The Wishbreaker Read online

  “You’re like the trinket police,” Ridge said. “Cracking down on rogue trinkets.”

  “Like the necklace I broke,” I said sheepishly.

  “Exactly. I had been safeguarding that necklace for years. When you broke it at the grocery store, the ex-Wishmaker who made it, probably now in his twenties, paid the associated consequence.”

  “Tina paid one, too,” I said, though I had no way of knowing what it was.

  “Trinkets are useful,” said Ms. Gomez. “But they can be incredibly dangerous.”

  “What happens when the ex-Wishmaker linked to the trinket passes away?” Jathon asked.

  “It goes dormant,” said Tina’s mom.

  “Dormant?” Vale said. “So the power might wake up again?”

  Ms. Gomez nodded. “That’s the Trinketer’s job. When I touch an expired trinket, I have the ability to awaken its original magic.”

  “Whoa!” Ridge said. “Free trinkets?”

  “No!” Ms. Gomez snapped. “No trinket can exist without someone to pay the consequence.”

  “But if the Wishmaker who made it is gone,” said Jathon, “then who pays the consequence?”

  “I do,” said Ms. Gomez.

  “Why would you do that?” I cried. I’d had my fair share of consequences. It made the most sense to leave those expired trinkets alone.

  “Like I said,” continued Ms. Gomez, “trinkets are useful. Sometimes I need to awaken an old one in order to use its power to find others. Or sometimes I need to defend myself against bad Wishmakers who might come after my collection.”

  “So, what can your trinkets do for Tina?” Jathon asked.

  “The only way I know how to forcefully separate a genie from a Wishmaker is by cutting the tether,” said Ms. Gomez.

  “Oh, man!” Ridge said. “Jathon and Vale just did that outside. And I remember how it feels from last time. Like an elephant punched me in the stomach.”

  “Elephants can’t punch,” I said. “They don’t have hands.”

  “They can punch with their feet,” he said.

  “That’s called kicking.”

  “Well, it would hurt to get kicked by an elephant, too,” Ridge said. “Either way, it was painful.”

  “You did not cut your tether,” Ms. Gomez interjected. “You probably snapped it.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  In response, Ms. Gomez reached onto a shelf and picked up the rubber-band ball.

  “What does that trinket do?” Ridge asked.

  “Oh, this isn’t a trinket,” said Ms. Gomez. “It’s just a good way to store rubber bands.” She carefully plucked one of the bands and stretched it away from the ball. “Let us pretend this is your tether. When you and your genie get too far apart . . .” She let go of the rubber band and it snapped sharply back into place. “The tether springs you suddenly back together. But cutting the tether is something different.”

  Ms. Gomez retrieved a kitchen knife from the same shelf. The blade sliced through the little rubber band, and it fell limply to the floor.

  “So, how do we cut the tether?” Vale asked.

  “Well, we can’t cut something we can’t see,” explained Ms. Gomez. “So, the first trinket we’ll need is a special spool of string. We can cut a forty-two-foot length and tie one end to Tina and the other to Chasm. Once in place, the string will become a visible tether.”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “The second trinket we need is an ancient dagger,” said Ms. Gomez. “Supposedly, it has the power to cut through a tether.”

  “Supposedly?” Vale questioned.

  “I haven’t seen the dagger, personally. It’s currently dormant. Has been for a few hundred years.”

  “But you can activate it?” Jathon said.

  Ms. Gomez took a deep breath. “We’ll have to find it first. I have a few clues. And a couple trinkets that should point me in the right direction.”

  “Maybe there’s an easier way,” I said. “Instead of wasting time looking for old trinkets, why don’t we just make a wish for the tether to become visible? Or just wish for it to be cut?”

  “That’s basically wishing for my quest to be completed,” said Jathon. “Way too direct. The Universe would destroy me with a consequence.”

  “But it’s not my quest,” I said. “Maybe I could get off with something lighter.”

  “It’s still very direct,” said Ridge. “The Universe likes it better when the wish requires you to do something.”

  “That’s why trinkets are so effective,” added Ms. Gomez.

