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
SANDY AND RUPERT ESCAPED TO NEBBY’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.
The Last Class
IN THE MORNING, NEBBY, STORM, AND SANDY walked Rupert to the nearest bus stop. Sandy rubbed her eyes, trying to contain her tears. Storm did not have the same restraint—she sobbed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robes. Rupert was flattered that Storm felt so strongly about him—until she whispered, “That morning sun is so lovely!”
Rupert looked up at Nebby, who reached out a hand to help Rupert up.
“You must leave town—as quickly and quietly as you can,” Nebby reminded him. “You and your mother should be safe once you get far enough away.”
“And don’t forget to mind your Z’s and two’s,” Storm said.
“And don’t worry about Mrs. Frabblecrackers,” Sandy said. “The sand potion should still be in your system from yesterday, at least for a little while. I don’t think she’ll give you any trouble.”
“Can I use the leftover potion in my water bottle?” Rupert asked.
Sandy shook her head. “That should be stale. We could have made a new one, but . . .” Sandy whimpered. And that whimper turned into a snivel. And that snivel turned into a weep. And that weep turned into a cry. And that cry turned into a wail. And that wail turned into a sob. And that sob turned into a blubber.
“I’m sorry!” Sandy said, wiping her face on her arm. “I know I’m only supposed to cry when I’m happy! But you were the best friend I ever had!”
Watching her, Rupert was gutted. “Me too,” he said miserably. He tried to memorize her round face, her freckles, her blond hair tucked in a high ponytail, her big teeth—he couldn’t believe that this was the last time he would ever see Sandy.
“Do well on your Bar Exam,” Rupert said. “You only have three days left, so you better practice a lot.”
“I will,” Sandy sniffled.
Rupert nodded. “You’ll be the best Sand Witch anyone has ever seen.”
They hugged, and the emptiness grew inside his chest.
The bus came, and Rupert went to the very last row so he could wave to Sandy as the bus drove him to the worst place in the world. At first Sandy waved back, but then they grew farther and farther apart, until she was just a speck in his field of vision—and then she was gone altogether.
Rupert turned around, crossed his arms, and scowled. Just when he found a friend that Mrs. Frabbleknacker couldn’t take away, he still couldn’t be friends with her, all because of another horrible adult—the Fairfoul Witch. The more he thought about it, the more steamed he became. Who was Mrs. Frabbleknacker to stop him from talking to his friends? And who was the Fairfoul Witch to make him leave town?
When the school bus finally arrived, Rupert shuffled into the hallway, walked into his classroom, and took his seat. A few jaws dropped when he walked in, and poor brave Bruno leaned over and whispered, “We thought you were a goner.”
Rupert shrugged. He hurt in the bottom of his chest, in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to cry.
But he put on a brave smile and said to Bruno, “Nope, I’m just fine.”
“What did Mrs. Frabbleknacker do?” Allison asked. “Did she pull your hair?”
“Did she stomp on your toes?” said Kaleigh.
“Did she poke you in the side with a spoon?” said Hal.
“Did she sock you in the stomach?” squeaked Manny, from his little glass jar on the windowsill.
“She didn’t do anything,” he said. And he sat down in his seat, very aware that the rest of the class was staring at him with awe.
Not a moment later, the door burst open, and Mrs. Frabbleknacker blew in. She sniffed and looked around the room very carefully. Her eyes stopped when she reached Rupert’s desk, but Rupert noticed that she squinted slightly as she stared at him, as if he was blurry and she couldn’t quite see him.
“Children,” she said, as though she was saying something truly awful like Ingrown Toenail or Hairy Ice Cream. “Today is for mathematics.”
Everyone groaned.
“Hush!” Mrs. Frabbleknacker said, crinkling her criggly nose. “Now I know you may be disappointed. I know you thought that because we hadn’t done mathematics thus far, we weren’t going to do it ever. But you were wrong. You’re always wrong. If you are always wrong and never right, then what percentage are you wrong?”
“One hundred percent,” the class droned.
“WRONG!” Mrs. Frabbleknacker jumped up. “You are wrong hyrax percent!”
Rupert scratched his head and wrote hyrax = 100 in his notebook.
