Pure Dead Magic (7 page)

One by one, the stars became visible, linking dot by dot into recognizable constellations. Just as Titus had identified the Big Dipper, a wavering black dot appeared on the horizon.

Regular as clockwork, the water lilies stirred as Tock’s knobbly snout broke the surface of the moat, and with a series of rusty honks and creaks, the crocodile welcomed his mistress home. The black dot grew into a blot and then a shape, then a vaguely identifiable silhouette and … “Mum!” yelled Titus.

Signora Strega-Borgia was back.

By the time Titus had skidded down the nine flights of stairs that connected the observatory to the great hall downstairs, his mother was handing her broomstick keys over to Latch.

“Stick it in the workshop, would you, Latch?” she said, peeling off her leather flying helmet and tossing her gauntlets onto the hall table. “I’ll need you to have a look at it tomorrow. It’s running very rough, and I nearly stalled over Edinburgh.
Sticky moment there, beastly thing started shedding twigs and coughing and spluttering over the castle,
much
to the amusement of a crowd of American tourists, and I’m sure I’ve caught a cold from hanging around up there, but we got here in the end.…”

Signora Strega-Borgia caught sight of her son and ran forward to give him a huge hug. “Dear Titus, how I’ve missed you,” she whispered into his hair. She smelled of engine oil and perfume, the fragrance of mothers returned from far away. Titus squeezed her tight, and then, after a moment, looked up at her beloved face. Two miniature reflections of himself stared back out of his mother’s green eyes. “Oh, Titus, I can’t tell you—it’s been
such
fun, but oh, how I’ve missed you all,” she said, wrapping one arm round his shoulders. “Did you miss me?”

Latch coughed, and tactfully departed for broomstick-parking duty.

“Every night,” said Titus truthfully. “Your bed was empty, and Mrs. McLachlan said we could come into hers, but she
snores.
”

“Where are the others?” asked Signora Strega-Borgia. “I’m starving, what’s for tea? D’you know, Titus, I haven’t eaten a decent fry since I left here last week. I could
die
for Mrs. McLachlan’s cooking.”

“I think it’s Marie Bain’s turn tonight,” said Titus as they walked entwined toward the Schloss kitchen.

“Oh dear,” said Signora Strega-Borgia.

The smell that assaulted them from the open kitchen door could have been bottled and sold as an offensive weapon. Marie Bain hunched by the range, defensively stirring while Mrs. McLachlan hovered nearby trying to be tactful.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that, dear,” she said. “Don’t you feel that three-quarters of an hour is a mite too long for a wee potato?”

Marie Bain sniffed in a disapproving way and pointedly turned her back on the nanny.

“Heavens, dear, I didn’t mean to criticize—I’m sure you know better than I how to boil a tattie, and what
is
that delicious fish you’re cooking?”

Marie Bain brightened slightly and lifted the lid on seven leathery haddocks. “Ees smocked hiccup, the Signora’s favoreet,” she said, prodding the pallid fish, as if to check that she had, indeed, succeeded in murdering them.

At the kitchen door, Signora Strega-Borgia looked at her son, put her finger to her lips, and drew him back into the corridor. “Shhh. Don’t say a word. Just find Pandora and Damp, and tell them it’s suppertime.”

“But I
hate
haddock and sprouts,” moaned Titus.

“Bring your sisters and I’ll see you in the dining room in ten minutes.”

“I shan’t eat it,” warned Titus as his mother rolled up her sleeves and strode into the kitchen.

Marie Bain placed the last plateful in front of Damp. Damp took one look at what was in front of her and opened her mouth to howl.

“How
lovely,
Marie,” said Signora Strega-Borgia. She unfurled her napkin and tied it under Damp’s chin. “My favorite, smocked hiccup.…”

“And ees also bottled sprats,” added the cook, helpfully identifying the pile of swamp greens attacking the hiccup.

“I’m sure we shall all dine like kings,” lied Signora Strega-Borgia. “Thank you, Marie. Please don’t wait up for us, we’ll clear our own dishes tonight.”

