The Courage of Cat Campbell (9 page)

“Hello,” Cat said at last. “I'm Cat, I mean Catherine, Catherine Campbell.” She stuck out her hand, wishing it wasn't so damp. “I've come for an interview.”

“We are expected,” Marie Claire added in her soft French accent.

“Ahhh.” The woman held up a pair of glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck and peered at Cat through them. “So you are Catherine Campbell.” From the way she said this, Cat got the feeling that being Catherine Campbell wasn't exactly a positive thing.

“I am.” Cat stood up straight. “And I'm really excited to be here. I'm a Late Bloomer.”

“Well, you'd better come in,” the woman said. “I'm Ms. Weedle, the spells and charms teacher here at Ruthersfield.” She stared at Cat a few seconds longer before finally stepping aside. “Follow me, please. I'll take you straight to Ms. Roach. And do not open any doors or wander off. Stay right behind me.”

Cat helped Marie Claire hobble inside. “It's so grand,” Marie Claire murmured, looking around the entry hall.

“Look.” Cat pointed to a crest hanging on the wall above the massive doors. It was the famous Ruthersfield crest, two crossed broomsticks over a cauldron. Underneath in cursive was written “Kibet fallow da.” “I know what that means,” Cat whispered. “Follow your passion! I read all about it in Mamma's old
History of Magic
book.”

Ms. Weedle's face seemed to tighten and her lips grew thin. “Come along,” she instructed, leading the way down a long corridor.

Poor Marie Claire had trouble keeping up. Her ankle was swollen this morning, and she limped behind slowly. “Could we slow down, please?” Cat called out. “Marie Claire's foot is hurting her.”

Ms. Weedle gave a brisk nod and abruptly slowed her pace, which Cat was glad about because it meant she could look around. One of the classroom doors was open, and Cat peeked inside, seeing rows and rows of girls waving magic wands about and chanting. They passed what looked like a chemistry lab, except clouds of purple smoke were billowing out of mini cauldrons and a number of toads were hopping around the room.

“Gosh, I love this place,” Cat whispered to Marie Claire. “I just love everything about it.”

“Oh, step close to the wall,” Ms. Weedle said, speaking over her shoulder. “Here comes a beginner flying class.” Cat stopped walking as a line of girls in their purple Ruthersfield uniforms wobbled by on broomsticks. An elegant young teacher led them, her long blond hair coiled into a twist, waving blood red nails in the air. “Stomachs in, shoulders back, girls. Good flying posture is essential.” She glanced down the row of girls, like a competent mother duck. “Belinda, you are riding like a sack of potatoes.”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Dancer,” a girl in the middle said, gripping her broomstick for dear life. “I'm so scared I'm going to fall.”

“You are two feet off the ground, Belinda. How on earth are you going to manage outside?”

As Cat watched them fly past, she felt an ache in her chest, wanting so much to join in. Oh, she would do anything to be swooping along behind those girls right now.

“Cat.” Marie Claire touched Cat's arm lightly. “We must keep going.”

Snapping out of her daydream, Cat followed Ms. Weedle, who kept glancing back at her, as if she might run off or do something unpredictable. The spells and charms teacher stopped in front of a padded, green leather door with a big brass knocker. “We're here,” she said, sounding relieved. Ms. Weedle knocked once and turned the handle, ushering Marie Claire and Cat inside. A woman stood on a stepladder, filing purple folders of paperwork into a bookcase. She looked down at them, and Ms. Weedle said, “Could you tell Ms. Roach Catherine Campbell is here for her interview, please?”

“She's expecting you,” the woman said, waving her free hand across the room to another door. “Go right on in.”

Ms. Roach, the headmistress of Ruthersfield Academy, sat behind a huge walnut desk. She stood up as they came in. Cat tried to swallow down her nerves. A tall, thin woman with short gray hair and sharp blue eyes, Ms. Roach was an imposing figure. “Catherine Campbell,” she said. “This is quite a surprise.”

“A pleasant one, I hope,” Marie Claire added in her gentle voice. “Cat is excited to be here.”

“Is she now?” Ms. Roach stared so hard at Cat, Cat felt her face prickle with heat. “I have to admit I was a little taken aback when your mother called up requesting an interview for you. She tells me you have inherited the family magic gene.”

