by Lou Kuenzler
“It’s only a little pen,” smiled Aunty Rose.
I stroked the fluffy feathers against my cheek. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me!”
“You poor lamb.” Aunty Rose made a big wet gulping sound like a foot stuck in mud. She turned away quickly but I saw she had tears in her eyes.
“You should go down and show Uncle Martin the pen,” she sniffed, pointing towards the garden. “I know he’d love to see it.”
“All right,” I agreed, wondering how I had upset her so much. But she wiped her eyes and smiled as broadly as ever.
“He’s out there seeing to his birds, as usual,” she laughed. “Not that there’ll be anything as exotic as a flamingo in our garden, of course.”
“I better show him this one then,” I said, waving the pen in the air as I dashed down the stairs.
“I’ll pop down to the village,” Aunty Rose called after me. “The jumble sale will be open now. There’s just time to drop off that old dress of yours, if you are sure you don’t want it.”
“Positive,” I shouted over my shoulder. I never wanted to see that silly, frilly Gretel dress ever again.
Chapter Eleven
Uncle Martin was standing beside the bird table at the bottom of the garden. “Shoo!” he cried, waving his arms as I ran towards him. For a moment I thought he was talking to me. Then I spotted the same fluffy grey kitten I had seen running away from the Police Persons this morning.
The naughty creature leapt towards the bird table and clung on by one paw. A flock of sparrows shot into the sky tweeting in terror.
“Stop that!” cried Uncle Martin.
“You cheeky little rascal!” I hissed under my breath in Cat Chat as the ball of grey fluff jumped to the ground.
“Rascal! I like that name,” he purred, puffing himself up to twice his fluffy size. “I think it suits me!”
“Well then, Rascal, just you leave those birds alone,” I said, crouching down so that only the kitten could hear me. I knew enough about the Person World to know that it wasn’t normal to hiss and purr as if you are having a proper conversation with a cat.
“Shoo!” Uncle Martin charged towards the kitten flapping an empty packet of sunflower seeds. Rascal shot away through the shiny black railings of Hawk Hall.
“No! Don’t send him that way,” I cried, thinking of mean Mr Seymour. I ran to the fence and peered through. It was too late. The kitten had vanished.
“Don’t worry. I expect the mother cat is around here somewhere. He’s too young to be out on his own,” said Uncle Martin, pouring peanuts into a feeder. “We can’t look after every waif and stray. No matter how much we might want to.”
“No,” I said. But my heart sank. Did he mean me? Was I a waif and stray? Did Uncle Martin wish that he could shoo me away like the kitten?
I looked up at his gentle, smiling face and couldn’t believe that it was true. He had only shooed away the kitten to protect his beloved birds.
“So, what’s this magnificent plumage I see?” He pointed to the pink feathers poking out of my hand. I had almost forgotten I was going to show him the pen. “Has a far-flung flamingo found its way to my feeding table?” he grinned. “I’ll have to put out prawns as well as peanuts if that’s true.”
“Ha!” I tried to smile. But I kept thinking how it was all a trick. The Ables wouldn’t even have taken me in if not for the spell Aunt Hemlock cast on them.
“Flamingoes love to eat prawns. That’s why their feathers turn pink,” said Uncle Martin. “I don’t know what this lot would make of it, though.” He pointed to the flock of sparrows who were back at the bird table, flapping in mid-air as they pecked at a hanging feeder of full of seeds.
The moment I saw their beating wings, I thought of the fluttering hope moth in the jar. “Dizzy demons!” The precious magic creature was still tucked inside my Gretel dress. It was in the frilly apron pocket.
How could I have been so stupid?
Aunty Rose was going to take it to the jumble sale…
Chapter Twelve
“Sorry, Uncle Martin, I – I’ve got to go!” I gasped.
Aunt Hemlock had warned me to keep the moth safe. If the jar was broken, the magic would be gone and the Ables wouldn’t want me any more.
I dashed back towards the cottage. If only I could stop Aunty Rose before she left. “Hello?” I cried. “Aunty Rose? Are you still there?”
“You just missed her,” said Uncle Martin, catching me up. “I saw her set off five minutes ago with a bundle of clothes for the jumble.”
“Groaning ghouls!” Why did I tell her I never wanted to see the Gretel dress again? I should have remembered the precious jar was in the apron pocket.
I darted to the hedge and peered along the road but there was no sign of Aunty Rose anywhere.
Uncle Martin looked out of the gate. “Has she taken something of yours by mistake?” he asked.
“Yes!” I wished I could tell him what it was, but I couldn’t. If he knew he had been tricked into fostering me, he would call the council and send me away.
