by Lou Kuenzler
That did it. I wasn’t having Esme turned into a dandelion clock or anything else. “Come on!” I placed Rascal back on the ground. Now that the pale green moon was shining, I could see our battered broomstick hanging from a branch above our heads. I stretched up and managed to knock it down. The bristles were crushed and the handle looked badly bent from where we had crashed. But I hoped it would still fly. “There’s not a minute to lose,” I said. “We have to rescue Esme before Aunt Hemlock finds out she is a Person. She’ll think Esme dressed herself up like a witch especially to sneak into the Magic Realm and spy. That’s why the Curtain of Invisibility is there – to stop Persons getting in.”
“This is all my fault,” purred Rascal. “If I hadn’t sat on your head, we wouldn’t have crashed into the tree and Esme wouldn’t have been caught.”
“No. Don’t blame yourself,” I said. “It was too dark to see where we going anyway.”
“Exactly!” said Rascal, puffing himself up again. “If it’s anyone’s fault it’s Esme’s. She was the one who wanted to come to the Magic Realm. Now her wish has come true.”
“That’s not fair,” I said. “If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine – as usual. I should never taken us up on the broomstick in the first place. And I should never have lent Esme that hat. It gave me the creeps from the moment we found it.”
“Good. That’s sorted, then.” Rascal made a happy chirping sound and began to wash behind his ears. “Either it’s your fault or it’s Esme’s fault … but it’s definitely not mine!”
“Fine!” I sighed. He really could be the most irritating kitten sometimes. “Are you coming to rescue Esme or not?”
“All right, keep your whiskers on! I’m coming,” said Rascal as I tapped the broom handle with my wand.
“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked, leaping on board as I muttered the flying chant.
“To Aunt Hemlock’s cave,” I said, turning the broomstick towards the soggy marshlands where my wicked aunt lived. “We have no choice.”
The broom started a bit jerkily – and its bent handle meant we wobbled from side to side – but at last we were off:
Fly quick as you can to Aunt
Hemlock’s bog…
Before she turns Esme into a frog…
(Or any other creature, I added quickly – hoping the chant would still work even though it didn’t really rhyme.)
Then, with a sudden flash, fresh words came into my mind and I waved my wand again:
Take us to Esme. Quick, Broomstick. Fly!
Before Aunt Hemlock thinks she’s a spy!
Whoosh! The words of my second spell seemed to make the broom realize we were serious, and it soared upwards. We swooped like a bird across the moors and were soon hovering above the dark, soggy swamp behind Aunt Hemlock’s cave.
“Eww!” yelped Rascal as we slid down from the broom and landed in a deep, dark puddle. “I don’t like getting my paws wet!”
“Shh!” I crouched down and leant the broom up against the stump of an old tree. “There’s a little window here somewhere.” I brushed away a curtain of cobwebs and pointed to a narrow space where one stone was missing from the rocky hillside. “We’ll be able to look inside the cave from here.”
Chapter Ten
Rascal and I peered through the tiny window at the back of Aunt Hemlock’s cave. Flickering lantern light shone against the jars of frogspawn jelly, pots of pickled newt tongues and thick slabs of ogres’ earwax which lined the shelves. Nothing had changed since I lived there – it was just as damp and miserable as ever.
I could see Esme hunched up on a three-legged stool. She was still wearing my witch’s hat, thank goodness – and at least it had stopped shouting now it was back in the Magic Realm. The hat was so big that Esme had to tilt her head to see out from underneath it. But it meant Aunt Hemlock still couldn’t see her face. The enormous black coat was covering Esme from neck to toe too.
“So, what have you got to say for yourself, Belladonna Broomstick?” Aunt Hemlock poked Esme with a long green fingernail.
“Er… Happy Halloween?” Esme said. Her voice sounded small and very shaky. Maybe it was because her teeth were chattering under the big brim of the witch’s hat. I wouldn’t blame her. Aunt Hemlock was hissing in her ear like a snake.
“Do you think you’re being funny, Belladonna?” she whispered. “Because you know I hate jokes…”
“Jumping Jampots! You’re frightening me, Aunty,” gasped Esme, almost leaping out of her skin. Even though she was terrified, she was trying her best to sound like me and stay in disguise. She must have remembered what I said about witches hating Persons – especially if they thought they had come here to spy on the Magic Realm.
