And even in the pale light, I
could see that their covers were old and cracked.
Squinting into the room, I spotted two more of them, lying open on the low
coffee table in front of the couch.
“Cole—” I whispered, my heart starting to pound. “See those old books? Do
you think they are books about magic?”
“Huh?” He pressed his face against the glass. “What do you mean?”
“You know. Bluuuck. Books about magic spells. Sorcery books. They look like
they could be old spell books—don’t they?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”
I plucked a white feather from under his chin.
“Owww!” he yelped. “Why’d you do that?”
I shrugged. “Sorry. It was bothering me.” I turned my face back to the window
and stared at the old books.
“Let’s go,” Cole urged, tugging my arm. “She isn’t here.”
“But those books are here,” I replied, tugging myself free. “And if they are spell books, maybe we could find the right book. You know. Bluuuuck. With the right spell. And
we could change ourselves back to normal!”
Cole rolled his eyes. He clicked his beak. “Yeah. Sure. Then maybe I’ll flap
my arms and lay an egg!”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” I scolded him. “It may be a bad idea. But at least it’s
an idea.”
I pulled him to the front door. I turned the knob—and pushed.
The heavy door creaked open.
“Bluuuuck. Let’s just take a quick peek at those books,” I told my brother,
stepping into the cool darkness of the house. “What have we got to lose?”
I pulled Cole into the front hall. The house smelled of coffee and peppery
spices. Sort of a sweet-sharp aroma.
I led the way into the living room. Silvery light flooded in through the
front window.
The floorboards groaned beneath my shoes. I stopped beside the couch and
stared at the pile of old books.
I reached out for the book on top of the stack—when a furious shriek made
me stop.
“Ohhh!” I pulled my hand back.
“Vanessa—!” Cole cried.
21
My breath caught in my chest. My heart skipped a beat.
I spun around—and saw Vanessa’s cat leap onto the high back of an old
armchair.
The cat’s eyes flashed, golden in the pale light. It bared its teeth again in
another angry hiss.
“I—I thought it was Vanessa,” Cole murmured in a choked voice. “That cat
cluuuuck doesn’t want us here.”
“Well, we’re not staying long,” I told the cat. I motioned for Cole to come
over to the couch. “Help me check out these books. If we find the right one…”
As Cole passed by the chair, the cat swiped its claws at him.
“Hey—!” Cole ducked away from it.
“Cats don’t like chickens,” I whispered.
I picked up one of the open books on the coffee table. I raised it close to
my face and tried to read the title in the dim light.
The print was smudged. The heavy cover was cracked with age and covered in a
layer of dust. “I can’t read it,” I told Cole.
I saw him move to the wall. “I’ll turn on a light,” he suggested.
The cat hissed again.
“No—don’t!” I called. “No light. If Vanessa comes back, we don’t want her
to see us.”
I rubbed my finger over the title. And tried to focus on it.
“Hey—I don’t believe it!” I cried happily.
“What is it, Crystal?” Cole called. “Did you find—”
Before I could answer, the ceiling light flashed on.
“Ohhh!” I cried out when I saw Vanessa standing by the wall.
22
I stumbled back.
The book dropped from my hand. It thudded heavily on the floor at my feet.
“Vanessa, I—”
I swallowed hard.
And realized I was staring at a painting. A huge oil portrait of Vanessa,
hanging on the wall.
“Oh, wow!” I cried. “That painting—it’s almost life-sized. I thought—”
I turned to Cole. He stood by the light switch, staring at the big portrait.
“Did you click on the light?” I demanded.
“Yes,” he replied. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bluuuck bluuuck scare you. I
thought it
could see that their covers were old and cracked.
Squinting into the room, I spotted two more of them, lying open on the low
coffee table in front of the couch.
“Cole—” I whispered, my heart starting to pound. “See those old books? Do
you think they are books about magic?”
“Huh?” He pressed his face against the glass. “What do you mean?”
“You know. Bluuuck. Books about magic spells. Sorcery books. They look like
they could be old spell books—don’t they?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”
I plucked a white feather from under his chin.
“Owww!” he yelped. “Why’d you do that?”
I shrugged. “Sorry. It was bothering me.” I turned my face back to the window
and stared at the old books.
“Let’s go,” Cole urged, tugging my arm. “She isn’t here.”
“But those books are here,” I replied, tugging myself free. “And if they are spell books, maybe we could find the right book. You know. Bluuuuck. With the right spell. And
we could change ourselves back to normal!”
Cole rolled his eyes. He clicked his beak. “Yeah. Sure. Then maybe I’ll flap
my arms and lay an egg!”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” I scolded him. “It may be a bad idea. But at least it’s
an idea.”
I pulled him to the front door. I turned the knob—and pushed.
The heavy door creaked open.
“Bluuuuck. Let’s just take a quick peek at those books,” I told my brother,
stepping into the cool darkness of the house. “What have we got to lose?”
I pulled Cole into the front hall. The house smelled of coffee and peppery
spices. Sort of a sweet-sharp aroma.
I led the way into the living room. Silvery light flooded in through the
front window.
The floorboards groaned beneath my shoes. I stopped beside the couch and
stared at the pile of old books.
I reached out for the book on top of the stack—when a furious shriek made
me stop.
“Ohhh!” I pulled my hand back.
“Vanessa—!” Cole cried.
21
My breath caught in my chest. My heart skipped a beat.
I spun around—and saw Vanessa’s cat leap onto the high back of an old
armchair.
The cat’s eyes flashed, golden in the pale light. It bared its teeth again in
another angry hiss.
“I—I thought it was Vanessa,” Cole murmured in a choked voice. “That cat
cluuuuck doesn’t want us here.”
“Well, we’re not staying long,” I told the cat. I motioned for Cole to come
over to the couch. “Help me check out these books. If we find the right one…”
As Cole passed by the chair, the cat swiped its claws at him.
“Hey—!” Cole ducked away from it.
“Cats don’t like chickens,” I whispered.
I picked up one of the open books on the coffee table. I raised it close to
my face and tried to read the title in the dim light.
The print was smudged. The heavy cover was cracked with age and covered in a
layer of dust. “I can’t read it,” I told Cole.
I saw him move to the wall. “I’ll turn on a light,” he suggested.
The cat hissed again.
“No—don’t!” I called. “No light. If Vanessa comes back, we don’t want her
to see us.”
I rubbed my finger over the title. And tried to focus on it.
“Hey—I don’t believe it!” I cried happily.
“What is it, Crystal?” Cole called. “Did you find—”
Before I could answer, the ceiling light flashed on.
“Ohhh!” I cried out when I saw Vanessa standing by the wall.
22
I stumbled back.
The book dropped from my hand. It thudded heavily on the floor at my feet.
“Vanessa, I—”
I swallowed hard.
And realized I was staring at a painting. A huge oil portrait of Vanessa,
hanging on the wall.
“Oh, wow!” I cried. “That painting—it’s almost life-sized. I thought—”
I turned to Cole. He stood by the light switch, staring at the big portrait.
“Did you click on the light?” I demanded.
“Yes,” he replied. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bluuuck bluuuck scare you. I
thought it
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