After McKenna named each candle—
Tangerine Moon, Sunset Song, Violet Night
—McKenna penciled the price in the corner of a name tag. With yarn from Miss Gustie’s scrap bag, she tied the name tag to the candle.
Enchanted or not, the candles were pretty cool. But were they truly enchanted? Did she herself believe in their power?
Early the next morning, unable to sleep, McKenna roamed the village. A crimson cardinal whistled a greeting, mourning doves cooed. A big, burly black dog made its morning rounds, marking its territory.
Windows yellowed with light; fishermen hustled toward their patient boats.
At exactly nine o’clock, she took a deep breath. Almost sick with excitement, she hung the “Open” sign. A few tourists walked past, commented on the shed’s cuteness, but didn’t come in. Two Japanese girls snapped pictures of Enchanted Candles, but didn’t come in either. A couple of the Cody kids hung around until McKenna shooed them away. The hours dragged. By noon, McKenna’s fingernails were ragged.
McKenna’s first customer—a young woman with thick-framed black glasses—picked up a rosy orange candle. “So, what do I do? Just light it—poof! My wish comes true?” She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “Not.”
Palms sweating, McKenna recalled watching Annie Pike light sweet grass. McKenna struck a match and lit the
Dream Melon
candle. “First, fan the smoke toward your heart,” McKenna murmured, hoping to sound mysterious. McKenna forgot what Annie used to do next, so she improvised. “Then, bow your head, like this, and make a wish. Gaze into the flame for exactly thirteen seconds.”
Thirteen seconds seemed like a long time when someone you didn’t know was watching you. “Hold the candle in front of you, swirl three times, and—”
“All right, already,” the young woman said. “I’ll take it. I don’t believe it’s enchanted, but the color’s awesome.”
McKenna’s second customer, a plain-looking woman, with an even plainer daughter—maybe eight years old—wandered into the shop. A man with a bulldoglike face came in, too, but after a quick glance, walked out.
Immediately, the straw-haired girl picked up a candle called
Peppermint Joy
. With her freckled hands, she rubbed the cherry pink and white candle as if it were Aladdin’s lamp. “Is it really enchanted? If I make a wish, will it come true?”
Usually, lies came easily to McKenna, but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to this little girl.
“It’s very pretty, but come, Cecilia,” said her mother. “There are other shops in the village I’d like to see.”
“Any wish? Any wish at all?” the girl asked.
Something that Doc Tucker said when McKenna thanked him for buying the supplies came to mind: “The way I figure, the first step in getting what you want is naming it—knowing what it is you want in the first place. Most folks have hearts full of wanting, but not the right words. Seems like these candles might force them to decide what they want,
and once they do, they’ll be well on their way to getting it.”
“I don’t know for sure,” answered McKenna. “But I’ll tell you what I do know.”
“Is it a story?”
“I guess you could say so.” McKenna nodded.
“Mom, she’s going to tell me the story of the enchanted candle! Can I stay and listen? Please?”
“It’s a short story,” McKenna told Cecilia’s mother. “You can sit on the bench.”
“Fine.” She sighed. “Perhaps it is time to take a break.”
“One Christmas morning, when I was a little girl—about your age—I saw a sea green dollhouse with yellow shutters in a catalogue. I wrote Santa Claus a letter and told him that I wanted that dollhouse more than anything in the world.”
McKenna’s voice cracked. She squeezed her eyes, hoping to dam up the tears that wanted to escape. “I didn’t get it. On Christmas morning, I was so mad—or disappointed, I guess—that I ran upstairs and locked myself in the attic. And look what I found?”
“It’s a Bible!”
McKenna opened the tattered book to the page where her recipe was tucked. “See,” McKenna pointed, “it’s the recipe for my enchanted candles.”
Cecilia’s eyes widened. “Wow-y, zow-y.”
“Honest, Cecilia, I don’t know if my candles are enchanted or not. But once upon a time, I wished for a sea green house with yellow shutters, and this summer, my wish came true!”
“I believe they are enchanted!” Cecilia exclaimed. She fingered the name tag. “Mom, will you buy me
Peppermint Joy
? Please?”
The mother paid McKenna and joined the man, who was pacing and smoking, outside. McKenna wrapped the candle in sky blue tissue with a lavender grosgrain ribbon, like the kind Miss Gustie used in her shop.