“What a weedy fusspot you are, Belladonna!” sighed Aunt Hemlock. It seemed she was totally taken in by the witchy disguise. Thank goodness Esme’s long hair was tucked underneath the pointy hat.
“Now, look.” Aunt Hemlock gave a snort. “Here are your friends the silly spiders, come to say hello.”
And at that moment hundreds of hairy little creatures swung down from the roof to get a better look at Esme. Spiders love company and always scuttle out to see who has arrived.
“Hello!” they tittered excitedly. There was no glass in the window (Aunt Hemlock likes living with a draught), so I could hear their tiny voices clearly.
“Shoo! Please go away!” Esme made a small whimpering sound like a lost puppy as ten or eleven of the biggest spiders dangled from the brim of her hat, waving their legs right under her nose.
“Yikes!” She let out a terrible yelp and threw her arms in the air. I think some of the other spiders must have scuttled up her sleeves.
“She must be terrified,” I whispered. As if the spiders weren’t bad enough, Aunt Hemlock was breathing down her neck like a hungry wolf.
“How very strange, Belladonna,” she said. “I thought you liked spiders? I thought they were your friends?”
“Leaping Lemon Drops! I love spiders!” Esme was still bravely trying her best to talk just like me. “Spiders are adorable. They are so … cuddly … and cute.” Even as brilliant at acting as she was, she really didn’t sound at all convinced.
I pressed my face against the stony window frame. “Listen to me, spiders. Leave my poor friend alone.” I whispered their quiet language to them as softly as I could so Aunt Hemlock’s witchy old ears (which are often full of fungus) wouldn’t pick up a thing. Luckily the tiny creatures understood me and obeyed. They twitched their legs and began to crawl back up their silver threads towards the roof.
Esme shook her sleeves and let out a deep sigh of relief, but Aunt Hemlock remained standing over her, with a bony hand on Esme’s shoulder.
“Tell me, Belladonna, are you still a hopeless witch?” she sneered.
“Bella’s not hopeless. Bella is a brilliant witch,” said Esme, completely forgetting she was supposed to be me. I gasped, as it took her a moment to realize her mistake.
“Burning Bathmats! What I mean to say is, I am a brilliant witch!” she said just in time. “I, Belladonna Broomstick, am a brilliant witch!” She jumped up from the stool and stamped her foot, just to make the point.
“Is that so?” Aunt Hemlock folded her arms. “Do you hear that, Wane?” she asked as her horrible magic chameleon appeared suddenly on the kitchen shelf above her head. He had disguised himself with red-and-white spots to hide behind a bowl of toadstools.
“Belladonna here says she is a brilliant witch!” Aunt Hemlock snorted as Wane scuttled up her arm.
“How hilarious!” Wane laughed so hard he almost tripped over his long purple tongue.
“If you are such a brilliant witch, Belladonna, let’s see you do a spell,” cackled Aunt Hemlock. “This should make for an entertaining few minutes.”
“A spell? Twinkling Teddy Bears!” gasped Esme. (She was in such a panic, she didn’t seem to have quite got the hang of witchy expressions yet.) “Now?”
I froze.
“Why don�
��t you turn something into a pumpkin?” giggled Wane. “After all, it is Halloween.”
I gripped the window sill with shaking hands. I had forgotten how much witches love turning everything into pumpkins at Halloween. They think it is hilarious … especially as they often forget to undo the spell for years. One poor young warlock was turned into a pumpkin when he was ten and only changed back again when he was a hundred and twenty-three. Imagine that – more than a century trapped inside a giant orange vegetable!
“Why don’t you turn Wane into a pumpkin? That should be fun!” Aunt Hemlock rubbed her hands with glee.
“Mistress, please!” Wane curled up like an armadillo. “You know what a hopeless witch Belladonna is. Don’t let her do it. Not to me!”
“Quiet!” Aunt Hemlock clicked her fingers. “Come along, Belladonna. Let’s see what you can do.”
“Er…” Poor Esme shook her head in panic. “I don’t have my wand,” she said quickly. “You know you made me throw it away when I was banished to the Person World.”
