The Wish Stealers (12 page)

A
t afternoon recess Garrett ran up to Griffin in the yard where she stood in line for basketball shots. “Hey, Griffin,” said Garrett, “you’ll never believe the stuff I read on the Internet during computer class. These alchemists were so cool! Basil Valentine, Zosimos, and Nicolas Flamel. They all turned lead into gold!”

“That’s awesome! I wonder where all that gold went,” said Griffin.

“They probably buried it or something,” said Garrett.

“Probably.” Griffin felt the first raindrop plop onto her head. “Uh-oh. It’s gonna pour any second,” she said, scanning the gray sky. “Hey, Garrett, I brought you something.”
Griffin reached into her pocket for a penny. The previous period she’d rummaged through her backpack, peeked inside Mariah’s black case, and studied the remaining pennies. She’d pulled out a penny for Garrett and jammed it in her pocket.

“Really? What?” he said, facing her.

Griffin dug into her pocket, pulled out the coin, and held out her palm.

“I found a few lucky pennies at a shop.” She didn’t want to tell him much more.

He took it from her, and a few more raindrops drizzled on their heads.

“WATCH OUT!” A spinning rubber ball bounced into a puddle, squirting water all over them.

“Sorry!” called the players.

Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “This penny says ‘a dad’! Why would I want this stupid penny, Griffin? I never want to see my dad!”

Hail began pelting the kids on the playground. Mrs. Gideon yelled, “Come inside, everybody! Come inside. ‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair: / Hover through the fog and filthy air!’” Hoards of kids raced indoors. Griffin didn’t know if it was rain or a teardrop in Garrett’s eye, but before she could look again, Garrett hurled the penny out of his hand like a
hockey puck and yelled, “Like I wish for a dad!” There was a brilliant streak as a disc of shining light skimmed across the wet asphalt and disappeared into the overflowing gutter. Staring at Garrett, Griffin knew he’d seen that strange light too, but before she could speak, he tore through the yard and stomped in a puddle, splashing water all over her.

Wishes travel in strange ways.

D
oorbell!” called Griffin’s mom from the laundry room in the basement. “Can you see who it is?”

“Sure,” said Griffin. She had just texted Garrett after dinner:

Hi. I’m really sorry 4 giving u the penny. Do u still want me 2 come over tom. and see ur band after school?

He texted back:

OK. Can u bring ur bass guitar?

She texted:

OK, but I can only stay a 1/2 hr then my mom wants to pick us up and drive us to the library to work.

He texted:

OK.

Relieved that Garrett was not mad at her, she put her phone down. Eight fifteen p.m. Her dad was working late, and she couldn’t imagine who would ring their doorbell. Peeking through the peephole, Griffin saw a man wrapped in a dark coat. Shivers shot through her. “Mom, it’s Mr. Schmidt!” called Griffin.

“I’ll be right up. Let him in,” she called.

Cautiously Griffin opened the door. Mr. Schmidt never came over.
Did Mariah tell him about the pennies before she died?
she wondered.

“Hi, Mr. Schmidt,” said Griffin. The eerie night hovered outside, casting long shadows behind him.

“Good evening, Griffin. Sorry to come by so late, but there was something I needed to bring over.”

Just then Dr. Penshine came up from the basement. “Hi,
Mike. Please come in. We were so sorry to hear about your great-aunt.”

“Thank you,” he said, but he did not look at Dr. Penshine. Instead he stared at Griffin. “Actually, I stopped over because of Mariah.”

Griffin’s throat went dry.

“Although my aunt only met you once, Griffin, she must have been quite taken with you. Maybe you reminded her of herself when she was young. She had long red hair as a girl too.”

Griffin cringed.

“Mariah never married or had children, but when I was going through her things in my guest room, I found this box that she left for Griffin. I guess the very afternoon my aunt met her, she wrote this letter. It was taped to it.”

Mr. Schmidt read Mariah’s note aloud.

Dear Mike, Please be sure to give this box to that sweet young girl, Griffin Penshine, whom we met at your shop. I have some old memorabilia, not worth anything really, but which may be fun for a young girl.

Mariah W. S.

Mr. Schmidt held out Mariah’s box, which had a golden lock on it. Mariah W.S. Did her initials stand for Weatherby Schmidt or
Wish Stealer
? The golden key. Now it made sense. Griffin stared at the menacing gift, afraid of what was inside. More stolen wishes? Hideous, horrible things? Things Mariah had bought with people’s wishes?

