The Missing Magic

ALSO BY KALLIE GEORGE

The Magical Animal Adoption Agency, Book 1: Clover’s Luck

The Magical Animal Adoption Agency, Book 2: The Enchanted Egg

To T and Marie

—K.G.

To you, dear Reader

—A.B.

Sweet things are for sharing. Picture postcards. Cozy cuddles. Cupcakes so fluffy they float.

Over the summer, Clover had shared all of these: postcards with her friend Emma, who was away at Pony Camp; cuddles with Dipity, her green kitten; and cupcakes at a picnic with leprechauns, giants, and a ghost.

But the sweetest thing in Clover’s life couldn’t be shared with anyone—well, anyone non-magical, that is. It was the secret of the Magical Animal Adoption Agency, hidden in the Woods and filled with unicorns, fairy horses, and even an invisible flying puppy!

Mr. Jams had entrusted her with the secret. He owned the Agency and had hired her as a volunteer at the start of the summer. Mr. Jams said that oftentimes non-magical people didn’t know how to deal with magic, and so that was why Clover couldn’t write to Emma about it or tell her parents. They knew that she was working at an animal adoption agency, and that was it. Sometimes she wished she could tell them. Mostly she was happy enough to keep the secret to herself.

Now, however, there was someone she had no choice but to share the Agency with—and having him around was anything but sweet.

Oliver Von Hoof was a magical animal expert. He had written the volume on enchanted eggs in the Magical Animal Encyclopedia, as well as two other volumes, even though he was only slightly older than Clover. Mr. Jams had invited him to examine a giant spotted egg at the Agency, but it had hatched before he arrived. Inside was Picnic, the invisible puppy. Mr. Jams had insisted Oliver stay, so he could observe the puppy and work on a new book about invisible animals.

“Plus he’ll be able to lend a hand,” Mr. Jams had added.

So far, though, he wasn’t helping at all.

Clover and Oliver were in the tack room, where the stables’ supplies were kept, getting ready to start a new task. Mr. Jams had asked them to polish the unicorns’ horns while he minded the front desk.

“Can you pass me a bottle of stardust?” Clover asked. “And one bottle of moonbeams? Mr. Jams said we have to mix them together to make the polish.”

Oliver wasn’t listening. He was scribbling words in his notebook. “Out-of-sight canines are usually winged….” He paused. “Hmm…‘out-of-sight’ is not right, is it? I suppose I could use ‘invisible’ again, but I’ve used it fifty-seven times in the first chapter alone.”

“Oliver, the stardust and moonbeams!” prompted Clover.

Oliver set down his notebook and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Did you say something?”

“Ugh,” groaned Clover, getting the ingredients herself.

The stardust was easy to spot, twinkling brightly on the shelf just above the bridles.

The bottles of moonbeams, however, were harder to find, packed away in a dusty box. They glowed in varying degrees that matched their labels—from bright FULL MOON to pale CRESCENT.

One bottle shone with a slightly blue tinge, like a pool of clear water. BLUE MOON, its label read. Clover had never heard of a blue moon before. “Is that even a real thing?”

“Why, of course,” said Oliver, who was now peering over her shoulder. “It is the second full moon in a single month, which is rare but predictable, if you are able to do the calculations, of course.”

“Oh,” said Clover. She wondered how the beams were collected. Oliver probably knew, but she didn’t want another lecture.

So, instead of asking, she took a bottle of crescent moonbeams, which was the type Mr. Jams said they needed, from the box. Then she found a spoon and wooden bowl, crusted with sparkles, for mixing the polish. The cork on the stardust was stuck in tight. But Oliver was writing again and was too absorbed to notice her struggling with it.

Before Clover could remind him that he was supposed to be helping her, the bell in the front room rang. “Package here!” came the friendly voice of Cedric, the delivery-man (well, delivery-centaur, to be specific). “Package for Oliver Von Hoof!”

“I guess Mr. Jams has stepped away from the front desk,” Oliver said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’d better go get the package. It is for me.” He gathered his notebook and quill. “I wonder what it could be.”

“But…” started Clover, still trying to remove the cork, “what about…?”

“Don’t fret. I’ll return soon.” And with that, Oliver was gone.

