The Only Thing Worse Than Witches (6 page)

Hic!

R
UPERT JUMPED OFF THE TABLE, AND
W
ITCHLING
Two's tear-water sloshed into the mesh of his sneakers. Her tears were already at Rupert's ankles. He slopped and splattered and splashed toward the closet under the staircase. Rupert yanked on the door handle, and the door very reluctantly opened against the current of tear-water.

Rupert dug around in the dark, dank closet and came out holding a bucket. He scooped some of Witchling Two's tear-water into the bucket, ran upstairs, and dumped it in the sink. Then he ran back and did it again.

“Please,” he said, after Witchling Two stopped howling so loudly, “don't cry! I was only teasing. There are no bunnies. They don't exist in Gliverstoll, and certainly not in my basement.”

Witchling Two hiccupped, tears still flowing.

“You're flooding my basement . . . and your lair.”

Witchling Two hiccupped again.
Hic!

Rupert couldn't believe what he was about to say, but he knew that it might be the only way to get Witchling Two to stop flooding his house. “That's right,” Rupert said. “If you stop crying, I'll let you use my basement as a lair. Promise.”

“But I
hic!
don't know
hic!
if I can stop.
Hic!
”

“You have to,” Rupert said. “Or else you'll flood my entire house. And then my mom will find out. And then I won't be allowed to be your apprentice anymore. And you might not pass your Bar Exam. And then you'll never get a name.”

Hic!

“Be right back!” Rupert said as he ran upstairs to dump out another bucket of water.

Rupert hopped up the stairs, accidentally sloshing water on the carpet of the first-floor hallway. He carefully speed-walked the rest of the way to the sink and dumped the water out again.

He ran back to the basement, his sneakers making SQUISHY noises and leaking water everywhere. The tear-water was up to Rupert's thighs now, and he tried not to think about what he would do if the water rose any higher.

Witchling Two still cradled her knees and hiccupped on the worktable. She dipped her bare toe into the water, and then curled up again. “Ru
hic!
pert,” she sputtered. “My
hic!
cauldron.” Witchling Two reached into her pocket and pulled out a flat piece of plastic. “It's my
hic!
port
hic!
able, inflatable cauldron!
Hic!
”

Rupert tore the cauldron away from her and blew into the plastic mouthpiece. The more he blew, the bigger the cauldron became
—
until it became so big that Rupert could fit inside the middle. Rupert tried to pass it off to Witchling Two, but she shook her head and backed away from it.

“No!” she said. “If I
hic!
touch it, it will
hic!
turn to iron!”

Rupert looked at it in confusion. “Well, what do I do with it?”

“Set it
hic!
in the water.” Witchling Two held her hands over the floating plastic cauldron and snapped her fingers. “Get this water
hic!
up, and drain it until the basement's neat,” she said.

The cauldron whizzed and whirred, and the tear-water in the basement began to churn. Then the whirling and twirling and swirling got faster and faster. Rupert jumped onto the table just in time
—
and then the cauldron sucked all the water into its middle like a vacuum.

For a minute, Rupert and Witchling Two held onto each other, listening only to Witchling Two's occasional
hic!
s. Then Rupert climbed off the table and peered into the cauldron. There was nothing inside. He examined the floor and the legs of the table, and they were both dry. Even his sneakers were dry.

Witchling Two crawled off the table, too, beaming. “Did I . . . actually perform a spell correctly?” she said, suppressing a hiccup.

“I think so
—
”

POP!

The cauldron exploded
—
smoke, light, dust, and all of the tear-water burst out. The water fell on their heads in fat droplets like a heavy rain. Then all of the sudden, the water turned into freezing ice pellets that plunked them in the head. Rupert pulled Witchling Two under the table to avoid getting hit.

“THE CAULDRON WASN'T BIG ENOUGH!” shouted Rupert.

“YES IT WAS!” shouted Witchling Two.

“THEN IT WAS YOUR SPELL!”

“MAYBE!”

Rupert tried to recall what she had said
—
and realized with horror. “GET THIS WATER
HIC!
UP AND DRAIN UNTIL THE BASEMENT'S NEAT,” he recited.

“WHAT?”

“THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID!” Rupert told her.

“WHAT'S WHAT I SAID?”

