The Wishbreaker Read online

  “He’s actually very good at it,” Jathon said. “Worked a couple winters as ski patrol in Colorado.”

  It was hard to imagine that Thackary Anderthon was good at anything other than scowling.

  The four of us joined the short line for the lift. The chairs were attached to an overhead cable, and they didn’t even slow down for people to get on. Jathon and Vale maneuvered into position just as the chair came around, sweeping them off their feet and carrying them up the mountain into the white storm.

  The lift worker beckoned for Ridge and me. We propelled ourselves forward, accidentally crossing each other’s skis and bumping heads. Before I was ready, I felt the chair knock me in the back of the knees. I fell onto the padded, snowy seat, using my poles to hold Ridge in place beside me. By the time we untangled ourselves, our chair was thirty feet above the ground.

  “Whoa!” Ridge said. “If we fell off right now, do you think we’d survive?”

  “Sure,” I answered. “Remember when we fell off that roller coaster at Super-Fun-Happy Place? It was way higher than this.”

  “But we had a big pile of teddy bears to catch us,” Ridge said.

  “They were trying to tear us apart,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, but I morphed into an air shark and chewed them up!”

  “That reminds me,” I said. “Do you think I should make a pay-as-you-play wish? You know, in case we run into trouble while we’re skiing?”

  Pay-as-you-play wishes were very convenient. All I had to do was create some sort of trigger word. Something unusual that I wouldn’t accidentally say in regular conversation. Every time I said it, Ridge would transform into something awesome. While he was defending me, I’d pay a consequence, but it was easier to make the wish now when we weren’t in the heat of the moment.

  “Good idea,” he said. “But don’t turn me into something that’ll get cold.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like a crocodile,” he said. “They’re meant for warmer climates. I don’t want my teeth to chatter. I could accidentally bite you.”

  “Do you have something in mind?”

  “How about a penguin?”

  I let out a laugh. “Somehow I don’t think a penguin is going to be very good at defending me.”

  “What about a humpback whale?”

  “What are you going to do? Flop on the bad guys?” I tapped my chin, which was starting to feel a little frosty. And that gave me the perfect idea for a trigger word. “I’ve got it! I wish that every time I say the word balaclava, you will transform between your normal self and a giant polar bear . . . with wings!”

  Ridge grinned. “That’s way better than a penguin!”

  I felt a tug underneath my glove and I knew that my hourglass had just popped up. I’d have to accept quickly since I couldn’t see my timer.

  “If you want me to transform into a winged polar bear,” Ridge said, “then every time I take that shape, you’ll have to bear crawl.”

  That sounded like an appropriate consequence. “What’s a bear crawl?”

  “It’s when you crawl on your hands and feet without putting your knees down,” Ridge said.

  “That actually sounds easier than slithering on my stomach like last time,” I said.

  “One more thing,” Ridge said. “You can’t bend your elbows or knees while you’re crawling.”

  “Wait a minute!” I protested. “Did you just add that because I said it sounded easy?”

  “I didn’t add anything,” Ridge said. “That was the Universe’s decision. I’m merely the spokesman.”

  I grunted. It would be worth it to have a guardian polar bear. Don’t you think?

  “Bazang,” I said, feeling my hourglass flatten under my glove.

  I resisted the urge to say balaclava and test my new wish. Turning Ridge into a bear might break the chairlift. So we just rode in silence for a minute. Below, a skier wiped out, tumbling through the fresh snow. I thought about Ms. Gomez breaking her leg while skiing. She was probably curled comfortably next to the fireplace, waiting in the lodge. Which reminded me . . .

  “I don’t know who Ms. Gomez is going to call,” I said, “but I don’t think anyone can convince me that my quest is worthwhile. It’s just the Universe’s way of insulting me.”

  “Just because something seems small,” Ridge said, “doesn’t mean it’s not important.”

  “How is protecting the world from unscented roses important?” I countered. “My quest doesn’t benefit anyone!”

  “Maybe it’s supposed to benefit Samuel Sylvester Stansworth.”

