Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 02 Competition's A Witch (2 page)

So. Agatha hated me. With a white, cold passion that made her blue eyes frost over every time she looked at me.

Mom had tensed when Agatha brought up the word “mortal.” “Prudence wishes to take the test early, Agatha. The other … unfortunate … incident is not relevant. Except perhaps to show that she regrets breaking the school rules, and wants to prove her willingness to fit in and become an outstanding, rule-abiding witch. She has been studying more than diligently, I assure you.”

“Studying hard, is she? What, I wonder, given the reports I have from her teachers that she often does things the mortal way?” Agatha leaned in to examine me more closely. I tried not to flinch. “Has your Talent manifested yet, in all this studying?”

“No.” Since arriving in Salem, I’d learned that I was supposed to have some big skill in one of the five Talent areas: Earth, Air, Water, Fire, or Magic. Magic was the most respected Talent, while Air and Water were bottom of the
heap. Since my mother was an Air Talent and my father was mortal, what I’d be was anyone’s guess. If I even manifested a Talent at all. Which is a depressing thought, given that a witch who doesn’t manifest a Talent isn’t even a full-fledged witch.

Mom jumped to my defense. “She will manifest soon, Agatha, I can sense it. If you could bend the rules a little, I’m sure regular magic classes would help Pru manifest her Talent even sooner. What could be the harm?”

Agatha looked at Mom with the same deep doubts I felt. Great. Neither one of us believed Mom was anything more than a mother who wanted to believe the best about her hopelessly unTalented child.

Agatha sighed deeply, clearly pained to have to deal with dunderheads like my mother and me. “You ask what harm in bending rules? You? Who married a mortal and raised two children in the mortal realm, then realized the folly of your ways and came back to beg me to help you teach your daughter what she should have been learning all along?”

Mom shifted a little in the hard white visitor’s chair. But she didn’t sound as if Agatha’s words had bothered her. “I thought you approved of students taking initiative.”

“Initiative? Is that what you call it?” Agatha’s blue eyes focused on me as if I were a particularly poor specimen of arrowroot. The kind that can make a potion do something it shouldn’t, as I had discovered the hard way.

“Yes. That is what I call it. She’s been studying, and I’ve had her tutored—”

“By whom?”

“My cousin, Seamus.” Mom almost, but not quite, mumbled the name.

Agatha might be a thousand years old, but her ears were still sharp. “Seamus? Another one who likes to ignore the rules and take unconscionable—and unfortunate—shortcuts. You’ve practically convinced me you’ve given this girl no choice but to cause trouble for herself and this school, Patience. Surely you have not forgotten the old days, and my lecture on the virtue imbued in your name. I feel certain I gave it to you so often, it must be engraved upon your eardrums.”

“Patience is not just a name, it is a virtue. I believe you even had me stitch it on a sampler.” Mom popped something onto Agatha’s desk. A sampler, hand-stitched, stretched, and framed in glass to preserve it. “As you can see, I still have it.” Mom looked at it with a smile. “I did a very good job, even you must admit.”

You’d think Agatha would be pleased that my mother still had her long-ago lesson at hand. But no. A fine mist of fury began to rise from her white robes. “I suppose your pride in such mundane mortal skills should have warned me that you would find the mortal world so appealing. I presume your mortal husband is still in the household?”

“Of course he is.” Mom popped her sampler away quickly, probably to prevent Agatha from destroying it in a fit of temper. “But I don’t see that as a problem at all. He fully supports our children training to be the best witches they can be. He would have been here, if only—”

“If only he weren’t mortal?” Agatha finished for her.

Mom nodded. “He wants Prudence to be the best witch she can be,” she repeated.

Ummm. Right. That’s why he turned green whenever we talked about magic in front of him. To be fair, he’s never asked us to stop. Not since we moved to Salem. But I know one reason, besides Agatha’s rules, that my dad wasn’t here at this meeting was that Mom hadn’t told him about it.

