The Only Thing Worse Than Witches (11 page)

Turning in the Essay

O
N
M
ONDAY, FOUR DAYS BEFORE
W
ITCHLING
Two's exam, Rupert walked into class with 200 words of his 500,000 word essay. He clutched his paragraph in his right hand and a water bottle of emerald glossy potion that Witchling Two had made him in his left. He'd let the potion sit for five days, and it was ready for use . . . whatever it did. Witchling Two still wouldn't tell him what potion she had brewed for him, and knowing her, he had no idea what to expect. He felt like he was going to vomit.

He looked to his left and saw Kyle Mason-Reed struggling to keep his stack of spiral notebooks from toppling. Rupert thought that he must have used twenty-five notebooks
—
he tried to count, but he kept messing up the numbers. Rupert looked to his right and saw an exhausted-looking Allison Gormley. Rupert had overheard Kaleigh whisper to Millie just before class that Allison's facial hair from Mrs. Frabbleknacker's potion had fallen out five hours after she had taken the potion, but until then Allison had spent the day hiding in the bathroom stall, wailing that she was going to have to join a circus. And Rupert had overheard Bruno tell Francis that Hal had stopped vomiting worms one hour after he drank the potion. Rupert was relieved that at least Allison and Hal were back to normal. Manny, unfortunately, was still trapped in his jar on the windowsill.

But Manny's punishment was nothing compared to what Rupert feared would happen to him today.

He looked at Allison again. She stroked her neat stack of typed printer paper. Her pile was even taller than Kyle's, and Allison sat straight in her seat, looking rather pleased with herself.

Rupert looked around the rest of the classroom. His classmates looked positively ghoulish: pale skin, droopy eyes, solemn faces. A few people struggled to stay awake, and Rupert watched as Hal and Kaleigh slept with their chins tucked to their chests
—
and then violently jerked their heads upward to wake themselves.

Rupert felt completely out of place. He was the only well-rested one
and
the only one who hadn't done the assignment. Everyone
—
Allison, Kyle, Kaleigh, Hal, Millie, Francis, and even Bruno
—
was fiddling with a giant pile of papers. Rupert placed his single sheet of paper on his desk with a sickly wince.

Mrs. Frabbleknacker kicked the door open. “Children
,
” she said, as though she was saying something truly awful like
Morning Breath
or
Snot Pudding.
“Today is a very special day. A day of science for
some
,” she looked straight at Rupert's desk.

Rupert gulped. His hands clutched his water bottle even tighter.

Mrs. Frabbleknacker walked down the first row of students, her shoes clip-clopping in time with Rupert's nervous pulse. He looked away from Mrs. Frabbleknacker for a quick moment, and his gaze rested on Manny, who was calmly nibbling a leaf inside his jar on the windowsill.

“Too few words,” Mrs. Frabbleknacker said as she walked past Bruno's desk. She picked up Bruno's essay and whacked him on the head with it. “Too many words,” Mrs. Frabbleknacker said as she walked past Allison's desk. She punched Allison's papers, and the entire stack fell with a
swoosh
all over the floor. Allison blinked in disbelief. Then she ran from the classroom crying.

Rupert used the distraction as the perfect opportunity to bring the water bottle up to his lips and gulp down a few sips of Witchling Two's potion. He thought intensely about Mrs. Frabbleknacker
—
about the way she terrified him with every clomping step, the way she made every lesson into a dangerous task, and the way he would never ever smell bananas or belly-button lint in quite the same way again. When Rupert had taken five glugs, he quickly lowered the bottle and licked his lips. The potion tasted like bubble gum and mint and cinnamon all mixed together, like extra tangy mouthwash. Which was not what he was expecting, since Witchling Two had said it tasted like cabbages and gravy.

Rupert brought the bottle down to his knees and watched as scribbly handwriting suddenly appeared on the side of the water bottle.
Sand Potion
, it said. Rupert had no idea what that was
—
or what that could even be.

He slipped the water bottle in his backpack and waited for something amazing to happen. But the problem was that Rupert didn't
feel
any different. No tingles, no fuzzies, no change whatsoever. And that was a problem because Mrs. Frabbleknacker was right behind him, and he had no backup plan.

Mrs. Frabbleknacker flicked a match and lit Manny's notebooks on fire. She threw her head back and laughed until his essay crumbled into dusty ash. Then she turned to Rupert.

Rupert clutched his two hundred words with both hands, trembling. Mrs. Frabbleknacker hovered above him, her long neck twisted like a floor lamp. Slowly and meekly, Rupert looked up into her eyes.

