Authors: Alex Flinn
Cloaked (10 page)
I take everything with me. I won’t be back. I realize I cheated Sam out of his three hundred bucks. I think about leaving it, just because I’m ridiculously honest, but decide against it. I’m stealing his bird, after all. I’m going to need to use the cloak and be good and gone by the time he wakes up.
Now I wrap the cloak around me as I step outside into the hallway.
The motel is too quiet, quiet enough that every step creaks and thunders. I use the cloak to get downstairs, but not into the bar, not yet. If I’m wrong, if the fox was mistaken about the bar being empty, I want to make a quick escape. I stand outside the door. The light above it is burned out, but the moon shines bright. I see my shadow, twenty feet high. The darkness is comforting, but scary. Anyone could be out there, including the person who enchanted me yesterday.
I peer inside the bar. No one there, just like the fox said. No one but the bird. I’m either alone or as good as caught, so I flick on my flashlight and shine it on the cage. It gleams, as golden as morning. Even the bird’s feathers seem like twenty-four karat. I make sure not to shine the light in the bird’s eyes. I don’t want to wake it.
I remember the fox’s instructions: Move the bird from the golden cage to the wooden one. But why? It would be much easier to transport it in the cage it’s in. Still, I remember what happened last time I didn’t follow the fox’s orders.
I use the cloak to wish myself inside. No tricks. When I get in, I stuff the cloak inside my backpack and shine the flashlight along the floor, searching for the wooden cage. Finally, I see it, along the far wall. It’s on its side and latched. I go to open it, but the latch sticks. I pull on it. The door snaps off.
I swear under my breath. How am I going to put the bird in a broken cage? Still, I take it by its carry handle.
The handle falls off too.
How does this guy even keep the bird in this crummy cage? But maybe that’s why he doesn’t keep it there at night. He switches it to the stronger cage, then uses the less flashy one by day.
I take the cage by one wooden side only to find my hand full of twigs.
I swear again.
I glance up at the bird. My eyes are used to the darkness now, so I turn off the flashlight. The bird sleeps soundly. I’m going to have to take the golden cage. What difference does it make? If the fox wants the bird out of its cage, he’ll have to do it himself.
Still, in the dim half-light, it nags at me. If it’s a test of worthiness, I’m unworthy. But with no other choice, I pull a bar stool up to the cage, then balance on it to reach the bird. A touch of moonlight glances off its brilliant bars. With my fingertips, I touch it.
“Squawk!”
I jump. The stool begins to sway. Just in time, I grab the bar for balance. I look up at the bird. Impossibly, he’s asleep. I reach for him again.
“Squawk!”
This time, I’m expecting it, so I don’t jump. But I do let go. The squawking stops, and again, the bird sleeps.
I reach for the cage a third time. The bird begins again to squawk and scream, but this time, I ignore it, removing the cage from its perch. It’s heavy, but not so heavy I can’t handle it. If only the dumb bird wasn’t sleep-squawking in my ear.
“Shut up!” I tell it. But it doesn’t. Then, above me, I hear footsteps, heavy footsteps running. I’m doomed. Norina or Uncle Sam will catch me. They’ll call the cops or worse. They’ll call that guy who wants to kill me. I drop the cage, just catching it with my body before it crashes to the floor. I set it down. As soon as I release it, the bird again stops squawking and goes back to sleep.
The footsteps are on the stairs now, coming closer. Too close. Whoever’s coming for me has no reason to be quiet. I look around for a place to hide, but there’s no way I can hide the bird or the broken wooden cage. I’m doomed.
I remember the cloak. I pull it from my backpack and throw it around myself.
I wish I was in the Dumpster with the fox. I make my wish just as a sliver of outside light hits the floor beside me.
I’m safe. Well, as safe as you can be when you’re in a Dumpster just outside a place you tried to rob; I tug on the cloak.
Beside me, the fox stirs.
“Do you have it?” he demands.
“Not exactly.”
“Exactly? You either have it, or you don’t.”
“I don’t,” I admit.
“Why not? Can’t you follow simple instructions?” The fox sounds like my mother when I mess up.
