Wanda Seasongood and the Almost Perfect Lie

TWO

The Work of a Witch

Let’s go!” At the sight of the message, Wanda’s doubts dissolved in an instant. She sprang to her feet, tossed the pen and diary into her rucksack, and leaped off the front steps. She was halfway down the path to the street when she heard her mother calling.

“Wanda! Where are you going?”

Her parents stood in the doorway in their dull red bathrobes. Her mother’s hair, usually bouncy, was pressed flat to her head. Her father’s eyes were still glazed with sleep.

“Oh, no. We have to turn back,” Wanda told the bird. “I’ll make it quick.”

“Where are you going so early in the morning?” Her mother shuffled down the walk to meet her.

“Were you trying to sneak out?” her father asked, puzzled.

Wanda took a deep breath. “I’m going to find Wren.”

“No! No! No!” Wanda’s father dove down the steps and took Wanda by the shoulders. “We’ve already discussed this. Fighting a witch is just too dangerous. And you shouldn’t go into the woods alone.”

Truth be told, Wanda wished that someone else would go save her sister. And who could blame her? After all, would you want to fight a witch who wanted you dead? Not likely.

And besides, Wanda barely knew her sister. Wren had been stolen so long ago, Wanda couldn’t recall a thing about her. But Wanda’s parents were too frightened to battle Raymunda—so that left it up to Wanda. She remembered how proud and surprised her parents had been when she returned home from the Scary Wood the first time. It was just the encouragement she needed to face the witch now.

Wanda’s mother tugged the ends of her belt, tightening her robe, then clasped her daughter’s hand. “Please don’t go. You and Wren are very different,” she said. “We worry about you making it out of those woods again…”

My mother loves me so much. Wanda’s heart swelled with well-being.

“… because you were never the smart one,” Mrs. Seasongood went on. “You might not be as lucky this time.”

Wanda’s shoulders sagged and her knees buckled. Her heart was instantly crushed, her determination pummeled, and she was, quite frankly, too stunned to reply. She took a deep breath and instructed herself to focus on what was important—finding Wren.

“You’re probably right,” Wanda said when the shock had dulled and she could finally speak. “It’s too dangerous.” Then she headed to the garden at the back of her house.

The moment Wanda’s parents lost sight of her, she vaulted over the backyard fence with Voltaire flying closely behind her. She ran through the leafy streets and up a deserted hill. She ran through a small town. She ran as fast as she could to flee from her mother’s insult. She ran until she reached a meadow at the edge of the Scary Wood. Only then did she stop to catch her breath.

“My parents think I’m stupid, Voltaire. I never knew they thought so little of me.” Her mother’s words had cut very deep.

“Don’t be upset.” The bluebird landed on her shoulder. “Your parents want to keep you safe. They simply lack tact.”

“Wait. What are you saying?” Wanda’s head whipped around sharply. Her frizzy reddish-brown hair whacked the bird and sent him hurling into the air.

“Tact, Wanda,” Voltaire said, fluttering safely to the ground. “It’s ‘the knack of making a point without making an enemy’—to quote my good friend Sir Isaac Newton.”

“No. No. Are you saying that I’m not smart?”

“I don’t think I’m saying that at all.…” Voltaire brought the top of his wing to his chin. “Hmm… Is Wanda smart?” Head down, he paced the sidewalk, contemplating the question. “Aha!” He stopped and lifted his head. “I would have to be smart to know the answer to that. Do you think I’m smart?”

“Yes, of course I do,” she answered.

“Thank you, Wanda. Smart of you to say so. There! That settles that! Now, let’s carry on.” He rose from the ground and flew into the woods.

Wanda stepped from a field of bright, cheerful goldenrod into the forest’s black shifting shadows, and a feeling of dread passed through her. Everything about these woods was disturbing—the musty smell that choked her breath, the darkness that snuffed out the morning light, the eerie, evil stillness.…

She thought about some of the creatures she had met the last time she was here. The Groods—horrible beasts who had tried to tear her apart limb from limb. The swamp creature, a gnome who had turned her to smoke. The nixie, a water spirit who had attempted to drown her. She shuddered.

“Nothing good happens in these woods,” she murmured.

“Wanda, come quick!” Voltaire cried out.

She bolted through the trees and found the bird perched at the start of a path. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Better than all right,” he chirped. “Today is our lucky day! Someone has left a trail for us to follow. How kind.”

It was true. Someone had placed a line of stones down the middle of one of the paths. It stretched deep into the forest, as far as she could see.

“We simply have to follow these to find Wren,” Voltaire chirped. The bluebird took to the air, ready to leave.

It did look like someone was trying to help them, but a prickly thought began to claw at Wanda’s mind.