  “By eating a peanut butter sandwich?”

  “Maybe he’s starving.” Ridge shrugged. “I’m just saying that it seems like the Universe has a reason for everything. I don’t think it would assign you a quest that didn’t matter.”

  “You’re siding with Ms. Gomez on this?” I cried. “It should be my quest to save Tina! Jathon isn’t even one of the good guys. Now he gets to rescue Tina and save the world, while I’m supposed to make a sandwich. That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to hang out on the sidelines. I’m giving myself a new quest, Ridge.”

  “That’s not really how this works,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” I replied. “My new quest is to help Jathon save Tina. Are you with me?”

  “Of course. I can’t really go anywhere else,” Ridge muttered. “You’re the Wishmaker, Ace. I don’t really get to decide where we go or what we do. I’m just along for the ride.”

  I stuck out my tongue and caught a few more snowflakes.

  Ridge pointed ahead with his ski pole. “Looks like it’s time to get off.”

  Chapter 7

  “Yellow Snow is this way.” Vale pointed left, still seated in the snow from where she had strapped her other boot to her board.

  “You’ve been here before?” asked Ridge.

  “Of course not. I’m a genie, not a tourist. I just looked at a map in the lodge.” Vale always seemed extra smart. But I knew it was just an act. She only knew things because she took the time to read stuff.

  I couldn’t see very far through the blizzard, but the slopes already looked steeper than I had expected. Just getting off the lift had been a rather embarrassing experience. As the chair had skimmed across a mound of snow, Ridge and I had pushed ourselves off, fallen flat on our backsides, and slipped down to the spot where Jathon and Vale had been waiting for us.

  Vale leaped to her feet now, performing some cool jump move to reposition her snowboard. At the same time, one of Ridge’s skis started slipping and he promptly did the splits, howling in pain.

  “Guess we’ll see you in the vault,” Jathon said. “If you two can figure out how to get down the mountain.” He turned his skis, digging in his poles, and the two of them sped off through the snowstorm.

  I helped Ridge to his feet and he knocked me down. We accidentally slipped a few yards in the direction we were trying to go. Ridge hit a tree. I face-planted.

  And we hadn’t even reached the steep run yet!

  “This isn’t going so good,” I pointed out. “I wish the two of us knew how to ski!”

  “Thank you!” Ridge called, brushing pine needles off his beanie. “If you want us to know how to ski, then every time you say the word I, you’ll shiver.”

  I shuddered at the thought of it. “Will I constantly be shivering?”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Just a single chill.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m a genie, Ace. I don’t have consequences.”

  “But I wished for both of us.”

  “And I’m very grateful for that,” said Ridge. “But you have to experience the shivering alone.”

  “How long will it last?” I asked.

  “Just today.”

  I sighed. I was a very common word. There was no way I could avoid using it. This paragraph alone would have given me a triple shiver.

  “Bazang.”

  Ridge suddenly str
aightened his skis and zoomed past me, turning sharply to stop just downhill from where I sat. “This is awesome!”

  In a moment, the two of us were racing through the snow, careful to stay close as we searched for the run we were supposed to take. My legs were burning from the effort of cutting through the deep snow, and I don’t think I looked any less wobbly than Ridge. Apparently, knowing how to ski didn’t make us experts. But at least we were getting somewhere.

  Ridge pointed to a sign next to a stand of trees. Through the heavily falling flakes, I could barely read the name of the run.

  Yellow Snow.

  Wow, it was steep. People actually skied down this? On purpose? There was no sign of Jathon and Vale. Maybe they had already tumbled to the bottom.

  “You ready for this?” Ridge asked.

  “I guess.” My answer brought a shiver down my spine. It passed as quickly as it came, and I took a deep breath, pointing my skis down the terrifying slope.

  The two of us made sharp turns, trying not to pick up too much speed. Pine trees lined both sides of the run, and the soft snow billowed around our feet like clouds as we made the steep descent.

