The Only Thing Worse Than Witches (12 page)

Hiding Rupert

W
HEN
THE
S
TORM
W
ITCH
AND
THE
N
EBULOUS
Witch left, Witchling Two sat with her elbows on the table and her face in her fists. “If the Fairfoul Witch knows who you are, then she's probably on her way here. And you're in big trouble.”

“Good thing Storm and Nebby did a spell, then.”

“Storm and Nebby put a protection spell around your house, which should hold out against the Fairfoul Witch, but I want to make sure that
you
are hidden.” She inched toward him eagerly, her eyebrows raised and her mouth curved into a sly grin.

“No . . .” Rupert said. “No, no,
no
!”

“I just want to do one itty-bitty invisibility spell!”

“Not a chance!”

Witchling Two leaped to her feet. “Rupert, listen. You are as visible as a flamingo in a desert! I think I know the perfect spell. . . .”

“Get away from me with your spells!”

“Aww, come on. You told me I needed more practice, right?”

“But not on
me
! I'll let you do a potion,” said Rupert. “That's
it.
”

“No time for a potion,” Witchling Two muttered. “Invisibility potions have to simmer for three days. And the sand potion has to sit for five days, remember?”

“Then, just shower me with sand! What about that?”

“We don't have any sand around right now. And besides, a spell will last longer.”

“No,” Rupert said. “A thousand million billion times no.”

Witchling Two solemnly shuffled her feet. “I understand,” she sniffed. “I suppose I'll just fail my Bar Exam now because my apprentice wouldn't let me try out any spells. In four days, they'll take away my magic and force me into exile, never to be seen again.” She dramatically hid her face in her hands and whimpered.

“I
can't
let you do a spell on me! What would happen if you mess up?”

Witchling Two perked up. “But there's no way this one can go wrong! Rupert, I swear! I'm choosing a long phrase so my magic can't confuse itself and produce something that sounds similar.”

Rupert snorted. This logic sounded wrong
—
so very wrong.

“Now hold still. This is foolproof.”

“Hold on
—
I didn't say yes! Hey
—
”

Witchling Two snapped her fingers. “Make it so he can't be seen,” she said. “Can't be seen. Can't be seen.” She snapped again.

Rupert didn't dare open his eyes, but then, he didn't feel any different.
Maybe this is just like the potion,
he thought.
I don't feel any different, but it still works. Maybe I'm invisible
—

Witchling Two screamed.

Rupert opened his eyes and the first thing he saw were green hands.
His
green hands.

He ran for a mirror, and he stood in front of it, watching his face turn from a peachy color to a pale lime color to a deep emerald color. He looked like a giant fruit fly.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” he shouted. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?”

Witchling Two whimpered, pulling her hair over her head to hide her freckly face. “I said
can't be seen
,” she said, cowering away from Rupert's glare. “But you're
turning green.
”

“I can see that!” Rupert snapped. “I thought you said this was foolproof!”

“Well, I thought a longer sentence would do the trick . . . less chance of sounding like something else.”

“That wasn't even a very long phrase, Witchling Two!”

She squeaked. “I'm sorry!”

Rupert threw his hands in the air. “Well, that's just great. Now I'm more visible than ever! Please tell me you can fix this!”

“I'll just call Nebby and Storm,” Witchling Two said, reaching for the telephone. “They'll fix you right back to norm
—
”

BAM.

Even from the basement, Rupert and Witchling Two could hear the front door bang open.

The Name

W
ITCHLING
T
WO
POINTE
D
TO
R
UPERT
AND
THEN
the table in frantic, jerking motions, which was her way of saying
Hide
.

Rupert held up his green arm and pointed to it, which was his way of saying
What am I supposed to do about my green skin?

Witchling Two shook her head.
That doesn't matter right now.

Rupert silently stomped his foot.
Of course it matters! I look like asparagus!

Witchling Two smiled.
No, you look more like a string bean.

Rupert cocked his head.
What's the difference?

Witchling Two raised an eyebrow.
I don't actually know.

The wooden step at the top of the basement stairs creaked.

Rupert ducked under the table and hid his head in his knees.

PLUNK
came the sound of a foot on the steps.

PLUNK THUD
came the sound of another two steps.

PLUNK THUD PLUNK THUD PLUNK THUD
came the sound of someone climbing down all the basement stairs.

“I-I can't explain,” Witchling Two said.

Under the table Rupert shook his head. She was supposed to say that she
could
explain, not that she couldn't.

Witchling Two cleared her throat. “M-Mrs. Campbell, I
—
”

Rupert froze in horror. The only thing worse than being found by the Fairfoul Witch was being found by his mother. She could
not
find out that he ran out of school early. She could
not
find out that he was Witchling Two's apprentice. But mostly, she could
not
find out that he had green skin.

“Why are you in my basement?” Rupert's mother asked. “What was your name again?”

“Erm,” Witchling Two said.

Please,
Rupert begged in his head.
Please, for pity's sake! Please don't say your name is Witchy!
He wiggled his toes, hoping that he could send Witchling Two his thought waves.

