Free The Misadventures of the Magician's Dog by Frances Sackett

“He’s out playing fetch with Izzy. For a dog who talks and does magic, he’s pretty happy to chase sticks.”
    Peter closed his eyes. He didn’t really want to think about The Dog.
    â€œListen,” said Celia, “in a minute, we’ve got to go out so Mom can see you’re awake. But before we do, will you tell me what you’re planning?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, what I’m planning?” asked Peter, playing for time.
    Celia frowned. “I mean, what’s going on between you and The Dog? What did you talk about on your walk this morning?”
    â€œWe didn’t talk about anything,” said Peter, crossing his fingers behind his back. He hated lying, and it seemed as if he had done nothing but that these last two days. “We just took a walk, like I told you.”
    â€œPeter Lubinsky! I know you’re going to do more magic, and I
know
you’re going to do something to bring Dad home. You have to tell me right now! This isn’t fair!”
    â€œI promised Izzy I wouldn’t do more magic,” Peter reminded Celia.
    â€œThat was a lie and you know it. And now you’re lying again.”
    â€œI’m not lying,” lied Peter.
    Celia’s lips tightened into a quivering sort of grimace. She looked betrayed, Peter realized in amazement. Hurt, even. Which was strange, because Peter would have said that nothing he could do could hurt Celia. Hurt was an emotion Celia saved for when she fought with her friends, or when another girl was picked for the lead in the school play. Peter would have said she didn’t care enough about him to be hurt by his actions one way or another.
    He couldn’t involve Celia in The Dog’s task. Not with that word,
obliterate
, hanging in the air. But he couldn’t exclude her, either.
    â€œYou’re right,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t telling you the truth before. I am going to try to help Dad, it’s just . . . It’s just that I’ve got to do some stuff with The Dog first.”
    â€œWhat stuff?” asked Celia.
    â€œI can’t talk about it,” said Peter miserably. “Really, I can’t. I’m sorry. But I’ll tell you what’s going on as soon as I can, okay? And I’ll tell you as soon as I figure out a way to make Dad safe, too.”
    Celia reached out to grab his hand. “Peter, you can’t leave me out of this. I’ll help you. You can’t do everything all by yourself.”
    â€œI have to,” said Peter. “I’m sorry, but I really do.”
    Celia dropped his hand abruptly. “Fine. Don’t include me, then. You don’t need me? Well, I don’t need you, either.” And with that, she disappeared down the hallway.
    Peter sighed, smoothed his hair with the flat of his hand, and went out to find his mother.
    That evening, things proceeded pretty much as they had the night before. Around ten o’clock, Peter announced he was going to bed. His mother kissed his cheek and told him to sleep well. Once Peter and The Dog were in his room, The Dog performed the same magic with the pillows, and then he and Peter slipped out the window and into the night. This time, though, The Dog did not take off down the sidewalk.
    â€œSo what are we doing now?” Peter whispered as they stood in his front yard.
    â€œThe rock is at the magician’s house,” said The Dog. “So we’ll go there.”
    â€œWhere does he live?” asked Peter. “Is it close by?”
    â€œNot exactly,” said The Dog. “It’s about thirty miles away, at the edge of the city. Magicians like solitude.”
    â€œUmm . . . should I call us a taxi?” Peter asked. He tried to envision explaining to a taxi driver that he and his dog wanted to go to the middle of the desert at ten o’clock at night.
    â€œOh, we’re not driving,” said The Dog.
    â€œHow are we