Marie Bain, wreathed in smiles, departed for the kitchen, leaving Mrs. McLachlan and the family to the privacy of the dining room.

“I’d rather starve than eat this,” said Pandora, glaring at her plate.

“I did try, dear,” said Mrs. McLachlan, “but Marie Bain is so sensitive to any criticism.…”

“Tell me about it,” agreed Titus. “If we leave anything on our plates, she’ll go into a sulk for days.”

“I have a surprise for you all,” announced Signora Strega-Borgia, producing a slim metal rod from beneath the table. “I learned some new spells at the Institute this week—nothing too adventurous, just Level Two Shrinking, Advanced Enlarging, and a smattering of Transformation.”

“You first, Titus,” she said, sliding his plate toward herself. Her wand described several circles around the plate, at first, slow and deliberate, and then as she gained confidence, faster and faster, until the tip of the wand became a blur of light. The unwanted plateful began to fade, as if all its color was being drained away, until it looked like a black-and-white line drawing of a plate with blobs of food on it. The candles in the middle of the table flickered as Signora Strega-Borgia used her wand as an eraser, and bit by bit, rubbed out the inedible dinner.

“Wow!” gasped Pandora, looking meaningfully at her brother. “I wish I could do that.”

“Mum, that’s really cool, but …,” said Titus.

“Ow!” yelled Signora Strega-Borgia, dropping the wand onto the tablecloth. “The beastly thing keeps on overheating.” She plucked the wand from the smoldering tablecloth and plunged it into a nearby wine bottle, where it bubbled and spat for a moment before subsiding with a small eruption of steam. “Pretty neat, huh?” she said in triumph. “Who’s next?”

“Mum.” Titus clutched his stomach. “I’m
starving.
”

“Ah,” said Signora Strega-Borgia, decanting the wand from the wine bottle. “I’m not very adept at the next bit—we did do a spot of fizzy-water-into-claret and princes-into-frogs stuff—let’s see if I can remember …”

Mrs. McLachlan and the family watched in amazement as Signora Strega-Borgia used her wand to draw lines of light on the tablecloth. The lines began to describe the shape of a large pudding bowl full of something. Damp’s eyes grew wide. Signora Strega-Borgia’s wand was behaving like a paintbrush, filling color in between the lines.

“Very nice, dear,” said Mrs. McLachlan approvingly. “Lemon meringue pie and mint ice cream, by the look of it?”

A puff of smoke came from the end of the wand, and with a small wheeze, it flopped, dangling from its owner’s hand like a dead eel. “Blast this thing,” muttered Signora Strega-Borgia, trying to make the wand stand up straight. The wand curled up like a pretzel and gave out a dying rattle.

Meanwhile, Titus dug his spoon into his ice cream and scooped a huge spoonful into his mouth. “Blaaark,” he spat. “Brussels sprout ice cream!”

Damp’s bottom lip popped out and began to quiver.

Titus approached the pie with extreme caution, dissecting a minute sliver and gingerly placing it on his tongue.

“Well?” asked Pandora, enjoying the delightful spectacle of her brother gagging into his napkin. “Do tell?”

Titus grabbed his water glass and rinsed his mouth thoroughly. “Haddock and potato meringue pie,” he groaned.

Mrs. McLachlan rose to her feet, piled up the unwanted plates, and scraped the leftovers into an ornamental potpourri bowl.

“How are you going to hide that lot from Marie Bain?” asked Pandora.

Mrs. McLachlan poked her head round the door to the hall and called, “Kno-ot … Ffu-u-up … Sab … Din-dins!”

The approaching thunder of yeti pad, dragon claw, and griffin toe was punctuated by a crash and a crescendo of shrieks from Marie Bain.

“Coast’s clear,” announced Mrs. McLachlan, heading out the door with the bowl of leftovers. “Anyone for fries?”

The Night Outside …

S
ignora Strega-Borgia was walking the pets before bedtime. Tock waddled happily alongside his beloved mistress, Ffup and Sab flew overhead, and Knot lagged behind, occasionally rolling in dirt and sniffing in puddles.