Cat nodded, finding it difficult to speak with Ms. Roach studying her as if she were an insect under a microscope.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Ms. Roach called out, “Come in.” Turning her head, Cat saw Clara Bell and another teacher enter the room. Clara Bell gave Cat a warm smile, and Cat immediately began to relax. She mouthed back an excited
Hello!

Ms. Roach cleared her throat. “This is Ms. Bell, coordinator of the Late Bloomer's Program here at Ruthersfield, and Ms. Grendel, our magical management teacher. They are both on the committee for Late Bloomer applicants,” Ms. Roach explained. Marie Claire and Cat shook their hands. Ms. Grendel's shake was brisk and businesslike but Clara Bell took Cat's hand in both of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Just stay calm,” she whispered, leaning forward so Cat could smell the faint scent of violets. “You'll be fine.”

The teachers sat down beside Ms. Roach, and the headmistress motioned for Cat and Marie Claire to take the chairs opposite her desk. “So tell me what happened,” Ms. Roach said to Cat. “How did this all begin?”

“Well . . .” Cat glanced at Clara Bell, who gave her an encouraging nod. “I was in my grandparents' attic and I found my mum's old novice wand.” She wished her heart would stop racing, but Ms. Roach was about the most intimidating person she had ever met. “I was really excited because I've always loved magic. I've wanted to be a witch my whole life.”

“Mmmmmm,” Ms. Roach said, nodding. “Go on.”

“Right. I waved it about and nothing happened, of course, and I was feeling a bit upset so I sat down on the floor, and that's when I felt a spider crawling on me. I really hate spiders! This one was huge. When I realized what it was, I screamed because I was so scared, and I flicked it with the wand. And then,” Cat said breathlessly, breaking into a smile because she knew Ms. Roach was going to love this part, “then it changed colors, lots of colors, and it grew to the size of a golf ball. And when I waved my wand at it again, it started to bounce around the attic, as if it was made out of rubber.”

“How thrilling for you,” Clara Bell murmured. “That first magical moment!”

Ms. Roach just nodded, not looking particularly impressed. “So you were really frightened by the spider?” she confirmed, leaning forward slightly.

“I was,” Cat admitted. “I was terrified.”

“Mmmmm.” It was a long drawn out “mmmmmmm.” Ms. Roach made a steeple with her fingers and glanced at Ms. Grendel. “Which is when the magic happened?”

“Yes, yes, exactly,” Cat said, shifting about in excitement.

“Mmmmm,” Ms. Roach said again, tapping her nails on the table. “What are your thoughts, Ms. Grendel?”

The magical management teacher frowned. “A huge adrenaline rush brought on by fear can trigger a magical response in a carrier,” Ms. Grendel said. “And once the magic has been activated this way, it will nearly always be out of control.” She gave Cat a somber look. “There are things you can do, but this sort of magic is extremely difficult to manage. It's not very common, and when I do see magic like this, it's almost always in a Late Bloomer.”

“That's why I want to come to Ruthersfield,” Cat said. “So I can learn how to be a proper witch, just like my great-great-granny Mabel. She was brilliant.”

“Indeed she was,” Ms. Roach said. “Strong-willed to be sure, but one of our best head girls.” She lowered her head for a moment. “Why don't we try a simple rolling spell, then?” Ms. Roach said, handing Cat a pencil. “This will show us how well you can handle your magic.”

“No, no, not on the desk,” Ms. Grendel broke in, waving her hands at Cat. “Do it on the rug over there, please.”

“It will give you more space,” Clara Bell said gently.

“Are you sure you can all see?” Cat said, placing the pencil on the edge of Ms. Roach's oriental carpet. “I don't want anyone to miss this.”

“We can see just fine. Now, you have the wand with you, correct?” Ms. Roach said. Cat pulled it out of her pocket. “Okay, good. What I want you to do is wave it over the pencil and in a clear, calm voice say, “Rollypolumdum.”

“Okay.” Cat nodded. Her heart was racing, and she wiped her hands down her skirt. “I'm a bit nervous,” she admitted.

“Don't be. That will only make things worse,” Ms. Grendel said.

“But nerves are quite normal,” Clara Bell added. “Try to stay calm, Cat. Big, deep breaths. And you might want to turn your wand round the other way,” she suggested gently.

“Oh!” Cat giggled. She flipped the wand around. “It's so hard to tell which end is which.”

