The Only Thing Worse Than Witches (4 page)

The Warning

T
HE NEXT DAY,
R
UPERT SET OFF FOR A TEA SHOP
called The Brewery on Digglydare Close. Rupert had never been to The Brewery before, even though he had seen it. The Brewery was past an invisible line that his mother drew on the south side of town. He felt a little guilty walking there because he knew his mother wouldn't approve, but the tea shop wasn't even owned by any witches. Besides, he would be with a friend who would protect him.

Luckily, when he left, his mother was out taste testing for Mrs. Gummyum, so he didn't have to explain anything to her.

The sea wind was a bit nippier than normal, but he enjoyed the crisp breeze as he hustled through town. He arrived at The Brewery a little early, so he sat at a table by the window while he waited. He stared outside and had the most spectacular view of the sea as it rocked the boats docked by the shore. Then he looked at the sand, which was shining and sparkling in the sunlight. The beach was packed with tourists. He could tell because of all the cameras. Plus, plenty of them had witch-themed towels and umbrellas, which Rupert knew they bought at the biggest tourist trap of all: Witchknack: Trinket and Novelty Store.

Rupert spotted Kaleigh at the beach with her family. Over by the rocks, a few people were lying out in the sand. There was almost nobody actually swimming today, probably because of the overcast sky
—

THUMP.

Rupert jumped.

Witchling Two had thwapped a book the size of four dictionaries on the table.

“What in the world is
that
?” Rupert said.

“Oh, just your routine textbook.”

“I'm not going to have to read all that, am I?”

“Do you want to?” she said excitedly. “Here!” She opened up to page 1482.

Rupert bent over the text.

Spells should be enunciated assuredly from the vessel; cogitation must linger on the vocation at hand; onus of liability is on the caster; no quid pro quos except in a duel with an allochthonous witch, in which a mutually agreed upon exchange must be made agreeable to the entire clans of all parties involved.

“What does this mean?” Rupert groaned.

“Sounds like there are going to be parties!” Witchling Two said, clapping her hands together.

Somehow, he didn't think that was it. “Does it go on for thousands of pages like this?”

Witchling Two nodded. “I've got a few other textbooks at home. Should I bring those next time?”

“No!” Rupert shouted. The people at the next table gave him a strange look, and he lowered his voice. “At the very least, let's order breakfast. Then we can try to understand your textbook.”

They walked up to the counter and looked at the menu behind the coffee machines. Rupert ordered a cheese omelet. Witchling Two ordered poached eggs, bacon, ham, mash, buttered toast, a slice of quiche, a large pot of tea, two scones, one biscuit, one piece of shortbread, and four lollipops from the jar by the cashier.

“Hungry?” Rupert asked.

“Not really. Why?”

“Nothing,” Rupert said, walking back over to their table.

Rupert climbed back into the booth, and Witchling Two jumped into the seat across from him, but with the book on the table, Rupert couldn't even see her face. He only saw her ponytail. Rupert stood up and pushed the book to the other end of the table, using all the strength he could muster.

“Now I can see your face,” he explained.

“Goody! But you should probably slide the book back over here.”

“Why?”

“You still have to explain what it says.”

“But there are five thousand pages!” Rupert protested. “Maybe more!”

Witchling Two nodded. “I've been trying to understand it for years, which is why I'm so glad I have you, Rupert!”

“But if you've been reading it for years, how am I supposed to understand it in a few minutes?”

Witchling Two shrugged.

Rupert frowned. “Then, why don't you train with the other witches or witchlings? Surely they'd be better than me.”

“But you are so . . . um . . . specially spectacular, Rupert. Your . . . er . . . creative mind sets you leagues above the witches.” She hesitated.

“I don't believe you,” Rupert said.

But before he had a chance to press her anymore about it, the waitress came with their food. Witchling Two tore into her poached eggs like a dog tearing a steak, chomping them with the grandest vigor.

“Yum!” she said, taking a bite of shortbread and then scooping up a forkful of mash in the same mouthful.

Rupert carefully cut his omelet. He took a few bites, and slid the book back over to him. He opened back to the same page and reread. “Hmm. I'm not sure what this means, but if we pull it apart word by word, I'm sure we can figure it out.”

Witchling Two scratched her head in response. “You can do it, Rupert! You're the smartest apprentice I've ever had.”

“But I'm the
only
apprentice you've ever had.”

“Which means you're also the best apprentice I've ever had.”

“Okay, I'll help!” Rupert said, grinning. “But let's start at page one. The first problem is we're trying to start in the middle instead of the beginning.”

“Yes, yes, very smart!” Witchling Two said, gnawing on a biscuit.

He flipped the book back to the Introduction section.

“Uh-oh,” said Witchling Two. She hid behind her book and pointed toward the cash register, where two strange figures were standing. There was a very tall, knobbly looking woman with the blackest of black eyes, rigidly pointy eyebrows, and long black hair in a braid. She had a tight face
—
one that pulled her skin in all directions, as if she'd weathered centuries of time.

The second witch was much younger. Rupert thought she looked just a bit younger than his mother
—
she had no wrinkles at all. Just narrow eyes, a slight smile, and a hook nose. Her hair was also black, but it was loose and wild.

They caught his eye, and Rupert's stomach turned over like a roasting pig on a spit.

“Act natural,” Witchling Two whispered. She began to whistle loudly, which turned into a hum, which turned into a song that she chanted loudly while banging her spoon and fork on her ceramic plate:

LA DE DA DE DA DE DA.

