The Only Thing Worse Than Witches

by Lauren Magaziner

  He slipped the water bottle in his backpack and waited for something amazing to happen. But the problem was that Rupert didn’t feel any different. No tingles, no fuzzies, no change whatsoever. And that was a problem because Mrs. Frabbleknacker was right behind him, and he had no backup plan.

  Mrs. Frabbleknacker flicked a match and lit Manny’s notebooks on fire. She threw her head back and laughed until his essay crumbled into dusty ash. Then she turned to Rupert.

  Rupert clutched his two hundred words with both hands, trembling. Mrs. Frabbleknacker hovered above him, her long neck twisted like a floor lamp. Slowly and meekly, Rupert looked up into her eyes.

  Mrs. Frabbleknacker’s eyes slipped and stumbled—her gaze was glued to the floor. She tried to bring her eyes upward to meet Rupert, but she couldn’t keep her eyes locked on him. She grew redder and redder—the more she tried to look at Rupert and realized she couldn’t—and madder and madder.

  Her thin lips twisted into an ugly snarl, and her pointy nose cringled up.

  “RUPERT CAMPBELL!” she shouted, looking like she was about to pop. Her voice echoed throughout the classroom. Kyle leaned over and patted Rupert’s hand sadly. I’ll always remember you fondly, his expression seemed to say.

  Mrs. Frabbleknacker grabbed the edge of Rupert’s desk, but Rupert slipped out the side just before she threw the desk against the wall. It broke into four pieces.

  “Tell me class,” Mrs. Frabbleknacker said, steaming. “One minute a lazybones little boy is sitting in his desk—and the next minute he’s gone!”

  Rupert’s classmates looked at Mrs. Frabbleknacker as though she was insane. Rupert inched against the chalkboard with a finger to his lips, warning his classmates not to look at him or point him out.

  “But you aren’t gone, are you?” Mrs. Frabbleknacker spat. “Rupert Campbell. I may not see you, but I can smell you. I can hear you. And I can feel you—”

  Mrs. Frabbleknacker lunged at the chalkboard, and Rupert dashed to the other side of the classroom. She caught hold of Rupert’s shirt and grabbed it, but he pulled away, tearing his shirt in the process.

  Rupert didn’t waste a second—he burst from the classroom and ran down the hall. He didn’t know if Mrs. Frabbleknacker was following him or not, but he didn’t have time to turn around and find out. He needed more help and more protection than he had ever needed before. And there was only one person who could help him: Witchling Two.

  Double Trouble

  RUPERT LOCKED HIS FRONT DOOR BEHIND HIM, ran through the house, and panted in the doorframe of his basement.

  “Rupert?” Witchling Two said. She popped up from behind the wooden table. “How did the potion work on Mrs. Frabblebabble?”

  Rupert stomped over to her and slammed his hands on the table. “HOW? She’s madder than ever!”

  Witchling Two giggled. “I knew it would work. I am good at potions, even if I’m rubbish at spells. Speaking of which, how would you like to practice spells today? My Bar Exam is coming up in four days, and I’m no better off today than when I met you.”

  “We have bigger problems than your Bar Exam right now!”

  Witchling Two pouted. “Well there’s no need to shout,” she said.

  “I don’t understand what you did to me anyway. A sand potion—what is that?” Rupert thought about the way Mrs. Frabbleknacker’s eyes couldn’t stay on him. Rupert’s jaw dropped. “You made me slippery to the human eye . . . just like sand is slippery to witches! Does that mean Mrs. Frabbleknacker isn’t a witch after all?”

  “I didn’t make you slippery to the human eye, silly,” Witchling Two said. “Just to Mrs. Frubblebubble’s eyes. You were thinking about her when you took the potion, right?”

  “Of course I was, but that’s not the prob—”

  CRASH.

  The sound of broken glass rattled throughout the house.

  “She’s here!” Rupert hissed. “Mrs. Frabbleknacker!” He scurried underneath the table and hid.

  “I’ll deal with her,” Witchling Two said. “No Mrs. Fribbleknobber is going to mess with my apprentice!”

  Rupert held his knees and sucked in a great big breath. He hoped, wished, and prayed that his evil teacher wasn’t at the basement door. He wasn’t sure what Witchling Two could do to fight her—after all, she still wasn’t very good at spell-work—but he appreciated the thought.

  He was doomed. Utterly and completely doomed.

  Witchling Two gasped, and Rupert threw his hands over his ears to block out the worst from coming.

  “W-what are you doing here?” Witchling Two said, her voice unnaturally high-pitched.

  “I knew it!” a familiar voice crowed. Rupert peeked out from under the table—Witchling Two’s guardians, Nebby and Storm, were lingering by the stairs, their hoods shrouding their faces. Rupert could only see Nebby’s very disapproving frown and Storm’s very gleeful grin.