“I’ve never met a mortal who wasn’t eventually driven mad if he found himself privy to the knowledge that we witches exist,” Agatha said coldly.

“My husband is not mad.”

“Clearly. The man has managed to live with you for twenty years.” Agatha gave a delicate shudder, which somehow managed to convey how mad she thought that was.

Mom’s voice got that edge that meant her protective instincts were engaged. “My husband is a good man. I do not hold it against him that he is not a witch.”

“The trouble with mortals,” said Agatha, “is that they do not, and
can
not, believe in magic. As you are learning now”—Agatha glanced at me—“living in the mortal world
can be harmful to your children and their education.”

Mom sighed. “I know. I know. But I assure you that my husband not only believes in magic”—that was kind of a little white lie. Dad knows magic exists, because he lives with Mom. But he doesn’t think it’s a good thing, exactly—“he also loves and wants the best for his children.”

Agatha sniffed. “Then why would he insist that you raise Prudence blind and deaf to magic in the mortal world in the first place?” Apparently, the question was rhetorical, because Agatha continued before Mom or I could respond. “Because
he
can’t see it, he thinks it isn’t important.”

I didn’t like that she had a point. The problems I was having with my magical education were directly related to the fact that I had been living in the mortal world and trying to fit in there. Even dumb old mortal-raised me could see that.

For a minute, I dared to hope that Agatha would agree to let me test out of remedial magic classes early, just out of pity that my mom had taken such a misstep in my witchly education.

Until my mom said, “I chose to live in the mortal world. And to raise my children there. Magic isn’t everything.”

Magic isn’t everything
. If possible, the already Arctic temperature in Agatha’s office dropped to absolute zero. My mom had said it aloud. The words hung there in the frosty silence for a moment while none of us dared to breathe.

Agatha drew back as if Mom had said a very nasty four-letter
word. “I always wondered if you might have inherited a touch of madness from your grandmother.”

“My grandmother was not mad,” Mom replied. “She simply believed she could help ease suffering during the Black Death.”

“Indeed.” Agatha nodded, even though she clearly didn’t agree. “Well, I suppose we should be grateful that her untimely demise showed us witches were vulnerable to that disgusting mortal malady and helped our healers find a way to stop the plague before it could decimate us the way it did mortals.”

“Exactly. We are very proud of her.” Mom’s argument sounded weak to me. More avoidance of the central issue—namely, that she had raised us in the mortal world because she didn’t think magic was everything.

Agatha smiled, playing with my mother like a cat plays with a mouse. “Still, it would have been easier—not to mention healthier—for her just to avoid the area altogether until the plague passed. I don’t understand why some witches are so fascinated with mortals.”

Mom kept up her weak defense. “My grandmother didn’t believe that only witches deserved compassion. She was a healer, and that was what she did, no matter whether the invalid was a witch or mortal.”

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t a weak defense. It just wasn’t going to work against an ancient witch who was certain that mortals had nothing of interest to contribute to her life—or life in general.

As Agatha demonstrated when she spoke again. “Exactly.
Madness. Not that I’d expect you—or your daughter—to understand how dangerous dabbling in mortal things can be. Not to mention how dangerous magic can be when a witch is ill-trained.”

She narrowed her eyes and I knew she was thinking of the time bubble again.

Mom must have realized it too, because she quickly gave up defending her dead ancestor and came to the defense of her living—so far—daughter. “Prudence did not have the skill level to create a time bubble.”

“Nor did she have the sense to avoid it.” Agatha waved her hand. “You raised her among mooncalf mortals for sixteen years! For all I know, she believes that witches fly on brooms and can be killed by falling houses or buckets of water.”

“Prudence is a level-headed girl.”

Agatha’s raised eyebrow indicated a certain lack of reassurance. “But is she a competent witch? Can she be? I have grave doubts about whether or not she will ever be able to make up for the disgracefully poor education you provided her in the important formative years.”

Mom stood up. “The test will determine that.” She was angry. I only wished I knew whether she was angry because she thought Agatha was wrong—or because she was afraid she was right.

