Clover's Luck Page 4

  “Surprised, my dear?” she cackled. “I’d go check on your animals, if I were you.” And with that, she grabbed her hat, turned, and was gone.

  Clover’s heart pounded. Moondrop! She spun around and ran across the entry room and through the door in a desperate dash to reach the unicorn. She sprinted down the hall to the stables.

  Moondrop was neighing and rearing up on his hind legs in his stall, slashing his small rounded horn through the air. He kicked again and again at the stall door with his front hooves until finally it broke and fell to the side.

  He ran out, his mane flying about his head like a flag in a storm. But his beautiful long tail …

  It was ruined! Just half remained, all ragged, as though it had been hacked off with a dull knife.

  “Moondrop! Stop! Stop!” The unicorn pushed past Clover and reared up. Clover shouted again. But her shouting further agitated the creature, and he continued to rear. One of his hooves glanced off Clover’s foot.

  She cried and fell back, her foot throbbing.

  “Hush, hush,” a voice whispered beside her. “Good horsey. Easy, there.” Susie had followed Clover.

  The little girl’s tone was calm and steady. “Easy, easy. You’re okay.” She approached Moondrop cautiously. Moondrop froze.

  When Susie reached Moondrop, she began to pet his neck in slow strokes, and then his forehead. His head fell gradually below his knees. Clover barely felt the pain in her foot, she was so amazed at the girl’s effect on the injured unicorn. Within moments, Moondrop lay down, with the tiny girl crouching beside him, singing softly, “Dreamy dust for you, sleepy dust for me, in this magic world, happy we shall be.”

  “Wow,” whispered Clover. “Thank you so much. How did you know how to do that?”

  “Our donkey gets spooked easily too,” she said,continuing to stroke Moondrop’s neck. “All you’ve got to do is keep your voice calm.” She looked down at Moondrop’s tail. “Did that mean woman do that?”

  “She must have,” said Clover. “I don’t know why. She said she was a princess wanting to adopt a unicorn, but she seemed more like a witch or something like that.”

  “These unicorns are for adoption?” gasped Susie in awe.

  Clover nodded just as Olaf entered the stables.

  His hair was wild and he was huffing heavily. “I couldn’t catch her,” he said. “Tried to, but she got away through the Woods. What did she do?”

  Clover and his daughter showed him the stub of Moondrop’s tail.

  “What would a witch want with a unicorn’s tail?”

  “I don’t know. So she is a witch?” asked Clover.

  “Looked like that to me,” answered Olaf. “And a bad one at that. Only bad ones would take unicorn tails.”

  “Poor Moondrop. He’s already been through a lot. The last princess who owned him treated him horribly.”

  “He likes my Susie, though,” said the woodsman with a smile.

  Indeed, Moondrop’s head was now in Susie’s lap.

  “You were looking for a new pet. What do you think about a unicorn, Susie?” asked her father.

  “I can’t have him. Unicorns are only princesses’ pets, aren’t they?” said Susie. “I’m not a princess.” She brushed her matted bangs away from her face as if to prove the point.

  But her father responded at once, “You are a princess. To me.”

  Clover nodded. She didn’t care if Susie wasn’t a princess. And she didn’t think Mr. Jams would either. Mr. Jams had said just that a customer had to be “right”—he never said anything about unicorns needing to go to princesses only. In fact, he’d probably prefer that they didn’t. But Moondrop was recovering…. Should she really let him go?

  Susie was still stroking Moondrop’s mane. A soft rumbling came from Moondrop’s nostrils, the sound a cat might make when it’s happy, and Clover knew. Susie was the right match. Her heart told her that with Susie, Moondrop would soon grow healthy and strong.

  “You are perfect for Moondrop,” she said aloud.

  “Really?” said Susie.

  “Really.”

  Clover found the adoption papers in the third drawer, just like Mr. Jams’s note had said. She filled out the sections she needed to, including the date and the animal’s name and description, and copied the special feeding instructions from the file. The only thing to write with was the fancy feather pen, but when she tried to use it, she splattered ink on her dress twice, to her embarrassment. So she took a regular pen from her pocket instead. This is the sort of thing that Mom and Dad do all day long, she thought. Thank goodness it’s only a small part of my job.

