Chapter 1
For Calliope Scott, two things mattered: the mountain and her mother.
There was a time when she thought they were made of the same stuff.
Sturdy stuff. Unbreakable stuff.
Even magical stuff.
But ever since that September day when everything changed, Cal knew they weren’t, and the only thing left to do was run to the one she believed could save the other.
Now, more than a month later, she was still running.
As the doors of Bleaker K–8’s bus #3 slowly folded open, Cal cradled her casted arm and leapt over the bus’s three steps, landing on Mountain Road with a defiant “Oomph!”
“Slow down, Cal!” the bus driver called. But Cal didn’t hear … or care anyway. Without pausing, she set her chin against the cool October breeze and ran even harder.
Her feet barely touched the ground as she raced past Demsky’s Market. Her backpack propelled her forward with urgent pat, pat, pats.
Crickets hidden inside tall brown grass cheered her on. Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did. The louder they sang, the harder Cal ran, sending a flurry of dead leaves swirling in her wake.
She dashed past the three houses—green, blue, brown—as the pavement steepened, then narrowed, then turned to dirt in front of the rusted, yellow sign that read
Welcome to Mount Meteorite
Bleakerville’s Hidden Magic
Elevation 2,019 feet
Without pausing, she slapped the sign a high five, leaving its gong-like vibration behind her as she ducked beneath the forest canopy.
Although the well-worn trail veered left, Cal shot right, pivoting around pines and over brambles until the path turned rocky and rugged.
When she came to the place where just one more step would send her tumbling, she turned to face the mountain’s ledge. She hugged its cool granite with her unbroken arm. Then—balancing on the outside edges of her boots—she shimmied sideways across its pencil-thin ridge until she reached the boulder outside Wildcat’s cave.
There she stood.
Panting and red-faced.
A pulse of electricity beat inside her temples.
She greedily inhaled the musky smells of moldy leaves and dirt. Scents only the mountain itself could have exhaled in a long, deep sigh.
From halfway up the mountain, Cal had two clear views: the place she was running to and the one she was running from.
She fixed her gaze on the first, Mount Meteorite’s spire—a one-hundred-foot-tall monolith that grew from the mountain like a stone skyscraper. Made of quartz and granite, the spire formed the mountain’s highest point. Each afternoon, the setting sun hit its peak in a way that made it look like a flaming matchstick. This phenomenon only served to fuel its legend of mystery and magic.
The second, and far less interesting, view was of the tiny town of Bleakerville, the place where Cal had lived her whole life. It reminded her of an old-fashioned postcard, faded and worn and ripped at the edges.
Cal easily found her own mold-green house, with its crooked roof and sagging shutters. Next to that was Mr. and Mrs. Demsky’s tidy blue cottage, with its gingerbread trim and thread of smoke coming from its chimney. Then came the vacant brown carriage house that the elderly couple lent out now and again.
She let her gaze travel down Mountain Road to her bus stop in front of Demsky’s Market and on to Main Street, where she found the tall steeple of the Congregational church and the synagogue’s rounded dome. Beyond that, Bleaker K–8 School stretched sideways in a dull brick rectangle, and the run-down New England Glass factory sat boarded and empty. There was a time when almost everyone in town had worked at the factory, but since it went bankrupt during the pandemic, its doors remained shut.
Cal sighed. Autumn used to bring comfort. Cool, crisp air and brightly colored leaves. Cozy sweaters and stacked cordwood. But ever since the day when everything changed, her family—her world—had become as broken as her town.
She hugged her casted arm, then turned her gaze once more toward the spire and the magic she knew it held.
She jumped down from the boulder, onto the rock platform, before ducking into the cave.
Inside, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as she made her way to the back. Surrounded by granite, she let her body absorb its damp earth smells of mold and lichen and decaying leaves. She pulled out a flashlight, directing its beam at the piles of supplies.
First, the ones she’d brought on earlier trips. A dented pot, mess kit, eating utensils, an extra pair of hiking boots, a pile of dry socks, a sleeping bag with a hole in it, carabiners, climbing rope, tin snips, and five cans of baked beans. Next to that, the equipment she’d found in June when she’d first discovered the cave. Aluminum cups, belay devices, a piton hammer, and several small burlap bags marked GEOLOGICAL SURVEY SAMPLE. She touched each item as if greeting an old friend.
Then she froze.
Sitting on a large flat rock by itself was something Cal had never seen before. It was a brown wooden box, no bigger than a shoe and shaped like a half-moon.
Cal racked her brain, trying to remember putting it there. But of course, she hadn’t. She had no idea what it was.
Her skin prickled with distrust as she hugged her casted arm and inched closer.
She knew the box hadn’t walked there by itself. Someone must have brought it. But who? She’d never seen anyone on the mountain, and no one else would dare navigate the skinny ridge that led to the cave.
She shined the flashlight’s beam around the rest of the cave. Nothing else had been disturbed. Even the dead leaves that lined its entrance seemed untouched.