“YOU SAID GET THIS WATER
HIC!
UP AND DRAIN UNTIL THE BASEMENT'S NEAT, BUT YOUR SPELL MESSED UP. IT'S GETTING THIS WATER
PICKED
UP AND
RAINING
UNTIL THE BASEMENT
SLEETS
!”

Witchling Two put a hand to her mouth, then sank into her own icy tear-water in shame. “I'll never pass my Bar Exam!” she bubbled into the water, and then she started to whimper. And that whimper turned into a snivel. And that snivel turned into a weep. And that weep turned into nothing because Rupert ran over and shook her by the shoulders.

“No crying!” he said. “From now on, you can only cry when you're happy . . . like humans.”

Witchling Two nodded.

Rupert handed her a bucket, retrieved a mop from the closet, and the two of them set off on a long afternoon of very arduous manual labor.

There's Such a Thing as Too Friendly

R
UPERT HAD TO ADMIT—HE REALLY LIKED BEING
a witchling's apprentice. Now that they were all hidden from the Witches Council and the basement was no longer flooded with tears, Rupert felt better about his new job and his new friend.

For the past few days, they had spent each day after school preparing Rupert's basement to be Witchling Two's new lair. In the dead of night, Witchling Two had trudged back to her old lair and dragged her state-of-the-art copper cauldron and a few jars of unusual ingredients to Rupert's house. Rupert had felt guilty that she had to do it alone, but her lair was still human booby-trapped.

Besides, Witchling Two was really sneaky about getting her items out of her lair and into Rupert's house. She did it while the Witches Council was in session, and then she hid in a tree until Rupert's mother had left for work. After Rupert's mother was gone, Rupert had no qualms about helping Witchling Two lug her stuff inside.

He made Witchling Two set up her lair in the back corner of the room, so that his mother couldn't immediately see it from the top of the steps. Plus, he didn't think his mother had been in the basement for years. The thick cobwebs were proof of that. With her three jobs, she was just too busy to do anything except collapse when she got home from work.

Rupert had put Witchling Two's ingredients on bookshelves covered with old drapes full of mothballs, and he hid the cauldron underneath a tarpaulin. Then, they devised a sneaking system, so that Witchling Two could get in and out of her lair without being caught. This involved Rupert unlatching the basement window, which was just large enough for Witchling Two.

The system was working great so far, and Rupert's mom didn't suspect a thing. Everything was working perfectly
—
except for Witchling Two's magic. With all the hustle and bustle of getting her lair organized, unfortunately, they didn't have any time to practice. She only had three weeks left until her Bar Exam, and she was just as terrible as ever.

Witchling Two chattered constantly about the potions they would brew and the spells they would cast, but much to Rupert's disappointment, he and Witchling Two still hadn't actually practiced any magic. Witchling Two claimed they needed some more fresh ingredients for her potions, but Rupert had the sneaking suspicion that she was trying to avoid practicing the subjects she didn't like.

On Saturday, Rupert dragged Witchling Two to the grocery store to get the ingredients she needed.

“What do we need to buy?” Rupert asked Witchling Two as she skipped around the fresh produce.

Witchling Two paused and thought. “We need some rhubarb, parsley, chicken bones, and lollipops.”

Rupert stopped walking. “Lollipops?” he said. “For the potions?”

“Well, sure . . . if we need some loll or pop in a potion we could always just put one in.”

Rupert was not convinced. “So, the lollipops aren't for the potions, then.”

Witchling Two smacked her lips. Rupert thought he detected a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth.

“You are an addict,” he said, “and you have a problem.”

Witchling Two grinned and kept skipping.

“When are we going to get back to practicing your magic?” Rupert asked. “Don't you need to pass your Bar Exam?”

The witchling turned a sickly shade of gray. “Well, strictly speaking, technically, theoretically, notionally, supposedly, hypothetically, in principle, maybe, perhaps, possibly, yes,” she stammered.

“What happens if you don't pass your Bar Exam?”

Witchling Two stopped in front of the cauliflower, her eyes wide and terrified. “Expulsion,” she whispered. “Exile. Shame. They strip me of my powers, and then I'm forced to leave my family and wander nomadically, never to return home again.”

“And I thought being grounded was bad.”

“Not passing the Bar Exam is the worst thing that can ever happen to a witch.”

“So why aren't we working on your spells?”