  While the woodsman and Susie filled out the rest of the papers, Clover went back to the stables and trimmed Moondrop’s tail so at least it was even. In time it would grow out.

  Her foot still throbbed, but only mildly now.

  She looked at the stall gate. It was badly broken. Moondrop looked up and blinked.

  “It’s okay,” said Clover. “It isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I let that witch into your stall.” She hugged his neck. “It’s my bad luck that brought that horrid witch who cut off your tail. I hope I never see her again.”

  Already Clover had encountered two witches, this one and the one who had pushed her into the puddle on her first day in the Woods. Mr. Jams never should have left me in charge. At least he’ll be back soon. The day after tomorrow. That’s what his note said. Then everything will be fine.

  She felt a bit happier as she waved good-bye to Moondrop, Susie, and Olaf. Moondrop’s tail, though very short, still swished nicely back and forth as he walked down the front path with Susie riding on his back.

  7

  Snort’s Sneeze

  That night Clover’s parents noticed the key around her wrist. “It’s for the Agency,” she explained.

  “Such responsibility already,” said her mom.

  “Well done, Clover,” said her dad.

  If only they knew the full truth of it! But Clover wasn’t sure her parents would like to know that she was looking after the place all by herself, so she just nodded and smiled when her mom gave her a second helping of strawberries and ice cream. Ice cream, she decided, was good for melting away memories of mean witches.

  But the memories returned in the morning, especially when a boy and his parents, a witch and a wizard,came into the Agency looking for a pet for the boy. At first, Clover didn’t know what to think of the witch and wizard—were they bad or good? But they didn’t seem too different from normal parents, except for their pointy hats and long black robes. They left empty-handed, debating between the toad and a salamander. They promised to return when they had made a decision.

  Afterward, Clover took a postcard out of her bag. Her mom had given it to her before she left. It was from Emma.

  On the front was a picture of a pony standing in a windswept field. On the back, Emma had written:

  Hi Clover,

  My pony’s name is Gracie, and she’s chestnut-colored. She’s so cute! We have to sleep in bunk beds, and my bunkmate snores louder than a dragon! I wish you were here. Miss you!

  –XOXO, Emma

  Clover smiled. Little did Emma know that Clover knew exactly how loudly a dragon snored now! Or, at least, a small dragon like Snort.

  She took out a piece of blank paper from the desk. She wanted to tell Emma everything, but she couldn’t tell her anything. Instead she wrote:

  Hi Emma,

  Guess what? I got a job volunteering with animals. So far only a few unlucky things have happened to me. I miss you too!

  –XOXO, Clover

  Then Clover decided to add something special to it. There was still lots of room at the bottom of the page. In the stables, she stood by Coco’s pen and sketched a picture of the unicorn. Coco was especially pretty. Close up, Clover saw there was a slight cinnamon tinge to Coco’s horn and mane, which she hadn’t noticed before. She tried to get Coco just right, with the sparkle in her eye and the exact length of horn. Emma w
ould love it, and never imagine that Clover had sketched it from a REAL unicorn. Underneath she wrote, I thought you might like this. I’ve been dreaming of unicorns lately. Send me a drawing of Gracie.

  After finishing her letter and tucking it in her bag to mail, Clover had time to do a few things she had been longing to try.

  During lunch, she cut up a bit of her apple and fed it to the fairy horses. They gathered around it, munching and swishing their paintbrush-sized tails. Then she brushed the coats of the unicorns until their hair shone like silver.

  Later, after giving Esmeralda her vitamin pill—which took three attempts and involved lots of slimy toad spit—she played with the big toad. She placed Esmeralda on different-colored slips of paper to see if her warts would change color depending on her surroundings. They didn’t. All Esmeralda did was snap her tongue and blink her bulging eyes.

  Just as she was putting Esmeralda back in her tank, the toad, with a grumpy croak, bounded out of her hands and hopped through the door and down the hall, into the front room. It took a long time to capture her from under one of the chairs. When Clover finally did, the toad’s warts were flashing all the colors of the rainbow, and Clover’s heart was pounding too.