Squatting in front of the box, Cal’s eyes grew large. She let her backpack slip from her shoulder.
With her good arm, she reached for a stick and poked the box as if it were a sleeping snake. Then she gently flicked open its lid.
There was something inside.
She leaned over and lifted out a white handkerchief. Stitched into the cloth in shiny green and gold letters was one word:
AMANI.
A rustling noise at the cave’s entrance set the hairs on the back of Cal’s neck on end. She sprang to her feet, spinning to face the intruder.
Two yellow eyes glowed inside the dim cave.
“Wildcat!” Cal’s forehead wrinkled. She placed her good hand on her hip. “I’ve been worried about you!”
The Maine Coon cat sauntered toward her. His unruly black fur jutted in every direction. His left ear pointed at attention while the right one flopped tiredly. His tail bent in a broken angle, sweeping the ground behind him. Prickers and dead leaves clung to his body like armor. He brushed against Cal’s leg.
“I haven’t seen you for two days.” Cal shook her head sternly. “Look at you! What have you been into?” She pried a stick from his gnarled tail.
Wildcat nosed her backpack.
“Yes, yes, of course I brought it. I think you only find me when you’re hungry.” Cal unzipped the backpack and pulled out a bright yellow tin can that she peeled open. The smell of fish erupted inside the musty cave. She knelt, dumping oily sardines into her hand, then held them out as an offering. Wildcat leaned in and gobbled.
“Slower. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
When there was nothing left, the cat licked Cal’s palm. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
She wiped her hand on her jeans, then began to pluck burrs and leaves from his tangled fur. “So, what do you know about this box?”
Wildcat answered with his usual gurgly-purr.
She squinted at the note. “And what is this? Is it even a word? Or some kind of clue?” she asked. “Do you think it has to do with the magic meteorite that fell on the spire?”
Wildcat blinked.
Cal nodded. “Me too.”
She pulled a notebook from her backpack and copied the word, then returned the cloth to its box, carefully replacing its cover. She made her way back to the cave’s entrance.
Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet.
Wildcat followed silently.
Outside, a gust of air sent Cal’s brown hair into a frenzy. With her uncasted hand, she tucked a strand behind her ear, before again finding the spire’s peak. It seemed to point to the heavens like a promise. She hopped onto Wildcat’s boulder and opened her notebook. Wildcat leapt up next to her and began licking a paw.
With broad strokes, Cal sketched out the spire and its glowing peak, as if by copying it into her notebook she somehow made it hers. After about a half hour, Wildcat nudged her elbow. Cal scratched behind his ear. “I’m going to climb the spire and find the magic meteorite, Wildcat,” she said. “I need to do it for Mom.”
Wildcat purred as if saying, Hmmmm, looks downright impossible to me.
“I know,” Cal said, lifting her chin. “But I have to.” She sighed. “I’m just waiting for the right sign to tell me when.”
Signs. Her mom used to be obsessed with them, back when she believed. Whenever you have a problem—send your question into the universe, and it will answer with a sign.
Cal often wondered if her mom put so much faith in the universe because she’d practically been on her own since her parents died when she was twelve—the same age Cal was now. Believe in the magic of the universe, Mom used to say.
And Cal tried to believe, even when the universe didn’t seem to believe in her. Again and again, she’d sent her problems out for solving.
It doesn’t work for me, she’d told her mom one afternoon in third grade. I asked the universe why Lexi won’t play with me at recess anymore, and it didn’t answer with a sign or anything else.
Maybe it did, honey. Maybe it’s telling you to find a new friend. Which didn’t seem like an answer at all. Cal nodded anyway, knowing that if Mom believed, that was enough for her.
Then everything turned upside down when Mom got cancer and Dad went away. Mom seemed to stop believing in signs … and everything else.
Cal stared hard at the spire. “Is the word in the box a sign?” she asked the mountain. “Are you leading me to the meteorite?”
The only response came from the katydids.
Again, not the answer Cal was looking for.
Wildcat leapt onto Cal’s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against hers.
“I have to go, Wildcat,” she said. She closed her eyes, letting his deep purr vibrate into her heart. “Please don’t make it hard. You know I can’t stand goodbyes.” She leaned her head against his. “I’ll be back tomorrow as soon as school gets out.”
Wildcat blinked, then jumped back onto the boulder.
Cal scooted onto the narrow ledge. Hugging the mountain, she shimmied back across. When she reached the end, she paused, letting the cold rock press into her cheek.
“See you tomorrow,” she whispered to the mountain as she patted its rough granite. Then she glanced back to give Wildcat a wave. But the boulder was bare.
Cal headed down the unmarked path until she reached the trail. When she passed the yellow sign, the sun slipped behind the mountain, bathing the world in purple twilight. A gust of wind sent leaves scurrying in a mini-tornado around her feet. She shivered.
The word. It was a sign. Cal was sure of it.
Now she had to figure out what it meant.
Text copyright © 2022 by Jeanne M. Zulick.
Illustrations copyright © 2022 by Shutterstock/ActiveLines.