  I felt like things were going pretty good until someone came careening out of the trees, skis clicking together in midair as the stranger caught some air on a jump. Landing skillfully, he turned sharply, smashing directly into me.

  I had no time to move. No time to shout. I went down in a puff of Powder Peaks’ perfect powder. One of my skis broke free of its binding and I skidded to a halt just down from Ridge.

  Gasping, I wiped snow from my face and sat up to face my attacker. Then I heard his voice and I knew exactly who it was.

  “Ahoy there, matey! Ye look to be havin’ a frightful time on the slopes.”

  It was Thackary Anderthon!

  He slid toward me, face mostly hidden beneath goggles and a ski mask. Good. I didn’t want to see his sneering expression anyway.

  “Ace!” Ridge came toward us, but Thackary brought his pole around, catching the edge of Ridge’s left ski and crossing it over his right. The genie crashed with an “oof,” rolling past us like a snowball.

  “I’ve come a-searching for me little boy! Somethin’ tells me ye know where he be!” Thackary pointed a pole aggressively in my direction.

  “How did you find us?” I shrieked, reaching uphill to grab my missing ski.

  “Ye think I don’t know where me own son be hiding?” Thackary answered.

  I had forgotten how strange it was to hear him talk like a pirate all the time. Supposedly, that was one of his old consequences from when he was a Wishmaker.

  “Jathon’s already gone.” I had no way of knowing for sure, but with their skill, it wasn’t hard to imagine that he and Vale had already passed under the lodge sign and entered the vault.

  “I’m sure the lot of ye be working together,” said Thackary. “I’ll just have to keep ye scallywags hostage until Jathon sails back to find ye.”

  “Not going to happen!” Ridge shouted. “Ace! Run!” He hurled a snowball at Thackary. But his aim was slightly off and the snowball pelted me in the side of the head, knocking me flat on the slope.

  Thackary began to laugh, but as I sat up again, I noticed something very strange happening right behind the cruel man.

  The snow was swirling together into a large ball. A second, slightly smaller ball formed on top of that one, two dried twigs flying from a nearby tree and sticking into the sides. A final ball appeared to complete the stack. I don’t know where the carrot came from, but suddenly it was forming a nose, with a collection of pebbles making eyes and a crooked mouth.

  “Um . . .” I said to Thackary, who was still cackling like an evil maniac. “There’s a snowman behind you.”

  His laughter faded, and he looked at me like I was an idiot. “I shan’t be falling fer that trick. Nobody would stop to build a snowman on a ski run.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I am pretty sure he just built himself.” I shivered. Not sure if it was from the consequence or fear.

  Wham!

  The big snowman slammed into Thackary from behind, sending him facedown in the powder. I leaped up, dropping my ski and slamming my toe into the binding. I felt it click and I swerved down the mountain just as the snowman lunged for me.

  “Why is there a demon snowman?” Ridge yelled, swishing through the powder beside me.

  “He must be that safeguard Ms. Gomez almost warned us about!”

  “He’s trying to stop us from getting into the vault?” Ridge asked.

  Ms. Gomez had said we wouldn’t run into extra trouble if we were fast enough. Sure, we weren’t skiing at Olympic records, but I thought we were plenty speedy.

  “Jathon and Vale must have triggered him,” I said, wondering if those two had already made it through the entrance.

  A new snowman materialized right in front of us. He was at least six feet tall, his carrot nose slightly crooked and the pebbles that made up his mouth forming a sneer. Ridge and I swerved, ducking just as his stick arms swiped at us.

  “Phew!” Ridge gasped, but this guy wasn’t giving up yet.

  As I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the snowman’s head swivel completely around. Then it leaned forward, using the steepness of the slope to roll after us. The thing should have fallen apart completely, but this snowman was a very skillful roller.

  The two bottom snowballs that comprised its body rolled independently. The snowballs managed to stay stacked, stick arms twirling and head bobbling.

  “It’s getting bigger!” Ridge yelled, risking a peek uphill.