Were the carefully placed stones really an act of kindness?

Would they lead to Wren—or straight into a trap?

When she studied them more closely, she saw that the rocks were similar to the one that had targeted her head.

No, this wasn’t luck at all, Wanda decided. This was most certainly the work of a witch.

THREE

Take a Guess

Voltaire, we can’t take this path.” Wanda frowned. “If the witch sent the message, these stones are a trick, and the trail will lead us directly to danger.”

She gazed into the distance at all the other paths that now seemed to beckon her. “Our rescue mission is only one minute old, and we’re already stumped.” What if my mother was right? Maybe I was just lucky last time. She sighed. Maybe I’m not smart enough for this task. “Voltaire, we need to be Wren’s heroes, and we’re not off to a very good start.”

“I must disagree! Someone else could have sent the pen, and this trail could lead to your sister. Probably. Most likely. And that would be an excellent start!”

Wanda stared hard at the stones, as if glaring at them would make them give up their secret. “How do we decide what to do?”

“A simple question, easily answered,” the bird chirped, and Wanda’s wrinkled brow relaxed. She knew she could always count on Voltaire for a sensible solution.

“We should guess,” he said.

“Guess?” Wanda’s brow tightened again. “But what if we guess wrong?”

“Then we’ll guess again, and we’ll be right!” the bird said.

Wanda didn’t intend to insult him, but she let out a long, loud moan.

“My dear girl.” He fluttered to the ground and began to lecture her. “There are occasions for groaning, but this is not one of them. Sometimes life leaves us no choice but to guess.”

“But taking a guess is like giving up,” Wanda said. “It’s failing.”

“Incorrect! A guess is never a sign of defeat. A guess is not an end—it’s a beginning!” The bird stood tall and spread out his wings. “Wanda, ‘no great discovery was ever made without a bold guess.’ Another saying from my clever friend Newton.”

Wanda knelt to study the stones, hoping they’d offer a clue.

“Trust in fate. Dare to think for yourself. Take action,” the bird said. “Or simply put—we can’t stand here all day. Take a guess, Wanda.”

FOUR

Between a Gurgle and a Snort

We’ll follow the stones,” Wanda declared. And having made the decision, she suddenly felt taller and lighter, and she bounced into the woods to lead the way.

“Well done!” Voltaire fluttered behind her.

“I do think this is right!” she said, content with her choice. “I’m so happy you agree.”

“Oh, but I don’t,” Voltaire said.

Wanda stopped abruptly, and the bird smacked into the back of her head. His wings faltered as he struggled to settle on a nearby bush.

“Then which path should we take?” Her voice cracked with uncertainty.

“Oh, this one is fine,” Voltaire said. “I just meant to say that there’s no right way or wrong way in the Scary Wood. They’re all the same. They all lead to trouble. But at least there’s nothing to fear at the moment!” He propelled from the limb and soared merrily ahead.

Wanda focused on the stones and ordered herself not to worry.

The woods were quiet. No chirping birds. No buzzing insects. No scurrying creatures rustling the leaves. It was an unusual silence, but the stillness also meant there were no lurking beasts, which helped Wanda stay brave.

Her heartbeat sprinted as she traveled deeper into the forest, farther from home. From time to time, she gazed ahead to keep the bluebird in sight. If we need to escape in a hurry, we can just follow the stones back to the meadow. Returning will be easy, she thought—and that’s when she heard the whistling.

“Voltaire, listen,” Wanda called to the bird. “It must be Wren!” She imagined her sister picking colorful wildflowers in a clearing while whistling the lovely tune.

Wanda and Voltaire raced through the trees, following the sound, anxious to reach Wren before they lost her. They moved quickly but quietly, gravely aware that Raymunda might be with her.

“Shh.” Wanda stopped and put a finger to her lips. Her sister was just on the other side of a tall evergreen.

With Voltaire perched on top of her head, she slowly peeked around the tree—and her heart clenched for a beat. Voltaire’s feathers stiffened.

This can’t be, she thought. This hideous creature can’t be the one whistling such a sweet melody.

He was wide and squat, a little taller than Wanda, with a head too large for his body. His light brown skin sagged under the weight of his wrinkles. He was hairy all over except for his scalp, where three lonely strands stood on end.

His bushy brown eyebrows shaded enormous ink-black eyes. His leathery ears were the size of Frisbees. They stuck way out and waved in the breeze. If a strong wind blew, his ears would catch the gust and lift him in flight, Wanda thought, if it weren’t for the weight of his nose, which was broad and high and took up most of his face. His nostrils were huge, like two gaping, dark caves, and Wanda could stare right into them.