The Courage of Cat Campbell (13 page)

“That would be funny! Come on. I'll walk with you some of the way.”

“Can we swap backpacks?”

“Nope!” Peter shook his head. “You have to be brave, Cat, remember.”

Most days after school Cat loved stopping in front of Ruthersfield so she could watch all the girls taking off on their broomsticks. Usually there were a lot of shrieks and giggles as the students swooped into the air. The more advanced girls liked showing off with elegant turns and dives, while the beginners wobbled about on their broomsticks, making shaky trails across the sky. Today though, it was as if someone had put a silencing spell on the academy. There was no chattering or laughter as the girls spilled out of the building. Those who were flying took off quietly into the air, while the walkers headed home with solemn expressions on their faces. Ms. Roach, the headmistress, talked to a group of worried parents, probably trying to calm their fears, Cat guessed. All the teachers looked grave, even Clara Bell, but when she saw Cat she gave her a small, encouraging wave. Two students stood near Cat and Peter on the curb, waiting to be picked up. They had their hats balanced on their bags and were staring at the cars driving past, searching for their ride.

“Hats on, please,” a teacher barked out, marching past in her long purple gown. “Good impressions are essential right now.” The girls picked up their pointed hats, gave them a shake to get out the creases, and shoved them onto their heads.

“It's so unfair,” one of the girls said, after the teacher had gone by. “Just because Madeline Reynolds went to school here, people think Ruthersfield must be to blame. As if we'll all turn out evil.”

“My mum says it's witches like her that give the rest of us a bad name,” her friend said.

“I know,” the first girl grumbled, tucking in her shirt. “So we've all got to be on our best behavior. Especially since Ms. Roach says there are going to be reporters everywhere, getting the backstory on evil old Reynolds.”

“Cat, come on.” Peter started to walk away. “I feel weird standing here, listening in on their conversations. We'll probably get arrested for loitering.”

Cat reluctantly followed Peter down the street, touching a hand to her head and wondering how it would feel to wear a witch's hat. They walked in silence for a while, each caught up in their own thoughts.

“You know, Mamma did a biography project on Madeline Reynolds when she was at school,” Cat said at last. “All about how she loved music and singing. Apparently she was a fantastic spell chanter.”

“I wonder why your mum would have picked her,” Peter said.

Cat suddenly felt too hot inside her jacket, even though there was a bitter wind blowing. She unzipped her anorak, looking away from Peter. It made her so uneasy, thinking that her mother and Madeline Reynolds had anything in common. “Mamma said Madeline Reynolds reminded her of herself,” Cat confessed. “She believes she was terribly sad.”

“Wow!” Peter tried to catch Cat's eye, but she refused to look at him.

“Mamma thinks Madeline Reynolds didn't want to be a witch,” Cat continued. “Just like she didn't want to be one.”

“And that's what sent her over to the dark side?”

“Who knows?” Cat shrugged, shoving her hands in her pockets. She finally met Peter's gaze. “Not that any of that matters now, does it? The point is she's the worst storm brewer in history, and she's flying around out there somewhere.” A sheet of newspaper went fluttering across the road, and Cat shivered, zipping her jacket back up again.

As she walked down the canal path toward the bakery, Cat could see the door opening and closing, spilling people and light out into the chilly afternoon. The scent of vanilla and chocolate perfumed the air, and Cat knew Marie Claire had made her famous chocolate butter bread. She usually made it only on Wednesdays, which, Marie Claire said, was a day when bad things seemed to happen and people often needed cheering up. But she was clearly making an exception by baking it a day early. After all, you couldn't get much worse than Madeline Reynolds escaping from Scrubs, Cat decided. The windows of the bakery were all fogged up, but Cat could still see how crowded it was inside. It seemed like everyone in Potts Bottom was in need of some comfort eating, and Poppy and Marie Claire were boxing up cakes and macaroons as fast as they could manage. Cat had a hard time opening the door and jostling her way through the crowd. Seeing that poor Marie Claire looked exhausted, Cat threw down her backpack and put on an apron. “You go and sit,” she said at once. “I'll take over.”

“You are a good girl,
chérie
.” Marie Claire hobbled over to the kitchen door, and Cat noticed how swollen her ankle looked.

“Put your feet up, Marie Claire. When it calms down here, I'll make you a cup of tea.”

“I said a loaf of chocolate butter bread and ten cupcakes, please,” Mrs. Mitchell shouted at Cat. Mrs. Mitchell was the town librarian and never raised her voice, so this was most unlike her. Cat could feel the anxiety hovering over the villagers.

“It's been like this all day,” Poppy whispered, wrapping ribbon around a box of lemon tarts. “Everyone is nervous.”

Maxine Gibbons was huddled in a corner of the shop, talking to Mrs. Plunket. She had a loaf of bread clutched in her arms but clearly wasn't ready to leave.

“I mean, it's bringing back all sorts of memories,” Maxine said, not even bothering to keep her voice down. Cat had never understood why her grandmother spent so much time at Maxine's house. Glancing at the counter, Maxine nodded at Cat and then turned right back to Mrs. Plunket. Lowering her voice a bit, but still speaking loud enough for Cat to hear, she went on, “Honestly, I'm far too nervous to sleep tonight. I'll never forget when Poppy went over to the dark side. Just like Madeline Reynolds, she was.”

“Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Gibbons?” Cat called out sweetly. “We're awfully crowded in here, so if you've finished your shopping, do you mind making room for other people?”

Poppy gave her daughter a grateful smile as Maxine stalked out of the shop. “She's been in here for almost an hour,” Poppy murmured.

“Well, it's about time she left then, isn't it?” Cat replied, suddenly feeling protective toward her mother. It was okay for Cat to be mad at her, but it was not okay for Maxine Gibbons to say mean things.

By the time the bakery closed, there was nothing left on the shelves except for a few raspberry shortbread cookies. Cat swept the floor and wiped down the counters, while Poppy locked the front door and emptied the cash register. “Thank you so much for all your help, Cat,” Poppy said. “I couldn't have managed without you this afternoon.”

“Are you okay, Mamma?” Cat asked. Her mother's face was pale as cake flour, and she had lines etched across her forehead.

“It's bringing back memories for me, as well,” Poppy said. “Not just for nosy old Maxine.” She tucked a strand of loose hair back into her braid and forced herself to smile. “Anyway, I don't need to be thinking about the past, do I? If tomorrow is anything like today, I'll have to get started on my bread doughs. I've never seen the bakery this busy.” She kissed Cat on the forehead as she walked past, an impulsive kiss that made Cat suddenly brave.

“Mamma?” Poppy stopped and turned around. “Could you just watch me practice some spell breathing exercises?” Cat said. “Tell me if I'm doing them right. It's meant to be a good way to help with control.”

“Cat, please.” Poppy held up her hand. “I can't deal with this right now. Honestly, how can you even think about magic with Madeline Reynolds on the loose?”

“Because I love it.” Cat gripped the broom hard. “And I would never end up on the dark side, Mamma. You know that.”

Poppy opened the door behind the counter that led to the rest of the cottage. “Well, thank goodness you won't get the chance to find out,” she said. “Now no more talk of Ruthersfield, okay?”

Letting the broom clatter to the floor, Cat ran upstairs to her room.

"T
HE LATE BLOOMER'S GUIDE TO MAGIC"
lay open on Cat's bed. Since her mother had refused to help her, Cat would just have to do this by herself. There was no other way. If she wanted to learn to control her magic, she had to start conquering her fears.

It took Cat fifteen minutes to open the container with the spider in it. Every time she got close to lifting the lid, she'd cram the top on again and back away. “I can't do it,” Cat whispered. “I just can't.” What if the spider crawled up her sleeve, scurrying over her skin on its fat furry legs? Spiders moved so fast. One of the things Francesca Fenwick advised in her book was that naming your fears made them easier to face, so Cat decided to call the spider Boris, hoping this might make her feel less scared of him. This was all much harder than she had anticipated, and by the time she finally got the lid off and peeked inside, her palms were damp with sweat and her face was flushed pink. Once she had done it though, it wasn't quite as hard the next time. Cat managed to take the lid on and off twice more before her mother called her down for dinner. On the third time Cat even managed to hold the container in her hand rather than peering into it on the floor.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Over shepherd's pie and peas, Marie Claire did most of the talking while Cat and her mother said very little, avoiding eye contact with each other. It was a relief when the meal finally ended, and after helping wash the dishes, Cat went straight back up to her room. She planned to practice a little bit more. Maybe even touch Boris with a finger, but her skin tingled at the mere thought, and Cat decided she might not be ready for that yet.

“Cat, are you there?” Peter said, his voice crackling through the walkie-talkie.

Cat grabbed the receiver and sat on her bed. “I'm making friends with the spider, Peter. I've called him Boris.”

“Cat, listen a second. This is really important.” Peter was breathing hard. “I think I've worked out where Madeline Reynolds is going. And it's definitely not Italy!” There was a crackly pause. “You're not going to like this, but I thought you'd want know so you could be prepared. I'm quite certain she's coming here to Potts Bottom.”

“What?” Cat hunched up her legs, glancing around her room. “How on earth did you figure that?”

“You have to go back to the root of the problem to find out the answer,” Peter said, sounding excited. “Just like a simple math equation.”

“I'm not following at all, Peter, and you're making me extremely nervous.”

“Well, I've been mulling over what your mum told you. How she always thought Madeline Reynolds was sad because she didn't want to be a witch.”

Cat could almost hear Peter jiggling up and down. She imagined his hair sticking out in wild, frizzy clumps the way it always did whenever he had one of his brain waves.

“And I keep looking at that photograph of her in the paper, Cat, and she does look sad.”

“But why would that make her come back to Potts Bottom?”

“Because this is where her unhappiness began. At Ruthersfield,” Peter said. “Just like Auntie Poppy.” There was a burst of static. “Can you hear me, Cat?”

“I can hear you.”

“I bet she's so angry at this place, she's planning to come back here and do something really awful,” Peter continued. “Imagine being locked up in jail for years and years, all that evilness and anger brewing away. And then you escape. You bust free. Who would you want to take your fury out on?”

“Peter, stop it!” Cat cried out at the same time that Peter yelled, “Ruthersfield!”

“Now I'm not going to sleep one wink tonight. Have you told your dad?”

“Course I have,” Peter answered. “He yawned, said ‘Nice idea, Pete, reminds me of your asteroid one!' and flopped onto the sofa. Apparently every police precinct in the country—actually in the whole world—has been flooded with calls from people worrying that Madeline Reynolds is coming to their town.”