  Just my luck to almost lose her, thought Clover. What would I have told Mr. Jams? I’d better not play anymore.

  As soon as Clover placed Esmeralda back in her tank, the toad hopped to her favorite spot on the glass ball. Her warts stopped flashing and turned a pale green. Hmm, I wonder if she changes color depending on her mood, mused Clover. But she didn’t want to take out the toad again and test her theory.

  So she sank into the couch and read the Wish Book to see what other sorts of magical animals people longed for.

  Each page was divided into three columns. On the far left was a column for the name, address, and phone number of the person who was requesting the animal; the middle column was for the animal; and the far-right column was to check off if the wish had been fulfilled.

  The book was fascinating.

  There was a woman who was looking for a griffin to guard her chickens (check mark). A mermaid princess looking for her lost hippocampus (sadly, no check mark). And below that, a dwarf looking for a hippogriff (no check mark again). I wonder what a hippogriff is, thought Clover. Mr. Jams had explained a hippocampus but not a hippogriff. I’d better start a list of questions for Mr. Jams to ask him when he returns. Clover didn’t have time to read through the whole book and planned to continue the next day.

  She closed the Agency with relief, knowing Mr. Jams would be back tomorrow. And that night at home, she slept as soundly as a salamander, without any dreams at all.

  The next day, earlier than ever before, she hurried to the Agency, hoping Mr. Jams was already there. She imagined the lights on and the smell of cinnamon toast and coffee filling the rooms.

  But it was not to be. The Agency was dark and quiet.

  Clover was jumpy all morning, expecting Mr. Jams to arrive at any moment. She spilled some of the unicorns’ breakfast mush while she was pouring it into the buckets, but it wasn’t as bad as spilling the oats, and it only took half the time to clean up.

  She had just finished lunch, a cheese-and-mustard sandwich that her mom had packed for her, when the bell rang. She hurried to the entry, hoping it was Mr. Jams. But it wasn’t.

  Four people stood in the front room.

  Three she recognized from the day before—the mother and father and their son, who today was dressed in red overalls and a red hat.

  A fourth man, also a wizard (she could tell from his hat and robe), but much older, accompanied them. A wild red beard grew down past his stomach, and his spectacles made his eyes as large as an owl’s. His cloak was decorated in red flames.

  “We want to look at the salamander one more time,” said the mother in a no-nonsense tone. “Isn’t that right, Henry? They like fire just like you.”

  “I don’t like fire, I like to fight—” started Henry.

  “The toad is nice too,” interrupted the boy’s father.

  “But, Dad, I don’t want—”

  “Toad or salamander, son. We already talked about this.”

  To break up the argument, Clover said, “And you brought another member of the family?”

  The mother, father, and boy stared at the older wizard and shook their heads.

  “We don’t know him,” said the boy.

  “And I most certainly do not know them,” replied the older wizard, whose voice was gruff and grumpy. “I am here for me dragon.”

  That declaration got everyone’s attention.

  “Your dragon?” quizzed Clover.

  “Me dragon. He’s black and ashy and not too old. Had ‘im since he was an egg, and I want ‘im back. I heard from a friend that you have ‘im.”

  “Mr. Jams told me the dragon was abandoned here.”

  “More ‘n likely he just wandered by,” claimed the old wizard. “And you took ‘im in. I don’t know how he escaped, but I miss ‘im. Miss his fire. Miss his claws. Miss his company.”

  Clover could hardly believe it. Snort hadn’t been abandoned after all. This wizard looked like a dragon-keeping sort, with his wild red beard and the flames on his cloak.

  “See, son?” said the boy’s father. “That’s what having a pet is all about. It is about companionship. It’s more than just training to be a good wizard, it’s training to be a good person too.”

  “But I don’t want to be a good wizard. I want to be a good firefighter. And I want a Dalmatian, not a toad or a salamander,” cried the boy, stomping his foot.

  “Hush!” said his mother.