“They weren’t simple. The bird screamed its head off when I tried to move it.” Again, I feel for the cloak, but something’s on top of it. It’s also wet.
“You tried to move it in its golden cage. Didn’t you? That wasn’t the bird squawking, but the cage itself. It’s under alarm, so it can’t be moved. That’s why the bird has to be moved in the wooden cage.”
“But that one broke.”
“Whatever you say.” He’s silent a moment. I am too. We sit, smelling beer and garbage, hearing the flies around us. The food in Sam’s wasn’t good fresh. Rotten, it’s unbearable.
Finally, the fox says, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to go back and get me that bird?”
“Are you crazy? If I go back, they’ll catch me and put me in jail. Or call that serial killer who’s stalking me.”
“Well, you can’t stay here. Get out of my Dumpster.”
“I can’t leave now.”
“You can, and you will.”
“Just give me a second.” Again, I fumble for the cloak.
Sharp nails pierce my arm. I look, and the fox is baring its teeth at me.
“Please,” I say, “I just need—”
“And I need that bird. I may be a once-human, but I am currently a fox, and right now, I’m feeling a bit rabid. Go, and don’t come back without that bird.”
I make a final reach for the cloak, but the fox lunges at me, and I’m forced to stumble out of the Dumpster, empty-handed.
I hear noises near the hotel entrance. I stumble around the other side, toward the street. If I can just cross it, I can escape.
Then, in the moonlight, I see a gleam of golden feathers.
“Looking for this?” Norina’s voice says.
“What? No, um . . . I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just . . .”
“Pawin’ through mah Dumpster for fun?”
“No, I was . . .”
Talking to a fox?
“I guess, actually, I was looking for something. My retainer. That’s it. My retainer. I left it on the plate before, when you brought me dinner.”
Good. That’s good.
Glad her uncle wasn’t the one who found me. I notice the bird and cage are both completely quiet now. Stupid bird. Still, I smile. “Guess I’ll look in the morning. I’m tired.” I yawn and start to walk past her. I know I won’t be here in the morning.
“You’re lyin’.”
“No, I’m not!”
“You weren’t wearing any retainer when I brought up your food. I’d of noticed. Besides, your teeth are crooked.”
She’s got me there. “It’s an expander.” I quicken my steps. Please don’t follow me.
She laughs. “What I think is, you came down to steal this here bird, and then, when you heard me coming, you used that magic cloak of yours to get outta there.”
I’m almost inside, but at the words “magic cloak,” I stop dead. How could she know? How did she find out?
She points at my startled face, and laughs. “Gotcha, huh?”
I rearrange my expression and manage a laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Oh yeah, you’re pretty funny.”
“I didn’t mean funny. I mean, I figured you out. See, when I saw you the first time—when you came in the bar two days ago—I thought I was imagining things. I mean, how often do you see someone in a magic cloak?”
“Never. Magic cloaks don’t exist.” But I know I’m caught.
“See, I wasn’t drunk like the rest of the folks there, so I saw you. But when you left, I figured that was that. Then, yesterday, you came back. I thought maybe it’s fate. And just now, when I saw you pop into the garbage, I was sure.”
Why did I have to go to the Dumpster? The cloak could have taken me back to Miami. To Key West. To the South of France. I need to start planning this stuff out better. But considering I’m going to end up in jail or dead, I guess it’s too late now.
“Look, I’m sorry. But you’ve got your uncle’s bird back, so can you let me go?”
“I don’t want the bird. I want something else.”
“What else?” But I know what she wants. She wants the cloak, and if I have to, I’ll give it to her to get free. But first, I’ll talk her into giving me the bird too, in exchange.
“I want you to take me someplace with that cloak. If I’m gonna let you get away with bird-napping, I guess I won’t have a job here much longer. So I want you to take me home to South Carolina.”
“Take you?” She doesn’t even want the cloak. She’ll give me the bird, and she doesn’t want the cloak back? What luck.
Strange, though, that she doesn’t seem to think a magic cloak is unusual at all, or want it for herself.
I push the thought back. She’s a country girl. She’s nice and trusting. She just wants to go home. I can take her and be back in a few minutes to give the bird to the fox.