  “I knew it!” Storm shouted again, throwing her hood back to reveal her pointed, wrinkly face. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! I told you that our witchling was still seeing the humanling! I told you she had been gallivanting with this boy! I told you it would land us in nothing but trouble!”

  Nebby removed her hood, too, and Rupert almost winced when he saw her face. She was wearing the I’m-very-disappointed-in-you expression. Of all the faces a parent could make, Rupert knew that was the worst one.

  “How long have you known?” Witchling Two squeaked.

  “Oh, we’ve known for a while,” Nebby said ominously. “And what’s more, the Fairfoul Witch also knows, now. She is furious.”

  Witchling Two grew pale. Rupert watched her tongue flub around in her mouth, trying to wrap around the perfect words. “Fairfoul knows?” she squeaked.

  Storm and Nebby nodded, and a knot tugged in Rupert’s stomach.

  “How?” Witchling Two asked.

  “I don’t know. It was very sudden. At the stroke of the Witching Hour, she stormed out of her lair shouting profanities about a boy named Rupert Campbell,” Nebby said.

  Storm nodded sagely. “Must have consulted the tea leaves this afternoon. Yes, yes, she must have.”

  “But when would she have found out?” Witchling Two asked. “Everyone knows she sleeps all day.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nebby said. “What matters is that she knows.”

  “We should have stopped them, Nebby,” Storm said, though she was glaring at Rupert and Witchling Two. “I told you we should have stopped them before Fairfoul found out!”

  “Why didn’t you?” Rupert said.

  Nebby’s swiveled her head to look at him, and for the first time, Rupert thought he saw some gentleness swimming behind her eyes. “She was improving—her potions were sharper, suddenly she was acing her practice WHATs, and she was confident. And,” Nebby paused to put her hand on Witchling Two’s shoulder, “parents want to see their witchlings happy, Rupert. And Witchling Two has never been happier.”

  Witchling Two nodded robustly.

  “But now I see that indulging your friendship was a mistake.”

  “Why’s that?” Rupert asked.

  “Didn’t you hear, boy?” Storm said. “The Fairfoul Witch is furious! Fairfoul! And if Fairfoul is furious, then the rest of the Witches Council is furious, too.”

  “You can’t practice with this boy any longer,” Nebby said. “The Witches Council knows his identity—you’ve put this boy at deep risk. Though, he was already in deep risk—now he’s a walking time bomb.”

  “That’s exactly why I can’t leave him,” Witchling Two said firmly. “I didn’t leave Rupert when the witches smoked us out of Pexale Close. I didn’t leave him when the Witches Council was chasing us. I didn’t leave him when he was having problems with Mrs. Frocklebopper. And I won’t leave him now.”

  Rupert grinned. They really were friends.

 
; Nebby elbowed Witchling Two. “You sure have a sensitive spot for this boy, hmm?”

  “Getting into trouble, all day and all night!” crowed Storm. Then she bent over and laughed uncontrollably until she hiccupped for breath.

  Witchling Two cocked her chin upward, a defiant expression etched on her face. But when she spoke, her voice trembled. “Storm Witch, Nebulous Witch—I’ve never asked you for anything big before, but I need your help now. If the Fairfoul Witch finds us, Rupert and I are both cooked. We need a protection spell around Rupert’s house, and I need you to cast it. So will you help me?”

  “We are bound to the code of the Witches Council,” Storm said. “Technically, the Witches Council is supposed to find you and punish the boy—and since Fairfoul is the highest ranking witch, we should not disobey.”

  Rupert grabbed Witching Two’s hand. Were they going to have to fight their way out of the basement against her guardians? Would they turn him over to the Fairfoul Witch?

  Nebby took a step closer, and Rupert took one backward.

  Nebby paused and smiled softly. “Don’t be scared, Rupert. Witchling Two means more to us than a Fairfoul Witch decree. You ought to know that by now.” Nebby walked to Witchling Two and affectionately patted her head. “You are our witchling, our family—and we will protect you. At least— until we figure out a long-term plan for you, Rupert. As I said, you are in terrible danger. Storm and I need to do a little investigating within the Witches Council before we can figure out how best to handle your situation. Promise me you’ll stay put until we return. We’ll discuss your options then, okay?”

  Rupert nodded. “All right, I promise.”

  The Storm Witch and the Nebulous Witch both closed their eyes.

  “Protection! Invisibility! Safety!” they shouted together.

  “Unlimited supply of chips!” Witchling Two added.

  And then they all snapped their fingers.

  Rupert cowered as the house shook and thousands of whips rained from the ceiling. The Storm Witch and the Nebulous Witch clicked their tongues disapprovingly and snapped their fingers—the whips disappeared.

  “You, boy,” the Storm Witch snorted. “If you’re really going to help her train, then make sure she practices her spells. She’ll never pass with ruddy magic like that.”

  Hiding Rupert

  WHEN THE STORM WITCH AND THE NEBULOUS 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

  WITCHLING TWO POINTED TO RUPERT 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.”