When he was sure he had focused sufficiently, he muttered, “Transport.”
He waited a moment, but he could still feel the creature struggling under his touch. He peeked at her, then shut his eyes once more. “Transport,” he said, louder and more desperately this time.
But the whale didn’t disappear.
“Ugh!” Alex had no idea why it wasn’t working. “Come on!” He tried a third time, to no avail.
“I’m so sorry!” he cried, clinging to Spike. “I don’t know what to do! Why won’t it work?” Alex turned away, slumped to the floor in agony, and buried his head in his hands. He would have to stay until it was over, that much he knew. The whale’s gasps and moans, her shuddering flank—all of it was the most horrendous thing Alex could imagine. And he was the cause of it. No wonder Mr. Today had stopped making creatures. It was too painful when you made a mistake.
When Alex looked up, he found himself staring at the statue of Ol’ Tater and remembering his conversation with Mr. Today about the transport spell. And soon the words came back to Alex. Ol’ Tater had been transported to the Museum of Large with a transport spell, but that was after Mr. Today had put him to sleep. “It doesn’t work with humans or living creatures,” Mr. Today had said.
Alex looked up at Spike in horror. That was why it didn’t work. Spike was a living creature. At least for a few more minutes. It was agonizing. Would he even be able to bring back a creature who had died? Ol’ Tater hadn’t died—Mr. Today had put him to sleep. Was there a difference? Alex jumped to his feet. He couldn’t stand it—Spike was in misery. He looked at Ol’ Tater once more, and then, slowly, Alex turned toward the whale and began singing, his mind searching desperately for the words and changing the ones that mattered:
“Spikey girl, Spikey girl,
Too much sadness, no repeats.
I am sorry, more than sorry,
But it’s time for you to sleep.”
Immediately the whale ceased her struggles, and her body turned back into the materials Alex had used to make her.
The new mage checked her over carefully and emitted a long sigh. At least he had put her out of her misery. But he was still very sorry to have made her suffer so much first. It had been a mistake. A big one. And it had been made on someone else’s life. Alex knew he would most certainly never forget it as long as he lived.
Still shaking, Alex touched the whale’s side once more, eager now to right his wrongs. “Let’s get you into the water,” he said. “Ready?” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay.”
Alex closed his eyes and once again pictured the sea, just offshore but deep enough for the whale to be fully immersed. He concentrated on the spot in his mind for a long time. And then he whispered, “Transport.”
The whale disappeared.
Alex’s eyes flew open. He stared at the empty spot. And then he ran out of the Museum of Large and through the hall to the balcony, tripped down the steps and around the few residents who remained awake at this hour, raced past dozing statues Simber and Florence, and flung open the front door, which immediately woke Simber.
Before Simber could speak, Alex, still running, yelled, “Going for a late night dip in the sea!”
At the edge of the water he kicked off his shoes and fought his way out of his pants, but kept his robe on, and then dashed out to the water, running and splashing until it became too deep, and dove in.
Pulling a blinding highlighter from his robe pocket while he swam, he aimed it at the ocean floor, trying to find the lifeless Spike. He knew she’d be at the bottom, like Simber had been. But where exactly? Alex also knew the transport spell wasn’t entirely accurate.
The effects of Ms. Octavia’s underwater breathing class became evident as Alex searched. It was loads easier to hold his breath underwater now, using the oxygen in his blood to keep him going, and he could easily stay underwater for six or seven minutes without coming up to the surface.
He needed those six or seven minutes now. In the murky water, magically coaxing the blinding highlighter to hold a steady, not-blinding light rather than flashing quickly and fading away, Alex pushed himself along the ocean floor. As he searched for the large body, he realized he didn’t remember all of the live spell—he hadn’t memorized it. Perhaps he should go back to shore and get the book.
But then he shook his head. He didn’t need the live spell—that’s not what had brought Ol’ Tater back to life. He needed to use the restore spell.
Frantically he tried to recall the words from that spell and the order they went in. It started with “imagine.” Could he remember the rest? It seemed like years ago that he’d restored Artimé, even though it had only been a matter of months. He pictured Sky at his side like she had been back then, and that seemed to calm his mind as he recalled her patient hand signals to help him remember the words: “imagine,” “believe, “whisper” . . . He hesitated, knowing that the next word was the one he always forgot, and today was no different. He closed his eyes to concentrate for a moment, and pictured Sky, pressing on his chest. He smiled and opened his eyes, letting the seawater sting them once more. Of course—the one thing he’d forgotten to do then and couldn’t exactly do now. It was “breathe.” And then finally, the word that would trigger rebirth: “commence.”
Oh, Sky, he thought. Maybe if he hadn’t been so googly-eyed about kissing her, he wouldn’t have made such a stupid mistake, and he wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. He frowned. Now wasn’t a good time to be thinking about her either. All Alex really needed to do was find the whale. Which was turning out to be impossible. His lungs began to burn. It was time to surface.