  “Then let’s just create new ones that do the same thing,” I suggested.

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Ms. Gomez said. “The spool of string is classified as an exclusive trinket.”

  “What does that mean?” Ridge asked.

  “It means that it’s a one-of-a-kind. No other Wishmaker can wish for a trinket to do the same thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s part of an old consequence, more than three generations back,” Ms. Gomez said. “The particular Wishmaker who created the spool of string had made a wish. The consequence for it was that the next trinket she created would become ‘exclusive,’ never to be wished for again.”

  “And she wished for a spool of string to make the tether visible?” I said.

  “She tried to think of something fairly useless,” explained Ms. Gomez. “A throwaway trinket made simply to satisfy that consequence. At the time, she couldn’t think of any reason why a Wishmaker would want the tether to be tangible. Seemed like a tangling, tripping hazard.”

  I sighed. Of course, the very thing we needed most was something that a previous Wishmaker had deemed a useless throwaway trinket.

  “That Wishmaker died of old age almost twenty years ago,” said Ms. Gomez. “The Trinketer before me collected the spool for safekeeping.”

  “Do you have it now?” I asked.

  Ms. Gomez nodded. “I do. But it will also need to be reactivated.”

  “Then let’s grab it and get started!” I said. Every minute we sat there talking was another minute for Chasm to inflict consequences on Tina.

  “The string is not here,” said Ms. Gomez. “My house is not a safe storage place for trinkets. All the ones you see here are just waiting to be moved to a more secure location.”

  “Where do you keep them?” Vale asked.

  “The vault.”

  “Sounds official,” I said. “Where is this place?”

  “The entrance to the vault is in Utah,” said Ms. Gomez. “The problem is, it can only be entered in the winter.”

  “What?” we all cried in unison.

  “It’s barely August!” I said. “Who knows what shape Tina will be in come December.” Not to mention that Jathon would have failed his quest and the world would probably be a giant hot-fudge sundae.

  “What’s so special about winter?” Ridge asked.

  “The entrance to the trinket vault only appears when the Powder Peaks Ski Resort is open,” explained Ms. Gomez. “You can only get in by skiing.”

  “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious what has to happen,” Jathon said, standing up. “I’ll just have to wish for the resort to open.”

  “Will that work?” Vale checked with Ms. Gomez.

  “I don’t see why not,” she said.

  All of us looked at Jathon, and he sighed. “I wish it would snow so much at Powder Peaks that the ski resort would open.”

  “If you want Powder Peaks Ski Resort to open,” said Vale, “then your fingers will be cold for a year.”

  “How cold?” Jathon asked.

  “Like you just washed them in ice water.”

  “Will they be numb?”

  “No,” Vale said. “You’ll still be able to move them.”

  “Will they hurt?” asked Jathon.

  “Not really,” answered Vale. “It’ll just be uncomfortable.”

  “What if he wears gloves?” Ridge cut
in.

  “Then his fingers will be cold inside his gloves.”

  Jathon checked the hourglass on his wrist. “Well, bazang, I guess.”

  Chapter 6

  Snow. So much snow.

  In the three years of my life that I could remember, I had never been skiing. It looked like a lot of fun, though, zooming down a steep mountain with two long things strapped to your feet.

  I stood outside the lodge with Ridge, Jathon, and Vale, the four of us shivering against the cold. Ms. Gomez had gathered some winter gear from a box in a storage closet before we left her house. Vale fit quite nicely into Tina’s clothes, and Jathon sported a hand-me-down coat and pink snow pants. I wore another retired coat, with just my pair of jeans to cover my legs. Ridge’s skinny figure was draped in one of Ms. Gomez’s old coats, making him look like he was playing dress-up.

  It had been a very long drive to Utah. Every time we stopped at a red light, Ms. Gomez would burst into some off-tune opera song. That old, obnoxious consequence had awakened us several times through the night. Tina’s mom had kept herself awake using a spray bottle. I wasn’t sure if it was a trinket or not, but every so often, she’d spritz herself in the face. As a result, she was soaking wet when we arrived at the ski resort.