Clover couldn’t believe it. He had gotten out of helping again. Yesterday had been the same. They were supposed to clean the big tank to prepare for the arrival of a hippocampus, a half-horse, half-fish creature. But just at the hard part—pouring the water in—he disappeared because he remembered a vital fact he had to add to his book. And he hadn’t returned. This time he’d better, thought Clover. She tugged at the cork.

POOF!

Out it came—and a cloud of stardust billowed out too, covering her dress.

She sighed as she brushed it off as best she could.

Luckily, the cork on the moonbeams slipped free easily. As Clover stirred the two ingredients together, lumps of stardust melted, and so did her annoyance. After all, how many times had she wished upon stars that she could be with animals? And now here she was, working with magical animals—and actually touching bits of stars! She couldn’t stay upset when she thought about that.

At last the polish was ready. With a rag and the bowl of paste in hand, Clover headed out of the tack room to begin the actual work.

However, polishing the first unicorn’s horn proved impossible! Plum (or Sugar-plumsy-Wumsy, as he had been named by the princess who’d owned him) wouldn’t lie down or stay still, and he kept trying to eat the rag. So instead of polishing his horn, Clover filled up his bucket with a generous helping of hearty oats and moved on to Sunny’s stall.

Trying to polish Sunny’s horn was impossible too. Sunny (or Smoochie-Coochie Sunshine) was an especially small unicorn with long eyelashes. Supposedly the princess who had owned him had tried curling them and poked one of Sunny’s eyes. The minute Clover brought the rag up to Sunny’s horn, his left eye began to fill with tears. Whether it was from some stardust that got into it or out of fear, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t possibly polish his horn if it upset him so.

“There, there,” she said, gently patting his nose until he calmed down.

Where is Oliver? Clover wondered. He should be back by now. Cedric liked to chat, but it shouldn’t take that long to get mail from him.

With a sigh, she moved on to Tootsie.

Tootsie (or Tootise-Wootsie Wugums) was triple trouble! Her horn was ticklish, and every time Clover touched it with the rag, Tootsie shook it. On the third try, the horn missed Clover by inches, and she jumped back just in time. The bowl of polish slipped from her hands and landed upside down on the stall floor in a sparkly, gucky mess.

“Ugh!” cried Clover. “I can’t do this by myself!” Oliver wasn’t getting out of helping this time.

She scooped up as much of the polish as she could and set the bowl down outside the stall. After giving Tootsie’s nose a pat, she closed the stall gate. Then she stormed out of the stables and into the main hall of the Agency. She was about to call for Oliver when she heard voices coming from the small animals’ room.

She could hear Oliver, Mr. Jams, and someone else too—a girl!

Oliver was helping. He was helping with an adoption!

The door to the small animals’ room was slightly ajar, and Clover peered in.

Mr. Jams, Oliver, and a girl around Clover’s age stood in front of the magic kittens’ cage. Mr. Jams had his back to the door, and Oliver and the girl were facing Clover, but they were busy talking and didn’t seem to notice her.

The girl looked like a witch, with pointy boots and a dress patterned with bats and spiders. Her long black hair was streaked with purple and fell across one eye. She kept flicking it away with a toss of her head as she smiled up at Oliver and then down again at the kitten he was holding awkwardly in his arms.

“Now, Oliver, describe the kitten to the young lady,” said Mr. Jams.

Clover felt a twinge of jealousy. Mr. Jams was teaching Oliver to do an adoption. Sure, Clover wanted Oliver to help out with the chores, but adoptions were different. They were her job, and she was good at them. She didn’t need help with those.

“This feline has a unique and rare magical ability—ocular glaciation,” said Oliver.

Ocular glaciation? Clover rolled her eyes. Why not just say the kitten shoots freeze rays?

But the young witch seemed impressed. “That’s wicked!” she giggled, reaching out to pet Blizzard’s tiny black head. “I’ve started a lemonade stand, and Blizzard could help me keep the cups chilled. Oh, Ollie, I think he’s perfect! You don’t mind if I call you Ollie, do you?”

“Oh, bother,” Clover muttered under her breath.

She didn’t want to overhear any more of this adoption. But she didn’t want to go back to polishing horns either, at least not until she got some help.

Then she turned and saw the steps up to the tower. And she had an idea.