When Alex could think of no more ways to improve on the initial phase of the live spell, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes so he could review the second phase. Spike seemed slightly brighter in color than before, and her skin seemed warmer. But her eyes remained closed.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” Alex murmured, as if to assure the whale that he would continue.
He spoke the words in turn, concentrating very seriously on each. “Comfort,” he said, picturing not only physical comfort for the whale, but also sort of a spiritual, emotional comfort that would emerge in times of distress. “Happiness,” he added, and then “Peace,” thinking about how much he wanted both for himself as well, and emitting an extra burst of concentration in those areas as the thoughts pulsed through his fingertips into the beast. “Success.” Alex thought about the whale overcoming any obstacle and leading other sea creatures to victory.
Immediately he rolled into the third phase. “Loyalty,” Alex said, thinking of Simber. “Devotion.” He pictured the girrinos, most especially Arija, who had given her life for the safety of Artimé. “Zeal,” Alex said, not quite positive what the word meant, but thinking it had something to do with really liking to eat, since a cook in the mansion’s kitchen had used the word once in talking about all the food Samheed had on his tray. So Alex pictured Spike with a real love for food.
He was getting a little dizzy with all the concentrating. Bringing life to a creature was no light task. He moved on. “Intensity,” he said, thinking of Ms. Octavia and her abilities, and then going off script as he sometimes had a tendency to do in Actors’ Studio, he added, “Speed,” and pictured the whale positively flying through the sea.
Alex moved on. “Passion.” Yes, Alex thought. Passion is what must take the place of fury. Passion makes us want to live another day, to try to do the right thing. Passion contains love and fear and anger and motivation. Passion keeps you fighting when you want to give up. It was, Alex reflected later, something you could even work to improve inside yourself.
As he neared the end, Alex was tempted to add “fury” despite Mr. Today’s crossing it out. But Alex didn’t want to mess with Mr. Today’s obviously well-thought-out spell. Having “Furious” in her name would have to do. And really, Spike Furious was probably the best name a creature could have.
Alex turned the page, keeping one hand on the whale.
Finally, address your new creature by name, urging him or her to take a breath.
Don’t forget to step back and give your creature some room to breathe and move about.
Alex put the book down and placed his other hand on the whale. He took a deep breath and said, “Spike Furious, you are alive! Take your first breath!”
There was a hum, a buzz in the air, and the whale began to shimmer. Alex stumbled backward so he could watch, taking it all in. “Spike,” he breathed again, unable to contain his excitement. “Breathe!”
The enormous creature opened her milky eyes, which expressed immediate surprise in a most beautiful way.
Her blowhole pulsed and her tail flapped.
She breathed once, twice.
And then her body began to slump and sag.
Her eyes became pinpricks of fear, and her gorgeous blue skin turned a sickening shade of gray.
The Short, Uneventful Life of Spike Furious
Alex paled. His hands rose to his forehead, his fingers threading through and gripping his hair. “What is it, Spike? What’s wrong?”
Spike’s eyes rolled back and her lids closed. Her sides heaved, and a moan came from somewhere deep inside her.
In an instant Alex realized that he had made a horrendous mistake.
He ran to her side and placed his hand on the whale, struggling to think of the term he needed. “Um, Im-Improve!” he shouted. “Be able to live on land!” He jiggled the heaving creature’s side, which had become very hot. “Stay alive,” he cried. But it was no use. The spell had been enacted, and there was no way to go back and fix it.
Wildly Alex looked around for water, but there was nothing here—he’d have to run all the way to the kitchenette, and even then he had only teacups with which to transport it. “No!” he cried as the memory flooded back—the memory of Mr. Today talking about how he had found this whale on the shore, and how he had watched it die because it couldn’t get back into the water. Now Alex had brought it to life only to watch it die again. It was the most horrible thing he could imagine. And he had done it to the poor creature. Guilt raked his insides.
“Water!” Alex yelled, pointing at a book, trying to create it. But nothing happened. He’d never been able to do it—Lani was the only one he knew of who could turn things into soup, and as far as he knew, putting the whale into soup wouldn’t exactly solve the problem. He needed to get the whale into water. He needed to get the whale into the sea.
An idea sprang to Alex’s mind. The transport spell! He’d transport the whale to the sea. But what if she swam away? Alex whipped his head around, looking for any other option that would assure him that Spike would live, but there was none. All he knew was that he couldn’t let this whale die. Alex put his hands on Spike’s side once more.
He screwed up his face, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut, as he pictured the sea of Artimé, just off shore but in deep enough water that the whale could be fully immersed. And even though he was exhausted from creating the beast, he mustered up his strongest concentration, picturing the location where he wanted to transport her.