  There were faster, more magical ways to travel, of course, but they would have required consequences. And it wouldn’t have done us much good to arrive earlier, anyway. The way Jathon had worded his wish meant that we had to wait until enough snow fell for the ski resort to open.

  According to reports, it had been coming down in a whiteout blizzard all through the night. I opened my mouth, catching a few big snowflakes on my tongue.

  Ms. Gomez appeared in the doorway of the lodge, calling for us to come inside. As we stepped into the warm building, a large area rug got pulled out from under my feet. It just so happened that Jathon, Vale, and Ridge were standing on the rug at the same time.

  “Not cool, Ace,” Jathon said, picking himself up off the lodge floor.

  “It’s not like I wanted that to happen,” I muttered, noticing how the big rug was now wadded up against the wall.

  Ms. Gomez guided us over to where a resort employee showed us how to clip into our boots and rental skis. It was nice to travel with Maria Gomez. Sort of like having a mother that I never knew. She took care of us—finding coats and driving us to Powder Peaks. And she also bought us stuff, like fast-food meals, ski rentals, and lift passes.

  As I slipped into my ski boots, a TV mounted above a crackling fireplace caught my eye. It was showing a weatherman who sure had a lot to say.

  “Wow, folks! You won’t believe what is happening in the Wasatch Mountains right now. An isolated winter storm has struck, shattering records for this time of year with a whopping fifty-two inches of snow. And it doesn’t show signs of stopping! Powder Peaks Ski Resort has announced that they will be in full operation today, so dust off your skis and call in sick to work. This is a historic opportunity to hit the slopes in the dead of summer! But remember, it’s winter conditions up there, so don’t forget your goggles and your balaclava.”

  “What’s a balaclava?” I asked Ridge as he clomped over to me, barely able to walk in his stiff boots, balancing skis in one hand and poles in the other.

  “It’s a Greek dessert, I think. Shaped like a triangle,” he said.

  “Why did the weatherman say we should bring dessert?”

  “Skiing can work up an appetite,” said Ridge. “You want to come prepared.”

  I tightened down the last clip on my boot and stood up, wiggling my toes. These were uncomfortable.

  “Listen closely,” Ms. Gomez said, pulling us into a huddle near the lodge exit. “There are a couple of very important things the four of you need to know about entering the vault.”

  “Wait,” I said. “The four of us? You’re not coming?”

  “Last time I went skiing, I broke my leg,” said Ms. Gomez. “My time will be better spent out here, trying to locate the dagger.” She produced two big backpacks that I’d seen her bring from the car. She handed one to me and the other to Jathon. I began to unzip mine, but Ms. Gomez reached out and stopped me.

  “What? Last time I carried a backpack, it was full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” I explained. “Just wondering if you packed any snacks. Maybe some balaclava.”

  “A balaclava isn’t a snack,” Vale said.

  “Dessert?” Ridge said. “The triangle things?”

  “That’s called baklava.”

  “Then what’s a balaclava?” I asked.

  “It’s a cloth mask to keep your face warm,” Jathon explained. That made way more sense than dessert. “And I don’t think there’s one in your backpack.”

  “The backpacks are full of trinkets that I have been gathering,” Ms. Gomez went on. “It’s been more than three years since I’ve been able to get into the vault. You can do me a big favor by depositing them all inside. But the vault will only allow you to withdraw one item. So don’t touch anything except the spool of string.”

  I glanced at Jathon to make sure he heard that. He had a history of taking things that didn’t belong to him.

  “What will happen if we take more than one trinket?” I asked.

  “The vault will close you in forever.”

  “What?” I cried. “This is the worst vault I’ve ever heard of.” Okay, so it was the only vault I’d ever heard of. But, seriously!

  “Hey,” Ms. Gomez defended. “I didn’t build the vault. It was passed on to me from the Trinketers that came before.”

  “Now that we’ve got our skis, how do we get in?” Jathon asked.

  “Yellow Snow,” she said.

  “Never eat yellow snow,” Ridge said. “Isn’t that a thing people say? I don’t really know what it means.”

