than a sprite. This fellow’s history is especially unfortunate. The princess not only gave him that name, she didn’t care for him at all and didn’t feed him properly. She filed down his horn because she thought a rounded horn was more stylish. I call him Moondrop and never use his first name. Unlike most unicorns, he wasn’t abandoned. Another princess told me about the situation and I investigated, and then I seized him.”

  “But if princesses abandon unicorns, who adopts them?”

  “Usually other princesses,” said Mr. Jams with a sigh. “Hopefully they are good, compassionate princesses, ones who really want unicorns.”

  “That’s a lot of princesses!” exclaimed Clover.

  “Well, there are a lot of little kingdoms beyond the Woods. Too bad most of the kings and queens aren’t better parents. I have a drawer full of special paperwork for princesses. I’ll show you later. At least these creatures are better off than Snort. Who knows who will adopt him….”

  “Who is Snort?”

  “Stay close and I’ll show you.”

  Clover left Moondrop to follow Mr. Jams. On the left, they passed more unicorns, with cards pinned to their stall gates. There wasn’t time to read them now, but she wondered what their names were and planned to go back and check as soon as she could. On the right,after the tack room, which Mr. Jams mumbled was for “saddles and such,” and a room for storing straw and hay, there were giant pens, much bigger and completely enclosed. Each had a square window to let in light. All were empty. “For a while a griffin lived in this one,” Mr. Jams said. He pointed to another pen. “And a winged horse lived in that one.”

  “A winged horse?” Clover repeated, in amazement.

  “Similar to a unicorn, but bigger, and with wings instead of a horn,” explained Mr. Jams.

  “I know. I mean, I didn’t know know, but … Oh!” exclaimed Clover as she looked up. They had finally reached the very back corner, where the biggest pen stood. It was three times larger than any of the others and was made entirely of bricks. Buckets filled with water surrounded it, and they had to climb over them to get to the metal door.

  “Have a look,” instructed Mr. Jams, gesturing to a small glassless window. Clover inched forward and peered in.

  No hay was strewn on the floor of this pen. The only thing inside was the creature living there.

  “A dragon!” she gasped.

  Indeed it was a small, but not tiny, dragon. He lay curled up in a ball in the middle of the floor, looking somewhat like the remains of a campfire, an ashy black heap. His tail ended in a heart-shaped point, and his wings, pressed to his sides, looked like black paper fans. From large nostrils, wisps of smoke curled up toward the ceiling. The dragon raised his head briefly, and, seeing Clover and Mr. Jams were there, jumped up, stood on his hind feet, and thumped his tail on the ground.

  “There, there, Snort,” said Mr. Jams through the window. “Calm down, you fiery fellow.”

  Snort stopped thumping his tail and dropped down to all fours. His eyes were green like emeralds, and his nostrils were as big as Clover’s fist.

  “Snort’s just a baby. Every time he sneezes or coughs, or simply becomes overly excited, he snorts flames. I am not sure who abandoned him here. I found him tied to a post by the gate one morning. I assume that his fire problem is why. Even though there’s nothing in his pen to catch on fire, I keep the buckets of water close by, just in case. And there’s a chimney in the ceiling to let out the smoke. Several knights have come by wanting to adopt him, but I turned them away.” Mr. Jams sighed. “Now, that’s not to say I don’t want a good home for Snort. But knights, as you probably know, like to slay dragons. No prize is greater to a knight than a dragon-head trophy.”

  A dark and far-off look came over Mr. Jams. He turned to Clover. “Many people want magical animals, but not all of them for the right reasons. Our creatures are meant for those who truly deserve them, those with good hearts. The animals at our Agency aren’t possessions to be shown off, but companions, pets to be loved and cared for. This is something that even residents of the Woods and lands Beyond have trouble understanding, so we can’t expect people unfamiliar with magic to understand either, which is why word of the Agency cannot spread outside the Woods. You must keep the Agency secret from everyone, even your parents and friends, and you must carefully check each customer who comes in.”

  Clover knew it would be tough, especially not to tell Emma when she returned, but she knew how important it was. She looked Mr. Jams straight in the eye. “I will. I promise,” she said.

  “But take heart,” said Mr. Jams. “In general, you will find the people of the Woods are a good sort.”

  “What about the beasties?” Clover couldn’t help but burst out.

  “Beasties?”

  “You know, like in the rhyme: Keep away, keep away, the Woods are where wee beasties play.”

  Mr. Jams chuckled. “Ah, yes. I
think it was Lester the leprechaun who made that up. Non-magic folk are quick to believe in rumors. Although we have our share of bad princesses and knights and even wicked witches, there are no beasties,” Mr. Jams assured her. “And, in fact, there were no Woods either until we put them here. The Woods were created long ago as a boundary between your world and the magic one. The magic folk prefer to keep to themselves and perpetuate the myth of beasties and other scary things to keep humans out. Humans are curious, but very few are willing to risk crossing the boundary. Over time the Woods have been populated by a few people and creatures who don’t quite fit in anywhere else.”

  “What about me?” Clover asked. “I don’t really belong here.”

  Mr. Jams simply winked.

  Clover was about to ask him again, unsure if he had heard her, when he gestured to Snort.

  “The trick is to make sure he’s nice and calm before you feed him. He looks calm now,” said Mr. Jams. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?” He opened the door.

  Clover took tentative steps into the pen, with Mr. Jams behind her. Snort didn’t budge. She reached out her hand.

  “Can you see how his tail is thumping? He likes you,” said Mr. Jams.

  “He does?” whispered Clover. “I like him too.”

  “Ah, a gentle heart you have, my dear. But beware. Although I have mentioned the many characters I refuse to let adopt our animals, there are far more for whom I’ve arranged adoptions. Adoption is our Agency’s purpose. It can be hard to part ways with our animals, but the Agency isn’t a home for them. You will need to guard your heart, even as you keep it open.”

  Clover understood. At least, she thought she did.

  “I do hope someone adopts Snort soon,” added Mr. Jams. “Although his wings are small now, they are growing quickly. Then we’ll have new problems to deal with.”