A fly nearly zooms into my open mouth, so I close it and hurry to catch up with Ma. She’s squinting even though the sky is full of gloomy clouds. It was sunny just a moment ago, but I don’t have time to think about the weather right now. I need to know the truth.

  “So…Mama was your apprentice?”

  Ma shakes her snowy head and says, “She could’ve been. Had a lot of potential, your mama. Alicia was a very bright girl—and curious, like you. But she wanted an ordinary life.” Ma clears her throat before spitting a wad of phlegm into the street. “So that’s what she got.”

  I think about that for a minute. Is getting evicted “ordinary”? It sure doesn’t seem normal to me. I get the feeling Ma wishes Mama had made different decisions in her life. But if Mama had become Ma’s apprentice all those years ago, would she still have met my daddy—and had me?

  If I were Ma’s apprentice, I’d probably already know what she’s keeping inside the red mint tin. L. Roy’s thick book weighs heavily in my bag, so I make an educated guess.

  “Your friend in Madagascar—he sent you some lizards, didn’t he?”

  I hold my breath and don’t exhale until Ma nods. That gives me the courage to ask another question. “And he’s the same man who wrote that book, right?”

  “The book you stole?”

  “I—I—I didn’t steal it!” I stammer. “I’m just borrowing it for a while.” I slide one arm free and swing my backpack around so I can unzip it. “Here—I’ll give it back.”

  Ma stops again and glares at me. “What am I gonna do with a big, heavy book out here in the street?”

  She’s right, of course, so I zip my bag and slip my arm back through the strap. To my surprise, Ma chuckles.

  “ ’Sides, I done read that book half a dozen times already.”

  I give Ma the side-eye. “You said you hadn’t read any of those books.”

  “And you knew I wasn’t telling the truth. You’re no fool, Jax. I’ll give you that much.”

  It’s not exactly a compliment, but Ma’s still got something like a smile on her face, so I dare to ask another question.

  “Why was that squirrel trying to give marshmallows to your lizards?”

  Ma’s smile disappears. She looks down the block and whistles softly. “Every living creature needs help to survive in this world, Jax. I do the best I can for the creatures in my care, but sometimes…”

  Ma brings her milky black gaze back to my face. Then she puts her thumb on one of my creeping-caterpillar eyebrows and tries to smooth out the curly hair. Mama does that, too, and it always makes me smile because we both know our eyebrows won’t ever be tamed.

  “Sometimes you can’t let your love show,” Ma says in a soft but firm voice. “Sometimes you have to say no when you want to say yes, because it’s the responsible thing to do. These drag—uh—lizards can’t stay here, Jax. They came from one world, and they’re on their way to another.”

  “Are they hungry?”

  “Probably. This kind of newborn loves sweet, sticky things, but I can’t give ’em what they want.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I fed them, they’d think I was their mama. You know what imprint means?”

  I think for a moment. Vocabulary isn’t really one of my specialties, but I give it a shot anyway. “When something heavy makes an impression on something light—or soft. Like when you step in mud or wet cement and leave a footprint.”

  Ma nods. “That’s right. In the animal world, it’s a little bit different. Some animals don’t know how to be—who to be—until they open their eyes for the first time. These little critters need to be kept in the dark until they’re with their own kind. I couldn’t let them see me—or you.”

  “Why can’t they stay here? You could buy a terrarium from a pet store—and another lizard who can show them how to…do lizard stuff. I could help you look after them.”

  Ma looks up and down the block and sadly shakes her head. “Brooklyn ain’t what it used to be. Sometimes I look around and hardly recognize the place. ‘Artisanal’ this and ‘organic’ that. I used to know the name of everyone in my building—and they knew mine. Now I don’t even know half the folks on my floor. They move in and act like strangers, not neighbors.”

  Ma sighs and starts walking again. “That’s the way of the world, I guess. Out with the old, in with the new. Sure is a shame, though. Brooklyn’s lost its magic. All kinds of creatures used to call this place home. But not anymore.”

  I think about the notices our landlord keeps putting on our front door. “Everybody should have a home,” I say, “and get to stay there as long as they want.”