Agatha sat back, evidently pleased that she had made my mother lose her temper. “So it will.” She looked at me.
“Do you see why dealing with mortals can cause trouble?”

I knew I was supposed to say yes. But that felt like I was betraying both my mom
and
my dad. “As long as I don’t mix magic with mortal—”

“Enough.” Agatha leaned forward again. “You are not ready for the test.”

Frappiola. I was sinking fast. I remembered a trick that had worked for me in the past and dug frantically in my purse. “Wait! I’ll give up all my mortal ways. I promise. I want to be a witch. I want to be the best witch I can be.”

Agatha gave me a chilly smile. “Do you?”

My fingers clutched what I was looking for—a notepad and pen. I nodded, not daring to say anything that might ruin my chance to test out of the remedial class early.

“Then pay attention in Mr. Phogg’s class, and perhaps then you will understand how lucky you are to be away from life among mortals. And remember this, Miss Stewart: Talent without hard work makes the ancient ones sigh, but hard work without Talent makes them weep.”

I whipped out my pad and pen and wrote that down. “Got it. I’ll tape it to my mirror and read it every day when I brush my hair.” What teacher/headmistress/ancient weeyotch wouldn’t be impressed by that?

Agatha looked at my notepad as if it were a cockroach. Then she stared at Mom for a moment, and I think my mother actually squirmed, just a little.

I was squirming—inside, at least—a lot. Because witches don’t write with pen and paper. Pen and paper equals mortal. Equals Pru is the biggest loser ever.

I popped them away as quickly as I could. But it was too late.

“Magic
isn’t
everything?” Those cold blue eyes turned back to me. “If you want to test out of remedial magic—ever—first you must be sure that you do not let me see the taint of the mortal world. It has addled your mother’s judgment, and from what I have seen today, it will continue to get in the way of your magical education.”

“It won’t. I promise you.” I wouldn’t let it.

“I will be watching, Miss Stewart. And the answer to whether you will ever be allowed to test out of remedial classes will depend on what I see.”

Great. Just great. “I’ll work hard. You’ll see.” I smiled, as if I thought having Agatha watching me—judging me—were the best thing ever.

“And never forget hard work without Talent will earn a witch nothing. Magic
matters
. It’s
all
that matters.” With that, she waved her hand, sending a puff of cold, damp air against my face.

Mom and I were back in the kitchen before I could blink. Agatha’s final words, however, had lodged in my heart like an icicle launched from one of the Dorklock’s makeshift panty hose slingshots.

It didn’t help when Mistress Harte, the ghost who rules the netherworld inhabitants of our house, appeared to pat me on the head and drop a scrap of paper in my lap.

It read, “Hey, 666 Girl. Magic
is
everything.” It wasn’t signed, but I didn’t need a signature to know that I’d just gotten a note from Daniel. He was the one who’d nicknamed me after my unfortunate locker number, 666. The note flared up in smoke and disappeared. Just like Daniel had. It’d been a few days since the time bubble incident, but he was still on the lam.

“What was that?” Mom asked.

Right. I was going to tell her the boy who had nearly gotten me expelled was sending me notes? I don’t think so. “My life. Can’t you tell by the way it went up in smoke?”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Mom had a “these things happen and we have to be brave” look on her face.

“Right. Me too. Sorry you thought it was okay to raise us without magic.”

Because anything else would have been anticlimactic, I turned on my heel to stalk off. Then I caught myself. No more mortal moves. From now on, I was pure witch. And I popped off to cheerleading practice before Mom could say a word.

0-K! It’s time to fly! Don’t need no broom! This here witch! Is gonna own the room!

I was a little late for practice because of the meeting with Agatha. I had hoped to sneak in and start stretching without any of the girls—not to mention Coach Gertie and Tara, the head cheerleader—noticing, so that I would have time to get my cheer face on after getting shot down big-time. I also wanted to avoid the penalty for being late for practice, which ranged from ten laps to two
hundred push-ups, depending on how cranky Tara was.