NOTHING TO SEE HERE

NOTHING AT ALL

PLEASE MOVE ALONG

FEEL FREE TO DISAPPEAR!

Act natural? Rupert rolled his eyes. This was about as unnatural as anyone could possibly get.

He wasn't surprised at all when the two women came over to their table. As they approached, one of the tea shop's patrons squeaked in fear, frantically packed her belongings, and left the shop. The older woman leered as the woman left, as though she was taking delight in her panicked flight. Everybody else in the tea shop seemed unconcerned.

“Well, well, well,” said the younger woman. “So the rumors
are
true.”

“What rumors?” Witchling Two said.

“You've teamed up with a
human
.”

The older woman clapped her hands together. “Oh!” she crowed. “This is going to be good!”

Rupert's heart leaped. These ladies certainly looked and sounded like witches, but if they were . . . well, then, he was cooked. He was positively dead in the water. He could only imagine what horrible punishment they would inflict upon him. He desperately looked for an exit, but they were blocking his only way out of the booth. He stared up into their faces. Which witches were they? Certainly not the dreaded Fairfoul Witch, right? He gulped and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

“Who
—
who are you?”

“Brave little one, aren't we?” the older woman said with a twisted grin.

Rupert could feel the sweat droplets forming on the back of his neck. He positively quaked with fear.

“How did you find us?” Witchling Two said. She looked almost too calm.

“We followed you here,” said the younger woman. “If you're going to gallivant with humans, you shouldn't be so obvious about it.”

“Honestly,”
said the older one, sounding cross. “Studying spells in a dingy old tea shop that's on the same alley as our shops? You might as well have worn a target on your chest.”

Witchling Two blushed. “I-I wasn't thinking
—
you're right, this was terribly stupid of me. I j-just thought that since the Fairfoul Witch always sleeps during the day and the Midnight Witch is at Foxbury this weekend . . . But still! I'm sorry, Rupert. I didn't mean to put you in danger again.” She looked at Rupert, ashamed.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The two women were glaring at him with their stony, black, bulging eyes. All of his insides were cold.

“Rupert?” said Witchling Two. “Are you all right? You're looking . . . ill.”

“They're w-w-witches!” he sputtered.

The two women threw their heads back and cackled. They held onto each other and laughed for a good long time, and just when Rupert thought they were done laughing, they looked at one another and cracked up again. He could feel his cheeks flush.

“Ah, you found a smarty-pants,” the younger woman said, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeves.

Witchling Two patted his arm. “Rupert, don't worry. These are my guardians. This is the Nebulous Witch. But I just call her Nebby.” She pointed to the younger witch with the beak nose and wild black hair. “And this is the Storm Witch. I call her, well, Storm,” she said, gesturing toward the old, wrinkly, pointy-eyebrowed one. “You're safe with them
—
”

“Don't let the boy get too comfortable with us,” Nebby said coldly. “We are
not
pleased.”

“How dare you disgrace the name of the witch?” Storm howled. “You're coming home right now. How can you muck around with your Bar Exam just around the corner?”

“I'm not mucking around, Storm,” Witchling Two said. “This boy is helping me practice my magic.”

“Well, I'll say!” Storm said. Her pointy eyebrows shot so far up that Rupert was afraid they would recede into her hairline. “In my day, we
never
conversed with humanlings.”

“He's called boy,” Witchling Two said.

“Actually, he's called Rupert,” Rupert said, but then he cupped a hand over his mouth.

“Move over,” Nebby said, eyeing Rupert with distaste.

Rupert scooted to the end of the booth as fast as he could, and Nebby sat down next to him. Storm scooched next to Witchling Two.

Nebby frowned. “Now tell us, Witchling Two, what in the world do you think you're doing?”

“Please
—
Storm. Nebby,” Witchling Two said. “You two have your Witches Council business, and I need someone to help me. If you don't want me bothering you, then I need Rupert.”

Nebby shook her head. “This is, without a doubt, the worst idea you've ever had.”

“But I want to keep him. Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with lollipops on top?”

Storm snorted. “He's not a pet, Witchling! You can't keep him! And more importantly, we can't guarantee protection from the other witches
—
for either of you. This is
madness
.”

Rupert cleared his throat, and they all turned toward him. “Well, if you ask me, I really would like to help Witchling Two with her Bar Exam.”

“Oh
really
?” Storm said. “You'd like to help? Do you know anything about magic? Spell casting, brewing, witch laws, witch customs?”

“Not exactly, but
—
”

“It's settled,” Nebby said calmly, putting up her hand for silence. “Witchling Two, you'll come back home and study for your exam in your room. Boy, you'll forget all about this.”

“No!” Witchling Two and Rupert said together.

Nebby shook her head. “Witchling, you're endangering yourself, this boy, and Storm and me, too. If the Fairfoul Witch finds out about this, she'll have
all
our heads, not just yours.”

“Poo,” Witchling Two said with a pout. “I don't want you to get in trouble. But what about Rupert? He's my new friend!”

“If you were really a friend to him, you'd end this relationship right now.”

“But what if I do a better job at keeping him a secret? Then I can have my apprentice, you won't get in trouble, and he won't need to be protected
—
”

“I forbid this,” Nebby said firmly. “Don't make us use magic to make you separate,” she threatened.

Witchling Two glared at her guardians. But then her glare melted away. She sighed, folded her arms, and leaned back against the booth. “Oh, all right,” Witchling Two said with a casual shrug. “I suppose this was a stupid idea anyway. I mean, what does this
boy
know about magic?”