Mrs. Frabbleknacker's eyes slipped and stumbled
—
her gaze was glued to the floor. She tried to bring her eyes upward to meet Rupert, but she couldn't keep her eyes locked on him. She grew redder and redder
—
the more she tried to look at Rupert and realized she couldn't
—
and madder and madder.

Her thin lips twisted into an ugly snarl, and her pointy nose cringled up.

“RUPERT CAMPBELL!” she shouted, looking like she was about to pop. Her voice echoed throughout the classroom. Kyle leaned over and patted Rupert's hand sadly.
I'll always remember you fondly,
his expression seemed to say.

Mrs. Frabbleknacker grabbed the edge of Rupert's desk, but Rupert slipped out the side just before she threw the desk against the wall. It broke into four pieces.

“Tell me class,” Mrs. Frabbleknacker said, steaming. “One minute a lazybones little boy is sitting in his desk
—
and the next minute he's gone!”

Rupert's classmates looked at Mrs. Frabbleknacker as though she was insane. Rupert inched against the chalkboard with a finger to his lips, warning his classmates not to look at him or point him out.

“But you aren't gone,
are you
?” Mrs. Frabbleknacker spat. “
Rupert Campbell.
I may not see you, but I can smell you. I can hear you. And I can
feel
you
—
”

Mrs. Frabbleknacker lunged at the chalkboard, and Rupert dashed to the other side of the classroom. She caught hold of Rupert's shirt and grabbed it, but he pulled away, tearing his shirt in the process.

Rupert didn't waste a second
—
he burst from the classroom and ran down the hall. He didn't know if Mrs. Frabbleknacker was following him or not, but he didn't have time to turn around and find out. He needed more help and more protection than he had ever needed before. And there was only one person who could help him: Witchling Two.

Double Trouble

R
UPERT
L
OCKED
HIS
FRONT
DOOR
BEHIND
HIM
, ran through the house, and panted in the doorframe of his basement.

“Rupert?” Witchling Two said. She popped up from behind the wooden table. “How did the potion work on Mrs. Frabblebabble?”

Rupert stomped over to her and slammed his hands on the table. “
HOW?
She's madder than ever!”

Witchling Two giggled. “I knew it would work. I am good at potions, even if I'm rubbish at spells. Speaking of which, how would you like to practice spells today? My Bar Exam is coming up in four days, and I'm no better off today than when I met you.”

“We have bigger problems than your Bar Exam right now!”

Witchling Two pouted. “Well there's no need to shout,” she said.

“I don't understand what you did to me anyway. A
sand potion
—
what is that?” Rupert thought about the way Mrs. Frabbleknacker's eyes couldn't stay on him. Rupert's jaw dropped. “You made me slippery to the human eye . . . just like sand is slippery to witches! Does that mean Mrs. Frabbleknacker isn't a witch after all?”

“I didn't make you slippery to the human eye, silly,” Witchling Two said. “Just to Mrs. Frubblebubble's eyes. You
were
thinking about her when you took the potion, right?”

“Of course I was, but that's not the prob
—
”

CRASH.

The sound of broken glass rattled throughout the house.

“She's here!” Rupert hissed. “Mrs. Frabbleknacker!” He scurried underneath the table and hid.

“I'll deal with her,” Witchling Two said. “No Mrs. Fribbleknobber is going to mess with my apprentice!”

Rupert held his knees and sucked in a great big breath. He hoped, wished, and prayed that his evil teacher wasn't at the basement door. He wasn't sure what Witchling Two could do to fight her
—
after all, she still wasn't very good at spell-work
—
but he appreciated the thought.

He was doomed. Utterly and completely doomed.

Witchling Two gasped, and Rupert threw his hands over his ears to block out the worst from coming.

“W-what are you doing here?” Witchling Two said, her voice unnaturally high-pitched.

“I knew it!” a familiar voice crowed. Rupert peeked out from under the table
—
Witchling Two's guardians, Nebby and Storm, were lingering by the stairs, their hoods shrouding their faces. Rupert could only see Nebby's very disapproving frown and Storm's very gleeful grin.

“I knew it!” Storm shouted again, throwing her hood back to reveal her pointed, wrinkly face. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! I
told
you that our witchling was still seeing the humanling! I
told
you she had been gallivanting with this boy! I
told
you it would land us in nothing but trouble!”