“Well done, Esme!” I let out a silent cheer. It was so clever of her to remember the story of how Aunt Hemlock forced me to give up magic and throw away my old splintery wand.
But now I have a brilliant new wand, I thought, raising my feathery pink flamingo pen. This was no time to hold back. Esme might not be able to do magic … but I could.
“If you want to see a spell, I’ll show you one, Aunt Hemlock,” I whispered.
I breathed deeply and counted to ten. I’d prove Wane and Aunt Hemlock wrong. I wasn’t a hopeless witch. Not any more!
If I could just get this spell right, I could turn them both into pumpkins and set my best friend free.
Chapter Eleven
My hand was shaking as I poked my wand through the open window at the back of the cave.
“We’ve got to save Esme,” I whispered as Rascal perched on my shoulder.
With a flick of my wrist, I muttered the curse I had been practising inside my head:
Make pumpkins out of
Aunt Hemlock and Wane
So I can set Esme free again…
POW! A jet of bright orange light shot out of the end of my wand and…
Rascal and I flew backwards through the air. It was like being punched in the stomach with a jolt of red-hot lighting. We tumbled over and over until—
Splat! We landed in a soggy heap right in the middle of the marshy bog.
“MEW!” squealed Rascal, leaping on to my lap as if it was a lifeboat. “What did you do that for?”
“It was an accident!” I trembled. “The spell backfired!”
I should have remembered: there is a powerful magic ring around Aunt Hemlock’s cave. She drew it there to make sure no stray spells from other witches and wizards could ever get inside.
“We have to get back,” I said, staggering to my feet. “We need to find another way to set Esme free.”
“Humph!” Rascal shook himself like a wet dog. “I’ve had enough of magic,” he spat. “Why can’t you just walk into the cave, go up to your mouldy old aunt and say: ‘Give me my friend back or else’?”
“I wish I could.” I sighed. “But if Aunt Hemlock sees me, she’ll realize Esme’s in disguise. She’ll find out she’s a Person, for sure. Then she’ll turn us all into pumpkins. No – we’ll have to be cunning,” I went on. “Aunt Hemlock’s magic is about a billion times more powerful than mine – even with my wonderful wand.”
I stared down at my sparkly flamingo pen. It had always seemed so brilliant in the Person World. So much better than the knobbly, splintered old stick I had when I lived in the Magic Realm. But suddenly, it seemed too fluffy and feathery to be any use in this dark place. It was so pretty and pink – perfect for making magic cupcakes, but not at all the sort of wand that could rescue a Person from a witch.
“We’ll just have to try our best,” I said.
As Rascal and I staggered back to the window, I could hear Aunt Hemlock’s magic mirror laughing. It had joined in, taunting Esme too.
“No wand, Belladonna?” it sneered. “You really are the most hopeless young witch I have ever seen. If I remember rightly, you don’t even have any warts on your nose.”
“Not a single one!” snapped Aunt Hemlock, peering at her own reflection with a sigh. My horrible aunt always used to bully me to try and sprout a crop of witchy warts. But I never could.
“Not like you, Mistress. You look stunning,” simpered the mirror, sucking up to her as usual. “Your Wobbly Wart Potion has worked wonders!”
“Thank you!” Aunt Hemlock counted the row of fat green warts on the end of her nose. “I grew a gorgeous new one last night. That makes seven,” she cackled. “I don’t suppose you’ve grown any at all yet, have you, Belladonna?” She spun around and stared at Esme.
“Desperate Dungeons!” I gasped as Aunt Hemlock leant forwards and grabbed the brim of Esme’s hat.
“No. None at all!” Esme shrank back, curling up on her stool like a crab. “There’s no need to look, Aunty.”
But it was hopeless. The hat was giggling with delight as Aunt Hemlock whisked it off Esme’s head in one quick sweep.
Esme’s long sandy hair tumbled down her shoulders.
There was a gasp from the mirror and a squawk from Wane. Aunt Hemlock let out a shriek of surprise.
“But – but you’re not Belladonna. You’re a … Person,” Aunt Hemlock cried.
“Yes.” Esme’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear her.