  “In an ideal world, that would be true,” Ma says. “But that’s not the world we live in, Jax.”

  I feel my eyes filling with tears again, so I come up with another question. “Where are you taking the lizards? Prospect Park Zoo?”

  Ma shakes her head. “These lizards are, um, special. They need a whole lot of space so they can spread their—I mean, they need room to grow. L. Roy sent them to me because he knew I wouldn’t put them in a cage.”

  “So he is your friend.”

  Ma grunts. “L. Roy is a quack. Calls himself a scientist, but most of the time he just makes stuff up and hopes folks won’t know the difference.”

  “But you know.”

  She nods and says with a hint of pride, “It’s my job to know what’s fact and what’s fiction.” Then Ma points her cane at the park up ahead and adds, “That’s where we’re going. Now, Jax—can you keep a secret? ’Cause I don’t need your mama hassling me about mixing you up in my business. That’s why she left home in the first place. She didn’t like my line of work.”

  “What line of work is that?” I ask, feeling silly for thinking Ma might be a sorcerer. “Are you a veterinarian?”

  “No, Jax. I’m not a vet.”

  “What are you, then?”

  Ma looks both ways before pushing me into the empty street with her cane. I wait to see if she’ll answer my question, but she doesn’t respond until we reach the other side of the street. Then she turns and just stares at me for what feels like a really long time.

  “Your mama really didn’t tell you nothin’ ’bout me?” Ma asks finally.

  “No, ma’am,” I say truthfully.

  Ma grunts. “You got nice manners, I’ll give you that,” she says. Then she sighs and leans heavily on her cane—so heavily I worry it might snap in two.

  “What you need to know, Jax, is…I’m a witch.”

  She says it simply, like it’s no big deal. Then Ma pushes herself off her cane and hobbles over to the park.

  We stop in front of the entrance to Prospect Park. Behind us, cars race along busy Flatbush Avenue. Joggers trot past us, and mothers push babies in strollers. Mama used to bring me here when I was little. There’s a carousel and a zoo on this side of the park, plus a playground and Lefferts House, where Dutch settlers used to live. Prospect Park is one of my favorite places in Brooklyn, but being here with Ma makes me feel more nervous than excited. I put a hand over my stomach and hope I don’t look as queasy as I feel. What does an old witch with baby lizards from Madagascar do in a place like Prospect Park?

  Turns out we aren’t actually going inside the park. Instead, we stand before the tall stone gate while Ma examines the tumultuous sky. The dark clouds above us look like water swirling down a drain.

  “Looks like rain,” I say, hoping that will prompt her to act. But Ma just gives me a thoughtful “hmm” before giving her bag a reassuring pat.

  “What do we do now?” I ask as raindrops start to spatter my face.

  “Wait,” Ma replies.

  I follow her over to a stone bench and watch as Ma eases herself onto it with a groan. I’m too anxious to sit, so I stand a few feet away. One or two pigeons do their jerky walk nearby, hoping we’ll toss them some crumbs or something else to eat. Whenever a pigeon gets too close, I swing my foot in its direction and send it flapping away. But more and more pigeons descend from the angry sky, and soon we’re surrounded by a sea of cooing birds. I stamp my foot to scare them away, but Ma says, “Leave ’em be. They know what time it is.”

  That makes no sense to me, but I do as I’m told and sit down next to Ma on the hard stone bench. I steal glances at her but try to act cool. I’ve never seen a real witch before! Ma doesn’t look anything like the witches you see on TV. I want to ask her how she became a witch. Was she someone else’s apprentice once? I’m curious but also a little bit scared, and I don’t want to say something corny like “Where’s your broomstick?” So I just crack my knuckles and wait for Ma to say something to me. She’s gone back to staring at the sky, though, so nothing gets said for a while.

  Before I can think of a sensible witch question to ask, a homeless man pushing an overflowing grocery cart comes our way. He’s wearing so much clothing he looks like a walking pile of laundry! I count at least three different hats stacked on top of his head, which he keeps tucked in close to his chest. I can’t see the man’s face, but his cart carries an old TV, clear bags full of empty soda cans and bottles, and more clothes.