“Sandy,” Witchling Two said. “My name is absolutely, positively, without a doubt Sandy. Sandy, Sandy, Sandy
—
it rolls nicely off the tongue
—
like kerplunckle and mollycoddle and pollywallydoodle.
Sandy
.”

“Sandy, darling, how did you get in here? Did Rupert let you in? Where is he?” Footsteps got dangerously close to the table, and Rupert closed his eyes.

“AH! Mrs. Campbell!” Witchling Two said, running toward the table, too. “Why don't we have some more of that tea again? Upstairs? Yes? Lovely? All right? Let's go!” Rupert heard sounds of shoe scuffling, and Rupert could see the shadows of his mother and Witchling Two inch even closer to where he was hiding.

“Why is there a cauldron on the table? And why are there
—
oh sweet cream cheese
—
what
is in those jars? Are you and Rupert pretending to be witches?”

“What? Oh, yes!” Witchling Two said cheerfully. “
Exactly
. You caught us!”

“Well I don't think that's appropriate behavior,” Mrs. Campbell said. “Those witches have nasty tempers, and . . .” Mrs. Campbell stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck. “Is that a shoe under the table? Rupert, are you there?”

Rupert cursed under his breath and rolled out from under the table. He emerged, hesitantly, afraid of what his mother might say about his new lima bean tan.

“Uh . . . Hi, Mom.”

Mrs. Campbell screamed. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell to the floor with a thump.

“That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be,” Witchling Two said.

“Easier? You've killed her!” Rupert ran over to his mother
—
but thankfully she was breathing and had a pulse.

“It's the shock that does it,” Witchling Two said. “I can't tell you how
many people have had that reaction to me over the years.”

“How many?” asked Rupert.

“I just said I couldn't tell you.”

Rupert sighed. “We were so close.”

“But so near.”

“So far,” Rupert corrected. He thought about how easily Witchling Two lied. “Sandy. Where did that come from?”

Witchling Two grinned. “Well, I wanted to wait for a ta-da moment, but I guess this will have to do.” She stood on her tiptoes and thrust her chest outward. “I thought of my
name.
When I pass the Bar Exam. Sandy . . . it comes from . . . well . . .” she looked up at him with a sheepish blush. “I want to be the Sand Witch.”

Rupert cracked open with laughter. “The
Sand
Witch?” he snickered. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

Witchling Two harrumphed. “Don't laugh! I thought it was a very respectable name. And it's so appropriate for me.”

“You did give me a sand potion. And you thought of the idea of showering ourselves in sand to get away from Witchling Four. And you did make a sand dome to hide from the Council,” Rupert agreed.

“I've given this a lot of thought, and you had better call me Sandy now,” Witchling Two said, and Rupert knew her mind was made up.

Mrs. Campbell began to snore on the ground, and Sandy looked at her with pity. She walked over to Rupert's mother and began to hoist her by her left armpit, and Rupert grabbed her right one. They tried to drag her up the stairs, but she was too heavy. So instead they dragged her to the basement closet and rested her head on a mop. Rupert locked the door to the broom cupboard.

If his mother was passed out in a closet, the Fairfoul Witch might not see her. At least not for the moment.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said, “but this is because I love you.”

Sandy put her arm around him. “She really will be safest there, oh Green Machine with no Spleen who is Seen to Wean Clean Teens off Keen Beans
—
”

“About that,” Rupert said. “You better get me to Storm and Nebby stat
—
unless you want me to choke you until you're purple.”

Sandy squealed. “Purple is my favorite color!” she said, clapping her hands together. “And oh! That reminds me! Do you have any lollipops?”

The Nebulous Witch's Lair

S
ANDY
AND
R
UPERT
ESCAPED
TO
N
EBBY
'
S
LAIR
once the sun had set. Sandy was able to shower them both in sand from a playground's sandbox, so they were safe from the Fairfoul Witch's watchful eyes.

Nebby's lair was the kind of house that Rupert's mother liked to look at in the real estate magazines
—
a very modern-looking place with lots of windows, mirrors, and strange-angled walls. It was very bright and clean looking. Quite the opposite of anything Rupert would expect of a witch's lair.

As soon as Rupert walked in the door, Nebby put up a pot of tea and disappeared into the kitchen to bake something. Rupert prayed it wouldn't be Toecorn or Knuckle Soup, but when she emerged with a pan, it looked like perfectly harmless chocolate chunk cookies.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Rupert asked, biting into a cookie. “I thought witches were mean and evil and horrid.”

Sandy sniffled. “You didn't think that about me, did you, Greeny?”

“Stop calling me that!”

Nebby smiled. “Some witches
are
mean and evil and horrid, much like some humans are mean and evil and horrid. But like humans, not all witches are nasty. I personally don't enjoy harming things that don't harm me. And since I've raised Witchling Two, I've taught her my values.”

Somewhere from the back of the house, Storm hooted, “NO, NEBBY! SHE LEARNED THEM FROM MEEEEEE!”

“Is she all right?” Rupert whispered to Sandy.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “That's why she's called the Storm Witch, you know
—
because of her unpredictable outbursts of emotion.”