I wished with all my heart I could magically change places with my best friend right now. But there was nothing I could do.
Aunt Hemlock had discovered her disguise.
Chapter Twelve
“Well, well! So you’re a Person, are you?” Aunt Hemlock stared at Esme. “What were you doing sneaking around here in my niece’s hat? Are you a spy? Are you trying to steal my spells?”
“N-no,” Esme stammered. “I found the hat – just – just lying around.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Hemlock grabbed a lantern and held it up. Light spilled on to Esme’s pale face. Even through the tiny window at the back of the cave, I could see that her lips were trembling.
“A Person has no business this side of the Curtain of Invisibility,” said Aunt Hemlock, circling around the stool. I had expected her to look furious. Instead, a tiny smile of excitement flickered around the corner of her crooked mouth. That was far worse…
“How unexpected. And what a lovely Halloween treat.” She grinned. “Imagine how delighted the witches in the Coven will be when I bring them a real live Person to play tricks on tonight.”
I gasped. The Coven are the most dreadful and powerful witches in all of the Magic Realm.
“What will they do me?” Esme shuddered. Her face was as white as a ghost.
“You’ll just have to wait and see!” Aunt Hemlock threw back her head and cackled with delight. “But we don’t like spies and snoops, that’s for sure.”
“Please. I’m not a spy. I want to go home!” Esme leapt to her feet as if she was going to try and run for the door. But Aunt Hemlock was too quick. She drew her wand like a lighting bolt.
Tie this Person to her stool…
Bind her tight, the little fool!
Thick snakes of rope slithered out of the floor. They wound their way around Esme’s wrists and ankles and tied her down.
My fingers gripped my wand. I wished I could make the snaky ropes vanish in a puff of smoke. But my magic was powerless inside Aunt Hemlock’s cave. There was nothing I could do but watch helplessly as Esme squirmed.
“We’ll leave in ten minutes,” said Aunt Hemlock, preening in front of the mirror. “Just as soon as I’m ready.” She picked up a prickly hedgehog and began brushing her hair, using the poor little creature as a comb.
“Psst!” I hissed desperately, hoping Esme would turn her head and see me. I had no idea how I could save her. But at least if she knew Rascal and I were here, she might not feel so afraid.
> Unfortunately, Wane was laughing so hard she couldn’t hear a thing.
“Off to the Coven with you,” he hissed, not realizing Esme didn’t understand a word of Lizard Language. “I expect the witches will make themselves a lovely Person Pie.”
If only my wand would work, I’d turn him into a pumpkin now for sure … or better still, a pumpkin seed. Then he might be gobbled up by the little fat hedgehog Aunt Hemlock had just put back on the floor
“Psst! Esme!” I picked up a sharp pebble and threw it into the cave.
PING! It hit the side of the cauldron.
“What was that? Another spy?” Aunt Hemlock spun round to face the window as I ducked out of sight.
“Just a little stripy cat,” I heard the magic mirror say.
The mirror must have caught sight of Rascal as he jumped down from the window.
“Who’s he calling little?” Rascal hissed.
“Shh!” I warned him, still keeping down as low as I could.
“I saw it too,” I heard Esme say. “Just a harmless little cat.”
“Harmless?” Rascal arched his back and spat.
But my heart skipped a beat; if Esme had seen Rascal, then she’d know that I was here as well. Yet nobody in the Magic Realm would suspect a thing. There are always so many witches’ cats wondering around … in fact, that gave me an idea.
“Witches’ cats! Why didn’t I think of that before,” I gasped. “I’m dressed up as a cat as well!” I scooped Rascal into my arms. “Quick! I’ve got a plan,” I said, taking a few steps back. “We’re going to go in and rescue Esme.”
“Inside the cave?” gulped Rascal. “But you said it wasn’t safe. You said Aunt Hemlock would recognize you…”
“And she would!” I said. “If I walked in there looking like me. But she wouldn’t recognize a black cat.” I pointed to my costume. “I am going to turn myself into a real one…”
“Wow! Can you do that? With magic?” Rascal’s big green eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “You can turn yourself into a proper living cat, just like me?”
“Yes!” I nodded as I raised my wand. “I think I can.”