  You see, that’s what happens when snowballs roll downhill. They pick up more snow as they go, growing bigger and bigger. This usually isn’t a problem, unless the enlarging ball is part of a snowman that wants to tear you apart.

  I picked up speed, pushing myself to the limit of my skill and seeing Ridge wobble as he kept up. Yellow Snow seemed to continue endlessly downward. How long was this terrifying run?

  If a snowman were alive, what sound do you think he would make? Turns out it was something between a grunt and a demonic laugh. I know, because I heard it right behind me.

  I looked back, snowflakes pelting my face. The thing was huge! The snowman must have been twenty feet tall by now, his head (which hadn’t been growing at the same rate as his rolling body) looked ridiculously tiny, and his stick arms were like toothpicks on that giant form. Somehow, it made him more terrifying as he positioned himself to roll over both of us.

  “Into the trees!” I shouted. It was really our only chance of survival at this point.

  I veered, Ridge following closely as we sped off the groomed ski run and into the protection of the forest. Branches lashed at my face and it took all my effort to maneuver my long skis through the tangle of tree trunks.

  Behind us, I heard the overgrown snowman smash into the pines. It sounded like an avalanche as he broke apart, snapping branches and bending trees. Clods of packed snow pounded us from behind, the sudden rush pushing us downward with even greater speed.

  At last, Ridge and I emerged from the trees, directing ourselves back onto the familiar open runway of Yellow Snow, and coming to a stop so we could get our bearings.

  The good news was that our jaunt through the woods had taken us almost to the bottom of the run. Below, I could see the lodge sign we were looking for, two metal poles holding it some five feet above the snow.

  But between us and the sign was an army of snowmen.

  The white figures ranged in size from knee-high to eight feet. Luckily, none had grown to the height of the rolling guy we’d just ditched. But they had strength in numbers. Most of them were made of three snowballs, although I did see a few figures with additional torsos.

  Everybody had a carrot nose, which made me think that somewhere out there was an envious bunny. The stick arms of the snowmen varied from wispy twigs to full-on tree limbs. I didn’t care to get whacked by either.

  “What are we going to do?�
� Ridge muttered at my side.

  “We’ve got to ski past them,” I said. It was the only way into the vault. And if we waited here too long, Thackary Anderthon might show up again and try to follow us in. Unless he’d been eaten by a snowman . . .

  “I’m not good enough!” said Ridge. “You’ve got to make a wish.”

  “I already did,” I said, feeling a little shiver down my back. Without explaining my plan, I turned my skis and plummeted toward the waiting snowman army.

  I swerved around the first one, ducked under the second one, jumped over the third one (he was little), and ran directly into the fourth one.

  It was like hitting a slightly soft wall. My skis went flying off and I stuck face-first into the snowman, arms and legs flailing as though I were trying to make a snow angel while standing up. I finally flopped backward onto the slope, craning my neck to see Ridge skiing down toward me. More snowmen were converging on my location, and Ridge wasn’t likely to get much farther than I had.

  It was time for my secret weapon.

  “Baklava!” I shouted, anxious to see him transform and start shredding snowmen.

  Ridge teetered unsteadily on his skis, but otherwise nothing happened.

  “Baklava!” I called again. Oh, wait. That was the name of the dessert. . . . “Balaclava!”

  At the sound of the correct trigger word, Ridge suddenly morphed into a huge shaggy polar bear.

  I must say, it was a sight unlike anything I’d seen before—a polar bear skiing downhill, brandishing both poles in his giant paws.

  The moment he transformed, I felt my elbows and knees lock straight as I stooped awkwardly on my hands and feet. My gloves sank into the snow, but I had a good view of Ridge’s action as I faced uphill.

  Polar bear Ridge flattened the first two snowmen he encountered, skis running them down under his great weight. His poles ripped free of the straps around his hairy wrists and Ridge clobbered three more snowmen.

  “Fly, Ridge! Fly!” I shouted.

  “I can’t!” he answered.

  “Where are your wings?” I had specifically wished for wings.