“Well, Griff. It’s flattering that you met Mariah only once and she remembered you like this,” said her mom.

“Mariah was meticulous—a memory like a steel trap. Never forgot anything or anybody,” said Mr. Schmidt. “Always kept wonderful records.”

Griffin still did not come forward. “Griff, what’s the matter?” asked her mom.

“Well, it has a lock on it,” Griffin said, and gulped, hoping Mr. Schmidt would take it away.

“That’s easy. Any pair of pliers could take it off. I couldn’t find the key, and I didn’t want to damage it before giving it to you as my aunt wished.”

Griffin’s stomach twisted into knots.

“Would you like me to cut the lock for you?” he said.

Griffin leapt forward. “No. It’s okay. I, uh, like surprises.” She snatched the box from him. What if it was something that could hurt her mom if she saw it. The box was heavy. Her face drained to white again.

“Thanks,” said Griffin.

“Thank
you
,” he said. “I better get going. Good night.”

Griffin spied through the peephole as Mr. Schmidt disappeared into the darkness.

“Do you want to open the box and see what she left you?” asked her mom.

“I think I’ll wait,” said Griffin. She didn’t want her mom involved with the wishes.
What if the contents of the box are wicked?
she wondered.

“If that isn’t discipline!” said her mom, laughing.

Griffin put the box down and hugged her mom tightly, hugged her maybe even for protection. Then she heaved the box up the stairs to her bedroom.

Griffin lay on her bed, staring at the box. “Hi, Charlemagne,” Griffin whispered as she picked him up from his upstairs terrarium. He crawled toward her on the bed. “I guess I should open it. It can’t get much worse, right?” Griffin got up, locked her door, and moved to pull down her bedroom shades. Through the window she peered out at the murky night. She could see the top of Mr. Schmidt’s house. Lights were on in his attic. She yanked down the shade and knelt before her bed. Heart racing, hands trembling, she took the golden key out from the side pocket of her
backpack where she’d left it, and put it in the keyhole.

The box top sprang open. Charlemagne shot his head inside his shell so quickly, he lost his balance and almost toppled off the bed. Gently Griffin picked him up, placed him by her side, and peered into the box. Inside were four things: a Topeka Inn guest book register with a cracked leather cover, a large bloodred garnet ring, a skein of old gray yarn, and the black obsidian disc from Mr. Schmidt’s shop with the card that read Obsidian mirror—used by the ancient alchemists, passed down from Aztec priests. See your future!

Griffin inhaled ancient dust from the leather book and its mildewing pages.

The old yarn smelled stale and musty. It looked like a coiled spiderweb. She didn’t want to touch it. As bright as molten lava, the ring flashed red light all over her ceiling. She averted her eyes. The shiny black stone disc reflected only darkness. The guest book gazed up at her with a helpless, lost look. Picking it up, she blew dust off the cover and opened the first faded page.

Best wishes.

G
riffin’s eyes raced up and down the first page of the guest book. Three different columns listed the names of guests, the dates they stayed at the inn, and their room numbers. Some names were funny. Some were old-fashioned. Ethel, Mabel, and Selma stayed in room 9. Mr. Leroy Simmons and Annabelle Lee Simmons stayed in room 8. Penciled next to some of the names were tiny words, hardly legible. Griffin zoomed in on the pencil scratches. Next to Annabelle Lee Simmons’s name were the words “best friend.” Next to Selma’s name was “a husband.” To the left of Hatter Bloom’s name was “money.” Besides Georgina Pironi’s name read “go home to Italy.”

Did Mariah write down the wishes she stole from these guests?
wondered Griffin.

Scanning each and every column, Griffin looked for a penciled word that would match even one of the eleven pennies she had under her bed. Suddenly her finger stopped dead next to Florence L. Daniellson: “puppy.”
Puppy
. “PUPPY!” screamed Griffin.

Furiously flipping through the rest of the pages, Griffin searched for more matches, but there were no others. “PUPPY!” she yelled again.

“Griffin? Are you okay!” called her mom through the door. “What are you shouting about?”

After slipping the guest book and Mariah’s box under her bed, Griffin opened her bedroom door. “Hi,” said Griffin.