  I try not to stare because Mama says that’s rude, but Ma doesn’t seem to feel that way. In fact, Ma shifts closer to me so there’s more room on the bench, and sure enough, the man parks his cart and sits down right beside her.

  “Ma,” he says in a gruff but friendly voice.

  “Ambrose,” she replies politely.

  I stare at the ground so no one can tell how surprised I am. Ma knows this guy?

  “You ever think about traveling light?” she asks him. “You ought to find someplace to park that cart. It’s slowing you down, Bro.”

  The man reaches out a gloved hand and grips the rim of his cart. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ma, but you know I like to keep my prized possessions within reach.”

  Ma nods like she understands. Then she uses her cane to knock a clump of dried mud off one of his mismatched shoes. “How’re things?”

  The man lifts his head to gaze at the street. “Things ain’t what they used to be, Ma. But you don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “Any trouble with the transporter?”

  “You traveling today?”

  Ma shrugs. “Might be.”

  “Thought you left the game a long time ago, Ma. You ain’t no spring chicken, you know!”

  Ma grunts and taps her cane anxiously on the pavement. “Tell me about it. But you know how it is, Bro. Every time I get close to retirement, they find some way to keep me on the job.”

  Ambrose chuckles. “What is it this time?”

  Ma pats her bag and says, “I gotta make a delivery.”

  Ambrose tilts his head to the side, which makes the fedora on top start to slide off. “That’s grunt work, Ma. Why they got a pro like you making deliveries?”

  Ma tugs at the straps of her bag and looks around to see if anyone’s listening. “You know how it is, Bro. Some deliveries are more special than others.”

  Ambrose nods so hard the fedora finally does fall off. I pick it up and hand it to him—and that’s when I see the gap. It’s a mild spring day, but Ambrose is wrapped up from head to toe. He’s wearing so much clothing I can’t see an inch of his skin. But even with all his layers, I still see air between the elastic cuff of his bubble coat and his glove when Ambrose reaches out his hand to take back his hat.

  Before today, I wouldn’t have paid much attention to a homeless man sitting on a bench in front of Prospect Park. But now that I know Ma’s a witch, nothing seems normal. If Ambrose wasn’t wearing a hundred different pieces of clothing, I think he’d be invisible!

  “Thanks, kid,” he says before setting the fedora on top of his baseball cap. To Ma he says, “He’s with you?”

  Ma looks at me for a few seconds before she responds. “Yeah, he’s with me.”

  “And the birds?”

  Ma shrugs and looks up at the angry sky. “Guess they figured I needed a winged escort.”

  Ambrose laughs and pulls a clear plastic bag from his cart. He undoes the knot and tosses birdseed at the pigeons. They hurry over to him, clearing the sidewalk in front of Ma and me.

  “First day on the job?” Ambrose asks. He keeps his head down like he’s watching the birds, but I know he’s talking to me.

  I open my mouth to reply, but Ma beats me to it. “He’s just a temp,” she says.

  Ambrose laughs again. “All your apprentices are temporary, Ma! Watch yourself, kid—on-the-job training in our line of work can be risky. Say, Ma, what happened to your last apprentice? Did his hair ever grow back?”

  “Of course it did!” Ma puts her hand on my arm and gives me a sharp squeeze. “Don’t listen to him, Jax. Bro’s just messing with you.” To Ambrose she says, “You ready?”

  “I’m always ready, Ma. Just say the word.”

  Ma puts both hands on her cane and pushes herself off the bench with another groan. “Is that really necessary? We’ve known each other a long time, Bro.”

  “True. But I don’t make the rules, Ma. Can’t open the door until you give me the password.”

  Door? I look around, but the only door I can see belongs to the guardhouse. There’s one at each corner of the park entrance. It looks like the tiniest castle ever built, with round stone walls and a pointed red-tiled roof. Two steps lead up to a black door that has no knob, just a gold keyhole in the center. The guardhouse used to have windows on the sides and in its door, but metal plates and black bars weave across the space where glass ought to be. It might be the perfect hideout for rats, but why would Ma want to go in there?