Nebby put her hand on Rupert's arm. “You little green thing,” she said. Then she frowned at Sandy, who plunked into a white armchair with her shoulders hunched.

In seconds, Nebby turned Rupert back to a pink thing, all traces of green now gone. Rupert sighed in relief, as he examined himself in a mirror. For a few horrible moments, he thought that he would look like freshly mowed grass forever.

“We don't feel comfortable sending you back home at night,” Nebby said.

“But I have to get back to my mom,” Rupert said. “We've locked her in a closet, and she's the only family I have.”

“That's all good and kind,” said Nebby. “But as soon as the Fairfoul Witch realizes how strongly you feel about your mother, she will use that to hurt you.”

Rupert kicked the leg of the table. “Then what should I do?” he said, his face desperate. “How do I keep my mother safe
and
still be friends with Sandy? I still need to help her pass her Bar Exam
—
we only have four days left, and Sandy is in no shape to pass
.
And she still needs to help me with Mrs. Frabbleknacker, who tried to claw my eyes out when I left class today.”

In all the excitement with the Fairfoul Witch, Rupert had almost forgotten that Mrs. Frabbleknacker was still livid with him. Compared to the problem of the Fairfoul Witch, facing Mrs. Frabbleknacker seemed like a breeze. But even if she was the last concern in his mind, she was still a niggling worry.

The Storm Witch coughed, and all eyes turned to her. “Bear warning at night and by the morning's light make right.”

Nebby and Sandy nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, that's exactly it,” Nebby said, and she put a hand on Rupert's shoulder. “After Storm and I left your house, we did talk to a member of the Council of Three
—
someone quite close to the Fairfoul Witch
—
and she did not seem optimistic about your situation, Rupert. To be honest, you're in trouble. Much more trouble than you can even imagine.”

“Because I belong to the witches, right?” he said accidentally.

“So . . . you and our witchling
were
snooping around the Witches Council lair.” She winked. “Yes . . . you are claimed. It seems like both you and your mother are on thin ice with the witches.”

“Why?” Rupert asked. “What happened with my mom?”

Nebby pursed her lips. “I'm not exactly sure, Rupert. This falls under the territory of the Fairfoul Witch. I only know what our records show
—
that your mother stole a forbidden potion, and the witches claimed you.”

He sulked. “That's all I know, too.”

“But it seems to me that you have two options. You can stay in Gliverstoll, in which case the Fairfoul Witch will most certainly find you. Or you can try to leave. In which case, you have a very, very small chance of success if
—
and only if
—
Storm and I can successfully distract the Fairfoul Witch.”

“So . . . I should leave? But I've never left Gliverstoll before.”

“You shall stay here tonight, and tomorrow we will send you to school like any normal boy. During the day, Storm and I will make sure that your school, neighborhood, and house are safe to return to
—
and double-check that the witches didn't lay out any traps for you or your mother. If there's a problem, one of us will find you at school. Otherwise, scurry home, quick as a lick, and then flee Gliverstoll with your mother. We'll distract the Fairfoul Witch and the entire Council while you make your escape. You'll need our help
—
otherwise, they'll know and drag you back in an instant.”

“Why can't we do this
now
?” Rupert said impatiently.

“The Fairfoul Witch is out and about during these hours. If we head to your house, the Fairfoul Witch will learn of our betrayal. But the Fairfoul Witch sleeps during your school hours and wakes up at three-quarters to the witching hour.”

“What's that?” Rupert said.

Sandy stroked her chin. “That's a human gibbon o'clock.”

“Gibbon?”

“Erm . . . nine plus eight? What do you call that?

“Seventeen?”

“Yes!” Sandy said. “Seventeen o'clock.”

“But what is
that?”
Rupert said, starting to lose his patience.

“Twenty-four hours in a day, seventeen hours past none o'clock.”

Rupert scratched his head. “I don't understand witch math,” he said.

“No matter,” Nebby said. “After school, run right home. Then grab your mother and flee as fast as you can.”

“If you don't cause any commotion, you'll be leopards of miles away before the Fairfoul Witch even brushes her teeth,” Sandy said.

“But I can't go to school! Mrs. Frabbleknacker is mad beyond mad at me!”

Sandy gasped. “She
is?
”

“It's
your
fault, you know!”

“Oh.”

Nebby shook her head. “I'm sorry, Rupert, but you must. If you deviate from what other kids are doing, you'll stick out to the other witches who are on the lookout for you. The only way to escape is to go to school and not to act suspiciously.”

“But what do I do about Mrs. Frabbleknacker?”

“Mrs. Frickleknuckers is nothing compared to the Fairfoul Witch, Rupert,” Sandy said. “You can face her.”

“You must,” Nebby said. “And then you must run away forever, Rupert,” Nebby said. “You and your mother will only be safe if you never come back.”

Rupert frowned. He didn't want to think it. But he couldn't avoid the thought. “And what if . . .” Rupert said, letting the horrible thought come to his lips. “What if we don't escape the witches? What then?”

Storm ran a finger across her throat, miming the slit of a knife. She frowned and looked at him sadly, like he was already a goner.