Off to See the Wizard

By Rose Q. Addams

Jane won’t leave her infernal scarf alone. I’m trying to ignore it, as this trip is stressful enough without starting a fight. After all, we’re going to see the Charmings.

We both hate the royalty: me, because no one keeps them in check, and Jane… Well, I’m still not sure why Jane hates them. She came from the good side of the tracks—the snobbish side—and she acts more afraid of her past than I am of mine. The underside of the capital city isn’t pretty, and I wonder how deep the holes the Charmings crawled out of are.

But back to business. According to the bland-faced footman that meets us at what Jane calls the “service” door—you’d think they’d be a touch more grateful we’re looking for the missing heir; guess son number four doesn’t rate—the Charmings aren’t gracing anyone with their presence today. We’re seeing a representative instead.

Fine by me. I might have a few choice words for our sovereigns, anyway.

“I am to take you to His Eminence, Wizard Croftitus.”

“He’s still alive?” Jane’s surprise is barely audible, and I fight back a smile as we tag after our dough-faced escort.

We follow through curiously less opulent halls and corridors, finally reaching a cavernous room that I can best describe as bubbly. Like, literally bubbly. And too smelly for comfort. One of the bubbles pops near my nose, releasing the potent scent of daisies, and I stifle a sneeze.

“Higgitus, figgitus…” I hear. Looking up, I spot a peaked hat above the piles of magical implements that tower over the tables crowding the room—heaps of books, preserved flora and fauna, scattered scrolls, and the like. The hat’s owner bobs along, oblivious to our presence.

“Bibbitey, Bobbitey,” it continues, singsong, as another rush of tiny bubbles emerges from the area I cannot see.

“Hello? Wizard Croftitus?”

“Abracadabra, Alaka—” The bubbling slows. “Oh my, guests?”

A bearded head pops out from the pile to my left, bespectacled eyes magnified far beyond their natural size. “You would be the detectives.” He blinks owlishly at my partner for a moment before looking back at me. “Large fellow, aren’t you? You’ll be just the one, then. Please, come in!”

The tables wheel apart at his words.

“Can I help you?” our host asks, dipping a bubble wand into a steaming cauldron. “I’ve been told to expect some unusual questioning.” He turns back to us, extending his green plastic wand at me, ignoring the line of drips he’s created across the floor.

“We’re here about Prince Gareth,” I answer as he examines the iridescent surface of the yet-unformed bubble. “When did you last see him?” He seems nice enough. Can’t see why an old codger like this is working for such manipulative—

“I do not interest myself in politics, my boy.” He shakes the droplets off and looks through the circle at me, answering like I’ve spoken aloud. “Which is why I’m going to do everything in my power to help you. The sooner this dies down, the better. People are simply aggravating. Give me sorcery any day.”

He blows a massive, shining bubble that hangs between us steadily, as if attached to the ceiling. It shimmers and swirls with colors and shapes.

“I will only answer your question after you go through,” he says. “If you are proven worthy.”

“I don’t have time—” I protest, but the bubble hangs there, and the magician’s brows rise a little.

“Then I cannot answer you.”

This is ridiculous! I turn to Jane, who is eyeing the bubble like it might bite. And yet he did say he’d help. He must be a bit touched in the head; after all, what is he, two hundred? Humor him, and get to work.

“All right. I will.” I step into the bubble. I expected it to pop, but then, it is a magic bubble. It slips over my skin, melding around me until I’m inside. It’s like being underwater: utterly quiet, and the outside world swims around me until it goes dark.

Then I see one of the hallways we entered stretching before me like taffy. It glows dimly. A figure walks away from me and I follow, curious about what kind of test this is. A glance over his shoulder reveals it’s Prince Gareth, albeit with false glasses. Real original. I’d spot him a mile off, even though he’s in the papers less than his parents.

This is clearly some kind of illusion. My feet, though I feel something beneath them, don’t touch the floor; on top of that, Gareth appears not to notice me. He’s wearing, of all things, a pair of paint-splattered coveralls and a ballcap.

“What on earth?” I race to keep up as the hallway warps into a familiar spot: one of the neighborhoods in my old district, Wolf Alley. What is he doing here? This isn’t a place anyone goes willingly. It’s been called a ghetto, and that’s a compliment, if you ask me.

Gareth’s on a ladder, screwing some siding onto a ramshackle house, along with some volunteers from White Shield Nonprofit. He spends time fixing up houses? I look around for the usual camera crew that tags after the Charmings, but I don’t spot any. He’s not doing this for show? This isn’t like him… or his family.

The bubble pops, and I’m inches from the whiskered wizard.

“Did you find your answer?”

“Just more questions.” I scratch the back of my neck. “But thanks.”

“I am not ‘touched,’ son. Just remember that.” He eyes me. “Your vision was of the last place Gareth was seen. I cannot help you further. I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you’ll need it. You’re willing to look past prejudice. That’s better than luck, in the long run.”

With a puff of smoke, we’re back at our car, coughing.

“Well, let’s go,” I sigh.

“Where to?”

“My old neighborhood. Hope you’ve had all your shots.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rose Q. Addams loves cheesecake, wears many hats, and blames her expansive, loving family for her love of reading. Some of her earliest memories are hearing stories of Heidi, Winnie the Pooh, Paul Bunyan, and the prophet Ehud who stabbed King Eglon— which explains how her taste runs wildly throughout genres. She can be found searching her hometown for a rumored giant bird (or pterodactyl, stories differ), or scribbling madly on any paper she gets.

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