  They argued just like an ordinary family. “If you don’t mind waiting, while I help Mr….?” Clover began.

  “Sir Wickity,” said the wizard.

  “Sir Wickity,” repeated Clover.

  “Very well,” said the boy’s mother.

  “Congratulations,” the boy’s father said to Sir Wickity. “It must be a fine feeling to have found a lost pet.”

  Clover couldn’t help but think of Penny, flying somewhere in the Woods. She hoped her bird was safe and happy.

  “Indeed,” said Sir Wickity.

  Clover got out Snort’s paperwork. “This is Snort’s file.”

  “Snort?” The wizard looked confused.

  “Oh, you probably don’t know him by that name. That’s what we call the dragon. What’s his real name?”

  “Why … Ruffles, of course.”

  “Ruffles?”

  “Named ‘im after me pet owl, long gone now, poor thing.”

  Clover didn’t think Ruffles was an appropriate name for Snort at all, or an owl either, for that matter, but she was too polite to say so. Sir Wickity sat down and she gave him the paperwork.

  “Even though he was yours before, I need you to fill out these forms,” said Clover. “I’ll go get Snort. I just fed him, so he might be sleeping.”

  She went to the stables, stopping in the tack room for Snort’s leash. The tack room was filled with weirdly shaped saddles and bridles of different sizes, from as tiny as an acorn, to larger than Clover’s body. There was a whole wall of unicorn bridles, each on a separately labeled peg. There was a wall of leashes too. One leash had three giant collars attached to a single rope, which Clover deduced—somewhat alarmed—was probably for a creature with three heads. But she couldn’t figure out what the bottles might be for. Several bottles were stacked in a dark corner, and whatever was in them twinkled brightly. When she peered closer, she read on a tag: Stardust. Real stardust? She added it to the list in her head of things to ask Mr. Jams.

  She found Snort’s leash, a thick chain one, on a peg with his name. It was heavy, with a clip at the end to attach to his collar.

  As she guessed, Snort was asleep in his pen. Two thin tendrils of smoke spiraled up from his nostrils. He didn’t look like a Ruffles at all. What strange names magical people give to their pets, thought Clover, remembering Mistypoo.

  “Ru
ffles!” she called out, opening his door. “Ruffles!”

  Snort didn’t twitch, not even his tail.

  “Snort!”

  He woke up at once.

  This made Clover a bit suspicious. Maybe he is just more used to Snort now, she thought. “Come on,” she said. “Your owner, Sir Wickity, is here for you.” Snort gave her a blank stare. He thumped his tail hard on the ground, and his nostrils flared.

  Clover gulped. He didn’t look very calm.

  Nervously, she stepped into the pen, with the chain leash in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. Although she had fed him a few times now, each time she had made sure he was sleeping before she entered his pen and filled his bowl. She hadn’t come too close, afraid he might snort fire.

  Make sure he’s nice and calm, Mr. Jams had said.

  Clover remembered Susie and how she had calmed Moondrop. “Hush, hush,” Clover whispered like Susie had. “Good Snort. Easy, Snort.”

  Snort’s tail slowly stopped thumping. His snout twitched. Clover drew closer and closer. Finally she reached the little black dragon. His snout was resting on his front legs. Clover put down the pail and reached out a tentative hand. The dragon sniffled and her heart leapt, but he didn’t breathe fire. Slowly Clover touched his back. His scales were smooth and slick, like ice. She began to quietly sing the song that Susie had sung, “Dreamy dust for you, sleepy dust for me, in this magic world, happy we shall be.”

  Snort’s tail twitched in time to the tune. When Clover was done, he gazed up at her with his emerald eyes: they were big and hopeful, but worried-looking. They reminded Clover of her own. Her heart filled with ache for the dragon. He knew that he was trouble.

  “Sweet dragon,” Clover said. “We all have problems, you know. You shouldn’t feel bad. You can’t help it that you breathe fire.”

  Snort sniffled again, and although Clover’s heart jumped, she didn’t move her hand from his back.

  She clipped the chain onto his metal collar. Snort stayed still and patient.