Jack scratched at a mosquito bite on his wrist. “It turned Cinderella into a fairy princess,” he answered doubtfully.
“Good gosh golly, are they still telling that old saw? When are they ever going to get this fairy tale business right? They keep sticking to those ridiculous stories about wicked stepmothers, would-be princesses, and glass slippers at a royal ball—as if a glass slipper would last five minutes on a dance floor!” He jumped up and down so hard that Jack started. “I could tell them a thing or two about real fairy tales!” Pick exploded. “I could tell them some stories that would raise the hair on the backs of their necks!”
He stopped, suddenly aware of Jack’s consternation. “Oh, never mind!” he huffed. “This business of fairy tales just happens to be a sore subject with me. Now about what I do, Jack Andrew. I keep the magic in balance, is what I do. There’s magic in everything, you know—from the biggest old oak to the smallest blade of grass, from ants to elephants. And it all has to be kept in balance or there’s big trouble. That’s what Elves really do. But there’s not enough of us to be everywhere, so we concentrate on the places where the magic is strongest and most likely to cause trouble—like this park.” He swept the air with his hand. “There’s lots of troublesome magic in this park.”
Jack followed the motion of his hand and then nodded. “It’s a big place.”
“Too big for most Elves, I’ll have you know!” Pick announced. “Want to see how big?”
Jack nodded yes and shook his head no all in the same motion. He glanced hurriedly over his shoulder, remembering anew his mother. “I’m not supposed to go into the park,” he explained. “I’m not even supposed to go out of the yard.”
“Oh,” said Pick quietly. He rubbed his red-bearded chin momentarily, then clapped his hands. “Well, a touch of magic will get the job done and keep you out of trouble at the same time. Here, pick me up, put me in your hand. Gently, Boy! There! Now let me settle myself. Keep your hand open, palm up. Don’t move. Now close your eyes. Go on, close them. This won’t hurt. Close your eyes and think about the park. Can you see it? Now, watch…”
Something warm and syrupy drifted through Jack’s body, starting at his eyes and working its way downward to his feet. He felt Pick stir.
And suddenly Jack was flying, soaring high above the trees and telephone poles across the broad, green expanse of Sinnissippi Park. He sat astride an owl, a great brown-and-white feathered bird with wings that seemed to stretch on forever. Pick sat behind him, and amazingly they were the same size. Jack blinked in disbelief, then yelled in delight. The owl swooped lazily earthward, banking this way and that to catch the wind, but the motion did not disturb Jack. Indeed, he felt as if nothing could dislodge him from his perch.
“This is how I get from place to place,” he heard Pick say, the tiny voice unruffled by the wind. “Daniel takes me. He’s a barn owl—a good one. We met sometime back. If I had to walk the park, it would take me weeks to get from one end to the other and I’d never get anything done!”
“I like this!” Jack cried out joyously, laughed, and Pick laughed with him.
They rode the wind on Daniel’s back for what seemed like hours, passing from Riverside Cemetery along the bluff face east to the houses of Woodlawn and back again. Jack saw everything with eyes that were wide with wonder and delight. There were gray and brown squirrels, birds of all kinds and colors, tiny mice and voles, opossums, and even a badger. There was a pair of deer in a thicket down along the riverbank, a fawn and its mother, slender and delicate, their stirrings barely visible against the trees. There were hoary old pines with their needled boughs interlaced like armor over secretive earthen floors, towering oaks and elms sticking out of the ground like massive spears, deep hollows and ravines that collected dried leaves and shadows, and inlets and streams filled with lily pads, frogs, and darting tiny fish.
But there was more than that for a boy who could imagine. There were castles and forts behind every old log. There were railroads with steam engines racing over ancient wooden bridges where the streams grew too wide to ford. There were pirate dens and caves of treasures. There were wild ponies that ran faster than the wind and mountain cats as sleek as silk. Everywhere there was a new story, a different tale, a dream of an adventure longing to be embraced.
And there were things of magic.
“Down there, Jack Andrew—do you see it?” Pick called as they swung left across the stone bridge that spanned a split in the bluff where it dropped sharply downward to the Rock. “Look closely, Boy!”