“It's slightly thicker at the handle end,” Ms. Roach said. “A good witch can tell just by feel.”

“Right.” Cat stared at Ms. Roach. “Sorry,” she whispered, “but what was that word again?”

“Rollypolumdum,” the headmistress said.

Cat took a deep breath and waved her wand over the pencil. “Rollypolumdum,” she cried, and the rug shot out from under Cat's feet, knocking her backward as it rolled across the floor. The teachers leapt out of their chairs.

“Oh, my goodness,” Marie Claire said with a gasp. “What is happening?”

Cat scrambled to her knees in time to see the rug gather speed and roll up the pencil, a standing lamp, and all the furniture in its path. As it sped toward Ms. Roach's desk, Marie Claire tried to get out of the way but she couldn't move fast enough, and the rug grabbed her shoes and rolled up over her feet.

Ms. Roach waved her wand in the air. “Consticrabi-haltus,” she commanded, and the rug shuddered to a stop.

“Thank you,” Marie Claire said, panting and resting a hand on her heart. “Cat gets a little overexcited, but she has such passion!”

“She certainly does,” Clara Bell agreed. “And passion is so important for Late Bloomers.”

Cat looked at Ms. Roach, trying to gauge her reaction. “My magic is powerful, isn't it?”

“Your magic is out of control,” Ms. Roach said soberly. “Now if you could both step outside a moment, please, I'd like to talk things over with the committee.” Clara Bell held up a pair of crossed fingers as Cat and Marie Claire left the room.

At least Cat knew she had someone on her side, but it was still complete torture waiting to be called back in again. They sat in the secretary's office, and Cat rocked back and forth on her chair, wondering how Marie Claire could remain so calm. The minutes ticked by and Marie Claire flipped through a Ruthersfield alumni magazine while Cat stared at Ms. Roach's door, desperate to know what they were saying about her.

When Ms. Grendel and Clara Bell finally came out, it was impossible to gauge anything from their faces. Before Cat could ask Clara Bell how it had gone, Ms. Roach appeared at the door, motioning them back into her office again. As soon as they were all seated, she let out a long breath.

“This was not an easy decision, Catherine.” Ms. Roach picked up a piece of paper and studied it. “You know we have very few Late Bloomer places available.”

“But I've definitely got the gift, haven't I?” Cat said.

“You do, but it's clearly a recessive gene and, because it was adrenaline triggered, almost impossible to control. Not like with your mother and Mabel Ratcliff, who were dominant carriers of the magic gene.” Ms. Roach cleared her throat. “Ruthersfield does not have the resources to support your sort of magical ability, Catherine. You would need a one-on-one aide, constant monitoring, and the sort of special-needs help that Ruthersfield is not equipped to offer. We could not have you performing magic with the other girls.” Ms. Roach shook her head. “It just isn't feasible, I'm afraid.”

Cat felt like she was going to be sick. Her mouth had gone dry, and she twisted her fingers together.

“I am sorry to be so blunt,” Ms. Roach said, “but I do feel that honesty is the best approach here.”

“I'll work harder than anyone,” Cat whispered, needing to make Ms. Roach understand.

“I'm sure you would. And Ms. Bell lobbied hard on your behalf.” The headmistress's eyes filled with sympathy. “Unfortunately we can only take the best. Hard work and dedication are important, but so is your level of talent.”

Cat felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.

“I'm very sorry, Catherine,” Ms. Roach finished up softly, “but we will not be offering you a place.”

“Please,” Cat said, hating to beg but unable to stop herself. “Can't I even sit the exam?”

“I'm sorry.” Ms. Roach shook her head.

“Come on,
chérie
.” Marie Claire hoisted herself to her feet. “We appreciate your time, Ms. Roach. I am sure you must be very busy.”

“Thank you for seeing me,” Cat managed to say. She stood up and walked to the door, her arms wrapped around her stomach as if she could hold in her pain.

Cat walked quickly down the corridor, not waiting for Marie Claire. Some of the girls gave her curious looks as she passed, but she ignored them all. “That's Poppy Pendle's daughter,” a girl with long ginger hair and freckles said, not even trying to keep her voice down. “I see her at the bakery all the time. What on earth is she doing here?”

“Who cares? She'll never come to Ruthersfield,” her friend replied. “Ms. Roach wouldn't allow it.”