The wandshop was a small space, like the workshop behind it, with rows of shelves packed tightly with thousands of narrow boxes, all of which, I assumed, held their own unique creations of the Wandmaker. Sitting slightly crooked on its hinges, the door between the two rooms did little to confine the fine layer of wood dust to the workshop but acted more like a fan, spreading the small particles throughout the wandshop and creating an eerie, smoky scene each time it opened and closed.
Each in our own velvet-lined box, my brother and I were carefully placed high upon a shelf behind the counter of the Wandmaker’s shop. I was glad our boxes rested side-by-side; I had no idea how long we would wait there, and it was nice to be able to enjoy each other’s company for a while longer. I knew the day was coming when one of us would leave the other to serve the Witch or Wizard of our choosing. How I longed for that day when I would belong to a Witch or Wizard of my own! The days passed. Then weeks. Months. From time to time, the Wandmaker would pull one of us from the shelf and place us in the hand of a child who was visiting the store in search of a wand. I relished those moments. It was always a delight to be held by an anxious young Witch or Wizard, eager to find the wand that would allow him or her to use the magic that had been building up inside for years. Every time I felt a new hand, excitement rose within me. Could this be the one? But for some reason which I can’t really explain, it just never felt as I thought it should. And, time and again, when I didn’t cooperate with a child, I was simply placed back in my box and returned to the same spot next to my brother.
My brother seemed to repeat the same process over and over again as well. With each new Witch or Wizard, he refused to respond, and he rejoined me on the shelf. I’m not sure what he was looking for, what he wanted in a Wizard. He never told me. Actually, he communicated very little after that day in the workshop, the day he became a wand. He was never quite the same. But then, neither was I. Yet brothers we remained.
Seasons came and went. And I must confess that the precious box in which I rested began to feel a bit constraining. I was used to soaring through cool, gray clouds, peering down upon the mystical, centuries-old castle where I once lived with the great Wizard. The light layers of dust which had gathered on my box weighed down upon me, yet I remained hopeful that one day I would find the right Witch or Wizard, one who understood the magic within me and one whose magic I fully understood.
The day came that would change everything. I remember the patter of the rain on the windows and on the street outside as the front door opened causing the bell above the door to clang, beckoning the Wandmaker to the counter. I recognized the customer’s voice at once. It was soft and soothing and comforted me like the song of my beautiful Phoenix, the Phoenix who belonged to the extraordinary Wizard who had just entered the wandshop. Oh, to belong to that Wizard again! But it was not the Wizard whom I once knew who was in need of a wand that day. It was, instead, a small boy who had accompanied him into the store. The boy was dark-haired and handsome, quiet and mannerly. Surely this will be the Wizard for me! After all, he is here with the kind Wizard with whom I once lived.
I was anxious as the silvery eyes of the Wandmaker peered in my direction. Of the countless boxes piled throughout the shop, the Wandmaker, without hesitation, reached for mine. Certainly, this boy was the Wizard I was meant to serve! The excitement within me grew tenfold as the Wandmaker lifted me from my box. He paused for a moment, gently rolling the holly between his fingers, perhaps recalling the day he masterfully brought life to this simple piece of wood. He nearly smiled as he placed me in the boy’s hand. And instantly I felt something I had never felt with any other Wizard, though it was not at all what I had expected.
Coldness crept over me … not just from the young Wizard’s touch but from someplace deeper within him. There was an eeriness about him, something almost sinister. I shivered as an ominous sensation writhed its way into my core. And I was stunned. This can’t be right! But I knew inside what I had to do. There was no doubt. I felt the magic within the boy surge through me. I nearly exploded from the intense power, but I mustered every bit of strength I had, and I held it in. I would not let that vile boy control me. I refused to succumb. I fought him with all of the magic I could. I would not serve him. I would not become his tool. The boy must have known I was fighting him because the more I resisted, the more force I felt in turn. As our wills battled, the two grown Wizards watched intently yet seemingly unaware of the intensity of the scene before them. And as quickly as it began, the fierce fight came to an end. The Wandmaker's tender hand lifted me from the boy's and placed me, exhausted and relieved, back into my comfortable, dusty, velvet-lined box.
My relief, however, was short-lived. For that same hand which had just provided rescue for me, then opened the box that lay next to mine. The Wandmaker placed my brother in the young Wizard’s hand. And the moment the boy grasped the yew, there was a burst of light and sound like I had never witnessed in the wand shop. Streams in brilliant shades of green sparked and hissed furiously from the end of the wand. It was a spectacular sight to behold. But it was more. Did no one else notice the evilness that sprang forth from that boy? From that strange boy Wizard and his wand? His wand. Yew and Phoenix feather. My brother didn’t have to obey the boy. He could have refused him as I did. But something about the young Wizard must have appealed to my brother, must have intrigued him, seduced him. Whatever the reason, my brother had made his choice. And his choice frightened me.
His box wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with a bit of twine, my brother left the wandshop that day under the arm of the Wizard he had chosen to obey. The wonderful Wizard who had cared for me for so many years placed his arm around the boy’s shoulders and led him back through the door, under the clanging of the bell, and out into the rain.