Cecilia held her mother’s present up to her heart. “We’re going back home to Vancouver tomorrow, but I’ll come back next year—I promise—and tell you whether my wish came true.”
“That’d be cool.”
“Want to know what I’m going to wish for?”
“Only if you want to tell me,” McKenna answered.
Cecilia cupped her freckled hand around her mouth and whispered, “I want my mom and dad to quit fighting.”
Stunned, McKenna nodded, and the pale girl slipped away.
One night, during the third ferocious storm of the summer, the entire village of Victoria-by-the-Sea lost its power. Tango heard Augusta close the book she’d been reading. She lit two table candles and placed them on her desk, in front of a window that faced the sea. Then Augusta drew Tango, who was trembling, onto her lap.
“I’m right here, Pup,” Augusta assured him. “Don’t be afraid.”
Tango gazed at the rain-slicked window. Light from the candles reflected off the pane. If he cocked his head one way, there were two flames, but from another angle, there were four. Spellbound, he watched the flames dance on glass.
Suddenly, a glimpse of the last time he’d seen Marcellina appeared in Tango’s mind: the look of horror on Marcellina’s face as he slid off Diego’s
sailboat into the sea. How she screamed “Tango! Tango!! TANGO-O-O-O!” and prepared to dive. How Diego pulled her back into the storm-tossed boat.
Oh, how could Tango ever have doubted her love? She’d been willing to risk her life to save him! Now, more than ever, he must—he simply must—find a way home.
But how?
It would take… a miracle….
Tango hopped off Augusta’s lap and dashed to the mudroom.
“Pup! Come back here!” Augusta called, but by then Tango was already out the door.
The storm ended as abruptly as it had begun. Tango crisscrossed the rain-soaked grass, sniffing for Beau’s most recent scent marker. Once located, he followed Beau’s trail toward a rocky point that jutted into Victoria Bay.
Since the morning he’d washed ashore, Tango had yet to come this close to the sea. He was terrified.
Tango took a deep breath, inspired by Marcellina’s courage. “You are strong, brave, and fearless.” Tango lifted his chin. “You won the war with the waves and escaped a watery grave.” He puffed out his chest. “You conquered the lighthouse stairs.”
Finally, before all the gods and spirits and kings of the sea, he declared: “You are the TANGO!”
Tango hurried along.
In the moonless night, Beau’s body was a shadowy black silhouette against the dark gray sky. Beau, Tango realized, was poised on the bow of a beached boat.
Suddenly his courage weakened. The odor of rotting wood, kelp, and dead sea life overpowered him. In his mind, his little body was bobbing in a frothy, churning, crazy sea.
“Beau!” he croaked. “It’s me, Tango.”
“Do not be afraid, my friend,” Beau called back. “Come. Be with me.”
“How am I supposed to get up there?”
“Go around to
Morningstar
’s other side. Any dog who scaled the steel bones inside the lighthouse will find a way.”
Tango, anxious to seek Beau’s advice, bounded up the boat’s back side, taking a few tumbles before making it to the top.
“Beau, guess what?”
“Shhh…” Beau admonished. “It is a beautiful night.”
Tango raised his snout. A million silver stars sparkled like sequins on a black gown.
As if revealing a precious secret, Beau whispered into Tango’s ear, “We foxes believe that when our
body dies, its spirit soars to the sky and becomes a star.”
“You do?”
“No one knows how long this takes,” Beau said. “Since her death, I have been waiting for Tawny’s star to appear.” Beau sighed contentedly. “At last, I see her.”
“Speaking of seeing her—”
“Hush!” Beau hissed. “She is asking me to join her in the Land of Stars. She is begging me to come home.”
“Speaking of home—”
Abruptly, with a fierce flick of his tail, Beau turned his back on Tango.
Tango cringed, closed his eyes, and let the wind play with his fur. If only, Tango wished, the silver stars would make a path that Tango could follow back to the island of Manhattan.
After a few silent minutes, Tango took a fleeting look at the bay, which, he quickly realized, was empty. “Beau!” Tango gasped. “The water—it’s gone!”
“The sea is at low tide. Have you not noticed this phenomenon before? Between the rising and setting of the sun, and again at night,” explained Beau, “the moon pulls the water close. Think about it, Tango. This bay is where you slipped into the sea—the same angry body of water, now at peace.”