“More ingredients, Rupert. More, more, more. We can't brew a proper potion without more ingredients.”

“But I thought you were worse at spells than potions
—
”

“MORE INGREDIENTS! MORE, MORE, MORE,” she shouted, plugging her ears.

Rupert laughed and slipped his hands in his pockets.

He followed Witchling Two as she inspected vegetables with one eye open. Occasionally, she would sniff an item, and very rarely she took a nibble. Whenever she did nibble on something, she put it back on the shelves.

Rupert cringed. No wonder
his mother always insisted on microwavable food.

When they got to the sweets and candies aisle, Rupert saw Kyle shopping with his father. Rupert and Kyle looked at each other and froze. Then Rupert backed out of the aisle, dragging Witchling Two by the arm.

“We don't need candy,” Rupert said. “Let's just go
—
please.”

Witchling Two looked behind her, then back at Rupert, trying to understand what just happened. “Who was that boy?” Witchling Two said. “Is he trouble? A bully? Do I need to teach him a lesson?” she said, cracking her knuckles.

Rupert shuddered from the sound. “No!” he said. “It's just a boy in my class . . . we used to be friends . . .”

“What, what?” Witchling Two begged, her eyes growing wide. “What happened?”

“Mrs. Frabbleknacker,” Rupert said. “She won't let any of us be friends anymore. We're not allowed to talk to each other in class or outside of class
—
hey, wait!” Rupert said as Witchling Two marched toward the candy aisle. “Wait
—
no! What are you doing? No! Stop it
—
no
!”

Rupert ran to the candy aisle, but it was too late
—
Witchling Two was already at the end of the aisle, next to Kyle and his dad. She stuck out a hand and smiled brightly. “Hello!” she said. “What's your name?”

Kyle looked like he was going to explode. He looked at Rupert for help, but Rupert looked down. He couldn't be caught talking to Kyle, and if Kyle knew what was best for him, he'd ignore Witchling Two as well.

“Er . . . I'm Kyle Mason-Reed.”

“Kyle Mason-Reed, huh? I think I've seen you at school. Well, Rupert and I were wondering if you'd like to come to the movies with us next weekend.” Witchling Two smiled at Kyle's father and batted her eyes innocently. “Would that be okay Mr. Mason-Reed?” she asked Kyle's father.

“It's just Mr. Mason,” Kyle's father said. “And Kyle is at his mother's house next weekend
—
but it should be okay with her. It's certainly okay with me.” Kyle's father rolled the shopping cart out of the candy aisle and called for Kyle to meet him after he exchanged numbers with the nice girl.

Kyle grabbed Witchling Two on the arm. “I am
not
going to the movies with you and Rupert.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to stay alive.” Kyle looked around the supermarket and lowered his voice to the faintest whisper. “You must be from Miss Snugglybuns's class, so you probably don't understand. But I'm in Mrs. Frabbleknacker's class, which means that I can't talk to Rupert. She'll know. I shouldn't even be talking to
you
!”

“That's nonsense,” Witchling Two said. “You guys are friends
—
you can't let Mrs. Frabbleknacker stop you from talking.”

Kyle dropped her arm and scurried down the candy aisle. He stopped when he was near Rupert, but neither boy looked at the other.

“Rupert,” said Kyle, to a bag of milk chocolate bars. “Are you insane? You think Bruno's toothpick punishment was bad? If Mrs. Frabbleknacker finds out that you've made friends with someone in Miss Snugglybuns's class, she'll probably make you swallow all those toothpicks whole!”

“Maybe,” said Rupert, suddenly feeling brave and daring. He peeled his eyes away from the shortbread cookies and looked directly at Kyle. “You're probably right . . . and maybe I'll get stomach splinters, but it's a whole lot better than not having any friends.”

Rupert marched to where Witchling Two was beaming with pride. He wheeled the cartful of potion ingredients to the cashier and paid with the emergency money his mother gave him. Then, he grabbed the bags of groceries and headed out of the store with Witchling Two in tow.

As they walked home, Rupert hoped he wouldn't regret talking to Kyle. He had disobeyed Mrs. Frabbleknacker's orders. And was what he said to Kyle even true? Was having friends really worth swallowing toothpicks?

Rupert hugged the paper grocery bag to his chest as he listened to Witchling Two chatter on and on about how right Rupert was.