  The pigeons take advantage of Ma’s distracted state and gather at her feet once more. Ma curses under her breath and fishes inside her purse for several seconds before pulling out a small blue book. She opens it and impatiently flips from page to page. Finally, she cries out, “Got it!”

  I watch as Ma leans in close to Ambrose and whispers something in his ear. He nods and then grips his cart to steady himself as he gets to his feet. Ambrose pulls a key from a pocket inside his heavy coat and leads Ma over to the guardhouse that’s closest to our bench. I hear a loud click as he unlocks the black door.

  Ma waits for Ambrose to shuffle back over to his cart before she tries opening the door. Since it has no knob, she tugs at the bars over the window until the heavy door creaks open.

  Ambrose deposits the key inside his coat and calls over his shoulder, “The transporter’s had some irregular outcomes in the past few weeks.”

  Ma frowns and pulls the black door open a bit more so she can peer inside. “I don’t need to hear that, Bro,” she says wearily. “Not today.”

  “Just thought you should know, Ma, since you’re taking a friend. Be prepared for potential irregularities.”

  “I’m always prepared,” Ma says with confidence.

  Ambrose nods again and pushes his cart back down Flatbush Avenue. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Ma. You take good care of yourself.”

  “If I don’t, who will?” Ma asks with a smile.

  Ambrose raises his hand, and Ma waves back even though he can’t see her. Then she turns to me and says, “Ready to go?”

  “Go where?” I ask as my stomach does a quick flip.

  “From this world to another. Shouldn’t take too long. You ever been to Coney Island, Jax?” I nod, and Ma says, “It’s sort of like riding the Cyclone—bumpy, but fast.”

  I shoo the remaining pigeons away and walk up to the guardhouse. With all the windows blocked, it’s dark inside, but enough light comes through the open door to show a second door in the back wall.

  “Nothing to be afraid of,” says Ma. “We just close the door, hold on, and come out the other side once we reach our destination.”

  “Which is…?”

  Ma sighs. “I know you like geography, Jax, but the place we’re going to isn’t on any map you’ve ever seen.”

  “And the lizards will be safe there?” I ask. I do care about them, but mostly I’m trying to delay the decision Ma wants me to make.

  Ma takes the gold pocket watch from her purse. She turns it over in her palm and says more to herself than to me, “It’s time.”

  The rain starts to fall more steadily, and people rush out of the park, paying us no mind. Only the pigeons find us fascinating. One even lands on Ma’s shoulder! I would have freaked out, but Ma just strokes the bird before gently pushing it off.

  Finally, Ma looks at me through the drizzle and says, “Here’s the deal, Jax. The real deal. The creatures L. Roy sent me aren’t lizards—they’re dragons. There’s not enough magic here to sustain these creatures. That’s why they can’t stay in Brooklyn.”

  Ma pauses to give me a chance to say something, but I’m speechless, so she goes on. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I’m a witch, I’ve got three dragons in my bag, and I’m supposed to look after you for a while. You can come with me, but I’d understand if you wanted to go stay with your friend instead. What was his name?”

  “Vik,” I tell her.

  “Right. You got options, Jax.” Ma watches me for a moment and then says, “You look a little queasy already. Maybe you should stay with Ambrose. He hasn’t gone far—if you hurry, you can catch him. I’ll find you when I get back—I promise.”

  I peer into the dark, cramped guardhouse and wonder whether Mama was right to run away from Ma. Maybe my mother felt then the way I feel right now.

  “You don’t have to come,” Ma tells me. “No hard feelings—really. But you have to make up your mind fast, Jax, ’cause I got to go.”

  A whining sound comes from Ma’s purse, and more pigeons flock to the guardhouse. I glance up the block and wonder what Ambrose and I would talk about if I chose to stay behind with him instead of going who knows where with Ma. There’s probably a pay phone at the nearby subway station, and the library isn’t too far away. I could call Vik and tell him to meet me there.

 

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