Beau paused, looking at Tango with eyes filled
with concern. “If only your heart was at peace—if only you could accept that you were brought here for a reason.”
“I know why I ended up here. I fell off a boat.”
Beau shook his head.
Sometimes Beau seemed amused by Tango, which Tango found slightly irritating.
As Tango considered the dark, desolate stretch of sand, an idea crystallized.
Perhaps… perhaps
…
“Beau, do you think my silver collar might be somewhere out there?”
“What silver collar?”
“I thought I told you…. When I fell off Diego’s boat, I was wearing a collar made of silver links, with a silver heart attached.”
“Yes, I know collars. Like the other dogs in the village wear.”
“Well, yes, but much nicer,” bragged Tango. “Marcellina bought it at an expensive store.”
Beau seemed perplexed. “And?”
“The heart had my name on one side and Marcellina’s on the other. Her address and phone number, too. In case I got lost. An identification tag.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of such silver.”
“I figured it was at the bottom of the sea. But now I’m not so sure. I’ve been looking around Augusta’s house—her yard, too—just in case.”
“And?”
“I can’t find it.” Tango glanced again at the near-empty bay. “Will you help me look? Please? Please?”
“Not now, my friend.”
“Then I’ll go myself.”
“No, Tango, you must not. The tide is returning. Incoming tides can catch you unaware. Never, NEVER, go out there alone at night. It’s too dangerous.”
“Tomorrow then! What time?”
“I cannot search the sand flats with you during the day. I am a fox. I must stay out of sight.” Beau chuckled. “The humans, I think, confuse me with a wolf—they are afraid that I will eat their children.”
“Come on, Beau,” Tango begged. “Please?”
“At low tide, humans walk there, gathering seashells, digging for clams. Their children splash in puddles and build castles. You will be safe.”
“No, I’d better not,” Tango said. “Purebred dogs like me get stolen all the time in New York.”
“I doubt that anyone will take you, but if you really are afraid, go with McKenna Skye. She often walks out there. She, too, is looking for something.”
“Won’t she think I’m weird, following her around like that?”
“McKenna has a gift. She will understand.”
“You mean, I can talk to her—like I’m talking to you—and she’ll know what I’m saying?”
“Maybe.” Beau nodded. “Unfortunately, McKenna’s powers are good only if she herself believes she possesses them.” The fox sighed. “Many gifts are like that.”
“Like me and the lighthouse steps?”
“Yes, quite similar. Tomorrow, watch for McKenna. Stay by her side.”
Beau leaped off the side of the overturned boat. His landing was unsteady, and Tango heard bone grinding against bone. The fox was moving slowly, too. Tango pictured the leftovers waiting for him in his bowl in Augusta’s kitchen and ran ahead of his friend.
When Tango looked over his shoulder, he discovered that three cats had circled Beau, blocking his way. Tango’s body tensed. Although he couldn’t hear the words, Tango sensed hostility. Keeping his eyes on Beau, Tango pulled himself up to his full height, tail raised, skin tingling.
A black cat with a long tail pawed at the air, its claws extended. Beau snapped his jaw, followed by a series of staccato barks. Cat hisses scraped the quiet night like knives across steel. The cats moved in closer, then backed off, moved in closer, backed off. Baring his teeth, Beau stood his ground.
Tango would have to fight; he had no choice. The old fox couldn’t handle these cats alone. Tango was about to spring into action, but froze.
Pssst! A one-eared cat with blazing eyes spit in Beau’s face. Beau screamed. Tango’s blood curdled. Beau pounced upon the orange cat’s tail as if it were prey, bit hard, and twisted. The orange cat broke free, and in an instant, the three cats stalked off.
“Whew!” Tango released the air trapped in his lungs, relieved that his courage was not to be tested.
At least not tonight.
After tending the shop for twelve hours, McKenna had sold seven of her thirteen enchanted candles. She sat on the bench and counted the money she’d made: 3 tens, 4 fives, and 5 ones. Except for the twenty dollars she planned to give Jeannie Cody for groceries, the rest was all profit. Doc Tucker told McKenna she could wait a few weeks before paying him back.
The lights were still on at Miss Gustie’s. She’d go over and thank her. Without Miss Gustie, McKenna would have nothing.
Before going, McKenna erased the price and then wrapped the candle named
Lilac Cloud
. Just in case one of the Cody kids had sticky fingers, she locked the door.