Signora Strega-Borgia swung their leashes and inhaled the night air. “Just a bit farther,” she said, “and then we must go home to our beds.… Sab and Ffup, you haven’t gone yet, have you?”

Two spectacular crashes in the bushes, followed by a spreading smell, informed her that the griffin and the dragon had performed obediently.

“Good boys,” she said encouragingly. “But, oh dear, those dinner leftovers didn’t agree with you, did they?”

Knot belched loudly from behind a flowering shrub. Its white flowers wilted slightly, and Tock stopped in his tracks, covered his nose with his claws, and honked piteously.

In the distance, an owl hooted. Knot listened intently and began to drool. “Not now, Knot. You’ve
been
fed,” said Signora Strega-Borgia, stopping by the edge of the duck pond to shake a stone free of her shoe.

Tock sighed. It had been a few weeks since he’d sunk his teeth into a decent nanny, and although it was too dark to see the ducks, he could
smell
them. He opened his jaws with a creak and dipped an experimental claw into the water.… Signora Strega-Borgia sneezed explosively. At once, five startled ducks took flight and a lovelorn toad fell backward off his lily pad and sank into the darkness of the pond. Tock closed his jaws with a disappointed honk.

“Blast it,” said Signora Strega-Borgia, sneezing again. Tock gazed at his mistress in alarm as she rooted around in her pockets, hunting for something to wipe her nose with.

“Aaaachoo! Not
again.
Oh, where are my tissues? Aaaachoo! Oh
dear
 … Knot? Knot, come here, pet.”

The yeti obediently shuffled closer until he stood beside Signora Strega-Borgia. She took one of his matted and hairy arms, brought it up to her face, and delicately wiped her nose with it.

“Better. Thanks, Knot, but stay close till we’re home, I might need you again. Aaachoo!” Sneezing fitfully, Signora Strega-Borgia headed for home. The StregaSchloss lay before her, tucked snugly into a fold of land that tapered off into the sea loch. Faraway lights glimmered across the water. The distant puttering of a lobster boat putting out to sea and the leathery flap of Sab and Ffup wheeling around overhead were the only sounds disturbing the silence. StregaSchloss looked like a ship at sea.

Unfortunately, a captainless ship, thought Signora Strega-Borgia, blinking rapidly to forestall the inevitable tears that came when her thoughts turned to her missing husband. Captainless, but not adrift, she reminded herself. Sailing with Mrs. McLachlan firmly at the helm. For the umpteenth time, Signora Strega-Borgia gave silent thanks for the good fortune that had brought dear, sensible Nanny McLachlan to StregaSchloss.

Her home beckoned, its dark mass dotted here and there with lights shining from windows, magically afloat in a night garden.

“Aaachoo!” sneezed Signora Strega-Borgia, breaking the spell.

Wordlessly, Knot extended an arm.

 … And the Night Within

I
’m only doing this because I’m desperate, thought Pandora, tiptoeing into her mother’s bedroom. The room was in darkness, but she could just about make out the shape of Signora Strega-Borgia’s briefcase on top of her bed. I wouldn’t do this normally, you understand, continued Pandora, undoing the buckles and pressing open the latch. Raising the lid, she opened the briefcase and gazed inside.

On first glance, the contents were disappointing. Ordinary, even. One half-eaten chicken sandwich plus crumpled cookie wrapper, one pocket calculator, a small cell phone, a packet of assorted wands (with seven left in the pack), and one two-ring binder. What, no toads? thought Pandora. No vials and potions? Not even a Collapsa Cauldron or some dehydrated Eye of Newt? She picked out the packet of disposable wands and put three in her pajama pocket. In the darkness, she failed to notice the small print on one wand that proclaimed it to be
a
Contrawand—reverses spells, undoes charms, and nixes hexes,
and in even smaller print:
The manufacturers recommend six (6) uses only before safe disposal as hazardous magical waste.