  “Think about it, Ridge,” I said. “Why would snow turn yellow?”

  “Someone spilled their lemonade?” he said.

  “Yellow Snow is the name of a run,” Ms. Gomez told us. “Very steep. When you see it, you’ll be so scared that you might make yellow snow.”

  “Oh!” Ridge said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I get it.”

  “So, we just ski down that run?” Jathon asked. “Is there a door or something we should look out for?”

  “At the bottom of that run is a sign pointing toward the lodge. You’ll have to slide under the sign, passing between the two poles that hold it up.”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Jathon said.

  “No,” answered Ms. Gomez. “But you could be detained.”

  “Who’s going to detain us?” Ridge asked. “Ski patrol? Can I get arrested for skiing too fast?”

  “There are a few safeguards that might try to stop you from getting through the entrance,” she said.

  “What kind of safeguards?” Vale asked.

  “No importa.” Ms. Gomez waved a hand. “If you ski fast, you shouldn’t run into trouble.”

  That wasn’t a very convincing answer, but I was used to not knowing things that seemed important. I’d just have to keep a sharp lookout.

  “We’ll see you when we get out,” Jathon said, gathering his skis and poles.

  “I’ll be here,” said Ms. Gomez. “Trying to gather information about the old dagger trinket.”

  Vale grabbed the snowboard leaning against the wall and ducked out into the blizzard. Her movement forced Jathon to follow as quickly as he could, leaving Ridge and me alone with Ms. Gomez for a moment.

  “Thanks for all your help,” I said.

  She stared at me long enough that I started to feel uncomfortable. “Why are you here, Ace?”

  “I’m trying to save Tina,” I said.

  “And I’m grateful for that,” she said. “But it’s not your quest, is it?”

  “Well, no,” I mumbled. “But my quest is dumb. I’m not even going to bother with it.”

  “I do not think the Universe would assign you a ‘dumb’ quest.”

  I
studied the carpeted floor of the ski lodge, embarrassed to look up, as I muttered, “I’m supposed to find somebody named Samuel Sylvester Stansworth and make him a peanut butter sandwich.”

  “Samuel Sylvester Stansworth?” Ms. Gomez said.

  I looked up sharply. “You know him?”

  “Never heard of him,” she answered.

  I grabbed my poles. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “You never know.” Ms. Gomez tapped her chin in thought. “Perhaps feeding this person a sandwich will prevent some grave consequence.”

  I sighed. “Nope. If I fail, then all the red roses in the world will lose their smell.”

  “That’s really not so bad,” Ms. Gomez admitted.

  “Yeah. That’s why I’ve decided to help Tina instead,” I replied.

  “That is brave of you, but I’m not sure if it’s right to completely abandon your quest.” Ms. Gomez took a deep, thoughtful breath. “I’m going to make a phone call while you’re gone. I know someone that might have information that’ll change your mind.”

  “Change my mind about helping Tina?” I didn’t understand.

  “Again, I am grateful for your help,” Ms. Gomez said gently. “But this is Jathon’s quest, not yours.”

  I had nothing more to say. I just stared at Ms. Gomez, feeling kind of hurt and insulted.

  “Come on, Ace,” Ridge urged. The two of us shuffled awkwardly outside, our skis and poles clanging into the doorframe.

  It was hard to spot Jathon and Vale in the blizzard, but we finally caught up with them near the chairlift. Jathon’s skis were hooked securely to his boots, and Vale had one boot clipped into her snowboard.

  My arms were exhausted and I dropped my load of gear onto the snow.

  “You’ll want to put those skis on,” Jathon said.

  “Obviously.” I tried to step down on the ski, but I just ended up falling over.

  “Put your toe in first,” Jathon instructed. “Then step down on your heel.”

  “What makes you the expert?” Ridge asked, clearly having as much trouble as I was. Jathon’s advice helped, though, and soon I had one ski on.

  “My dad might not be the nicest guy,” Jathon said. “But he’s taken me skiing a lot.”

  “Your dad knows how to ski?” I clipped into my second ski, using my poles to stabilize myself.