Nebby removed her hood, too, and Rupert almost winced when he saw her face. She was wearing the I'm-very-disappointed-in-you expression. Of all the faces a parent could make, Rupert knew that was the worst one.

“How long have you known?” Witchling Two squeaked.

“Oh, we've known for a while,” Nebby said ominously. “And what's more, the Fairfoul Witch also knows, now. She is
furious
.”

Witchling Two grew pale. Rupert watched her tongue flub around in her mouth, trying to wrap around the perfect words. “Fairfoul knows?” she squeaked.

Storm and Nebby nodded, and a knot tugged in Rupert's stomach.

“How?” Witchling Two asked.

“I don't know. It was very sudden. At the stroke of the Witching Hour, she stormed out of her lair shouting profanities about a boy named Rupert Campbell,” Nebby said.

Storm nodded sagely. “Must have consulted the tea leaves this afternoon. Yes, yes, she must have.”

“But when would she have found out?” Witchling Two asked. “Everyone knows she sleeps all day.”

“It doesn't matter,” Nebby said. “What matters is that she knows.”

“We should have stopped them, Nebby,” Storm said, though she was glaring at Rupert and Witchling Two. “I
told
you we should have stopped them before Fairfoul found out!”

“Why didn't you?” Rupert said.

Nebby's swiveled her head to look at him, and for the first time, Rupert thought he saw some gentleness swimming behind her eyes. “She was improving
—
her potions were sharper, suddenly she was acing her practice WHATs, and she was confident. And,” Nebby paused to put her hand on Witchling Two's shoulder, “parents want to see their witchlings happy, Rupert. And Witchling Two has never been happier.”

Witchling Two nodded robustly.

“But now I see that indulging your friendship was a mistake.”

“Why's that?” Rupert asked.

“Didn't you hear, boy?” Storm said. “The Fairfoul Witch is furious! Fairfoul! And if Fairfoul is furious, then the rest of the Witches Council is furious, too.”

“You can't practice with this boy any longer,” Nebby said. “The Witches Council knows his identity
—
you've put this boy at deep risk. Though, he was already in deep risk
—
now he's a walking time bomb.”

“That's exactly why I can't
leave him,” Witchling Two said firmly. “I didn't leave Rupert when the witches smoked us out of Pexale Close. I didn't leave him when the Witches Council was chasing us. I didn't leave him when he was having problems with Mrs. Frocklebopper. And I won't leave him now.”

Rupert grinned. They really were friends.

Nebby elbowed Witchling Two. “You sure have a sensitive spot for this boy, hmm?”

“Getting into trouble, all day and all night!” crowed Storm. Then she bent over and laughed uncontrollably until she hiccupped for breath.

Witchling Two cocked her chin upward, a defiant expression etched on her face. But when she spoke, her voice trembled. “Storm Witch, Nebulous Witch
—
I've never asked you for anything big before, but I need your help now. If the Fairfoul Witch finds us, Rupert and I are
both
cooked. We need a protection spell around Rupert's house, and I need you to cast it. So will you help me?”

“We are bound to the code of the Witches Council,” Storm said. “Technically, the Witches Council is supposed to find you and punish the boy
—
and since Fairfoul is the highest ranking witch, we should not disobey.”

Rupert grabbed Witching Two's hand. Were they going to have to fight their way out of the basement against her guardians? Would they turn him over to the Fairfoul Witch?

Nebby took a step closer, and Rupert took one backward.

Nebby paused and smiled softly. “Don't be scared, Rupert. Witchling Two means more to us than a Fairfoul Witch decree. You ought to know that by now.” Nebby walked to Witchling Two and affectionately patted her head. “You are
our witchling, our family
—
and we will protect you. At least
—
until we figure out a long-term plan for you, Rupert. As I said, you are in terrible danger. Storm and I need to do a little investigating within the Witches Council before we can figure out how best to handle your situation. Promise me you'll stay put until we return. We'll discuss your options then, okay?”

Rupert nodded. “All right, I promise.”

The Storm Witch and the Nebulous Witch both closed their eyes.

“Protection! Invisibility! Safety!” they shouted together.

“Unlimited supply of chips!” Witchling Two added.

And then they all snapped their fingers.

Rupert cowered as the house shook and thousands of whips rained from the ceiling. The Storm Witch and the Nebulous Witch clicked their tongues disapprovingly and snapped their fingers
—
the whips disappeared.

“You, boy,” the Storm Witch snorted. “If you're really going to help her train, then make sure she practices her spells. She'll never pass with ruddy magic like that.”