Mrs. Frabbleknacker walked to the front of the classroom, her heels clicking. She stopped when she got to the jar that trapped Manny. She stared at him. “If I say that Manny is two plus three inches tall, then how tall is he?” Mrs. Frabbleknacker whipped around, her eyes bulging. “Allison!”
“F-five?”
Mrs. Frabbleknacker jumped in the air and pointed at Allison. “FIVE? FIVE?” Mrs. Frabbleknacker walked over to Allison. The whole class cringed. Rupert stood very still, his stomach sinking. Surely, Allison was in for it now.
Mrs. Frabbleknacker’s face broke into a smile. A very waxy, cold-looking smile, as though she didn’t quite know how to upturn her lips.
“Did you hear that, class?” Mrs. Frabbleknacker said. “Two plus three equals five! Well done, my dear Allison! Well done!”
She held out her hand for Allison to shake. Allison awkwardly held her own limp hand out to Mrs. Frabbleknacker. But instead of shaking Allison’s hand, Mrs. Frabbleknacker yanked her out of her desk.
“WRONG!” Mrs. Frabbleknacker shouted. “TWO PLUS THREE IS NOT FIVE!”
She pulled both of Allison’s arms over her head and tied them in a pretzel knot. Allison squeaked. Then she ran from the classroom crying, yet again.
Mrs. Frabbleknacker walked to the front of the classroom. “Now who can tell me what two plus three is? Anyone?”
The whole class was silent.
Mrs. Frabbleknacker stamped her foot on the ground. “IF YOU CAN’T ANSWER THIS SIMPLE QUESTION,” she shouted, “THEN HOW ARE YOU GOING TO LEARN HARD MATH? HOW WILL YOU BE ABLE TO ANSWER JACKAL DIVIDED BY BELUGA? OR PARAKEET MULTIPLIED BY CAMEL?”
Rupert’s heart stopped, and his head grew light and dizzy. Jackal? Beluga? Parakeet? Camel? And . . . Hyrax? No wonder he didn’t know that hyrax = 100. Hyrax wasn’t
a word for one hundred—hyrax was an animal. And if Mrs. Frabbleknacker expected them to multiply and divide with animals, it could only mean one thing.
“Now we’ll try this again,” Mrs. Frabbleknacker said. “Two plus three is—”
“Honeybee,” said Rupert.
He locked eyes with Mrs. Frabbleknacker, and she grinned.
The Worst Witch of All
THE WHOLE CLASS LOOKED AT RUPERT. BUT Rupert didn’t have time to worry about them. His thoughts buzzed and hummed and flung around like Silly Putty in a slingshot. Every witch-like moment that had made him suspicious about her suddenly rushed back to him, and all the pieces made perfect sense. The cruel punishments—that was very witch-like behavior. The animal math—that was witch math. Mrs. Frabbleknacker didn’t buy her potions—she made them. Probably with the frog guts that she got from his class. She didn’t even hate the witches—she must have been pretending because she didn’t want anyone to know that she was a witch. This whole time.
Mrs. Frabbleknacker turned her back toward Rupert and scratched the chalkboard with a ruler. The sound made Rupert shudder, and when she stepped away from the board, Rupert read:
LIFE IS FAIR, AND FAIR IS FOUL.
Rupert’s mouth went dry. Warning words fired in his brain. Fair. Foul. Fairfoul. Fairfoul Witch. Not only was Mrs. Frabbleknacker a witch, but she was the Fairfoul Witch, the only witch that made Nebby, Storm, and Sandy quake in their boots.
Rupert’s eyes darted for the door. He had to get out.
Mrs. Frabbleknacker—or the Fairfoul Witch—drifted dangerously close to Rupert’s only escape, as if she read his eye movements. Rupert weighed his options. He could make a break for the window, or he could distract her as he dashed for the door. But deep down, he knew that neither of these would work. The Fairfoul Witch had powerful and unlimited magic on her side, and Rupert only had the sand potion in his veins, which was just about expired.
Rupert wondered if the Fairfoul Witch would really hurt him in front of the rest of the class. That would be a liability, right? She would get fired. She could go to jail.
The Only Thing Worse Than Witches Page 11