Victoriana warned me against letting anyone else use the cloak. But what choice do I have? I’m nabbed. Nailed. I have to go along, or I’m done for anyway. “Okay.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yes, but I have to get the cloak. That’s what’s at the bottom of the Dumpster. And I do need the bird.”
“Ah, what the heck? Uncle Sam’s been giving me less than minimum wage anyway.”
“And I need some privacy,” I say, because I can’t very well have a conversation with a fox in front of her.
“Privacy?” Her blue eyes narrow. “How do I know you’re not gonna ditch me?”
I think a second, then hand her my backpack. It’s got everything in it except the clothes on my back, the money, and Meg’s ring, which I keep in my pocket. “Hold on to this. It’s got my I.D. in it. You could find me.”
She looks down, thinking. “All right. But I’m gonna be back in five.” She hands me the golden cage with the sleeping bird inside.
“Five minutes.”
I have to work fast. Once Norina disappears around the corner, I run to the Dumpster, planning to bang on it to rouse the fox. But he’s already out, dragging my cloak in his teeth.
“I’ll take that,” I say.
“And I”—he gestures his paw toward the bird—“will take that.”
I glare at the bird. It’s sleeping now, as before. Stupid bird. I’m glad to be rid of it. But I say, “I need some information first, and quick. She’s coming back.”
“Right. The frog left Key Largo. He knew he was being pursued, so he got in a trailer that said the ‘McDougal Family.’”
“How am I supposed to find that? They could be anywhere.”
“It also had ‘Big Pine Key National Key Deer Refuge or Bust’ written in shoe polish on the windows.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Wish I was. Anyway, that was several days ago, so they should be there by now. The ranger at that park is named Wendell. He might be able to give you some information.”
“You’re sure? It sounds too easy.”
“I don’t know how easy it will be to find one frog in a huge nature preserve, but that’s the information you needed. Now, give me my bird.”
There’s nothing to do but put it in front of him. I wonder what he wants with it. To eat it, maybe. But he only opens the cage door with his paw and plucks a single feather from the bird’s tail. He closes the door back up. “You can take it back now.”
“That’s it?” It’s hard not to scream. “You needed a feather? Why couldn’t I have gotten the feather instead of spending two nights in this place and getting caught stealing?”
The fox shrugs his furry red shoulders. “It’s a test of worthiness, for you and for me. If you want a princess, you have to prove yourself. However, there is one final thing you may do to show your gratitude.”
“What’s that?” I’m not feeling very grateful.
“You could kill me.”
I hear a whoosh of a car on U.S. 1, but it passes and there’s silence.
“What?” I must have heard him wrong.
But he repeats, “Kill me. I left a knife in the Dumpster. If you cut my throat, it would answer my fondest desires. I’ve done my best to help you. Now grant my wish to die.”
“But why?” My hand’s shaking, banging against the birdcage.
“I’m a man, living as a fox. Do you need another reason?”
“But maybe you’ll get changed back.” It doesn’t make sense. Why did he need the bird’s feather if he wanted to die? None of it makes sense.
“It’s been a long time. I have no hope.”
I can’t picture myself killing a fox. I don’t hunt. No one hunts in South Beach. And even when we had to dissect a virtual cat in biology class, I felt sick to my stomach. This isn’t just any fox either. This is a fox who’s really a man, so killing him would be like murder. I can’t do it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” The fox turns his back on me.
“I’m sure things will work out.”
“You have what you want. Now leave.”
“But I didn’t want to—”
“Go!”
So I do. I don’t even take the bird with me. Sam will find it himself. I take my cloak and leave.
When I get around the building’s side, Norina’s waiting there, close enough that she could have heard. But, of course, she couldn’t understand the fox. She didn’t have the magical earpiece.
“Ready?” I say too cheerfully.
“Am I ever!” She grins and looks at the cloak. “How’s this thing work, exactly?”
I remember not to be stupid. “Well, first, you give me my backpack.”
She does. I look through it. Everything’s there. “Okay, then.” I pull the cloak around my shoulders, then hers. As I wrap it around both of us, I say, “What you have to do is wish where you want to go. But you need to be really specific because otherwise—”
And before I can finish my sentence, we’re someplace else.