“Don’t look so worried,” he smiled. “We can catch up with Rose in no time. She’ll be heading for the jumble sale in the church hall, but she’s bound to stop for a gossip at the post office first.” He picked up the empty packet of birdseed he had shaken at Rascal. “You go on ahead,” he said, pointing down the lane. “Follow the pavement past Hawk Hall and see if you can still see her. If not, wait on the corner for me. I’m just going to fetch my wallet so I can buy some more birdseed while we’re in the village.”
He bustled back to the cottage as I dashed out of the gate, still holding my flamingo pen. The village lane was completely different from the streets in town. There were no Persons anywhere … and no sign of Aunty Rose either. I hurried along the pavement beside the high railings of Hawk Hall and poked my head around the corner. Nothing! Just two fat ducks on the village pond.
As I waited for Uncle Martin, I peered through the railings into the garden of Hawk Hall. There wasn’t a flower, or even a single blade of grass, anywhere to be seen. In fact, it wasn’t really a garden at all.
I paced up and down. What was taking him so long? I still wasn’t sure exactly what a jumble sale was, but it didn’t sound like a safe place for a delicate moth. If the jar broke, the little creature would fly off, taking its clever magic away for ever. I was just edging a little further around the corner, when I heard a tiny voice cry out in Cat Chat.
“Stop it! Let me go!” It sounded like the fluffy grey kitten … and he was in some sort of trouble.
“Rascal?” I cried, answering in Cat Chat. “Rascal? Where are you?”
“Ouch!” he wailed. “Help me!” His voice was coming from Hawk Hall.
I glanced one last time towards the village. Every moment that passed put the moth in danger but I couldn’t just ignore Rascal’s cries.
I sped back around the corner and pressed my face against the iron railings. A tall, mean-looking boy, as skinny as a worm, was standing on the driveway and holding Rascal by the scruff of the neck.
“Stop that!” I cried, shouting through the bars. “Put that poor little cat down!”
“Who are you?” The boy marched towards me, swinging the kitten in the air.
“I’m Bella Broomstick. I live next door,” I said.
“Ah. The new foster brat,” the boy wrinkled his pointy nose as if he had a horrid smell underneath it. “Daddy told me all about you. Well, I’m Piers Seymour and my father is the richest man in this village. I don’t have to listen to anything you say.”
I remembered how happy I had been when the girl with the colourful clothes smiled at me on the bus. But it was obvious not all the children in the Person World were kind. Bullies are just the same here as in the Magic Realm, I thought.
“Can’t breathe,” choked Rascal as Piers squeezed him by the neck.
“Don’t worry!” I mewed softly in Cat Chat. “I’ll save you, I promise…”
“No I’m not,” I said quickly. I should have been more careful. I knew speaking animal languages in the Person World wasn’t normal.
“I heard you,” Piers laughed. “You were purring at him … it was weird!”
“I was only playing around,” I said. “Please. Can’t you just let the kitten go?”
“He’s trespassing!” Piers waved Rascal wildly in the air and pointed to the PRIVATE PROPERTY notice on the gate. “Nobody trespasses on Seymour land.” Rascal wriggled like a fish on a hook.
“He’s only a little kitten!” I roared. “Put him down!”
“Make me!” sneered Piers, safe behind his high iron fence.
If only I still had my magic wand, I’d teach this bully a lesson. But the only thing in my hand was the fluffy flamingo pen. “If this was a wand, I’d turn you into a real live worm, Piers Seymour,” I muttered under my breath, waving my pen in the air (three times). “That would stop you bullying helpless little creatures once and for all.”
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Poof!
There was a loud explosion. I almost fell over backwards as a puff of purple smoke shot out of the end of the biro.
“Galloping Goblins! I didn’t expect that to happen,” I gasped. My fingers tingled as I stared at the pen in my hand.
It really was a magic wand.
Chapter Thirteen
Rascal dived through the railings and leapt into my arms.
“That was amazing!” he wheezed, still coughing and spluttering from where Piers had squeezed his neck. “You saved me from the bully.”
“But … but…” As the smoke cleared, I stared at the tiny pink worm wiggling across the driveway. “Look what I’ve done to Piers Seymour!”
There was no mistaking it, the worm was Piers – it was still wearing his red bow tie.
“You taught him a lesson, that’s for sure!” said Rascal. “How does that thing work?” He stared at the flamingo pen in my shaking fingers.
“It … it’s a magic wand,” I said slowly, though I still couldn’t quite believe it was true. “I waved the pen three times and…”
“Wow!” Rascal’s big green eyes grew even wider. “You must be very, very magical,” he said.
“Me? I’m not magical at all,” I laughed. “I’m hopeless.”
But my brain fizzed and a smile spread across my face. I had done proper magic all by myself – and it had worked!
“That’s the first time in my whole life I’ve ever got a spell right,” I grinned. “If I’d managed that in the Creepy Castle exam, Dr Rattlebone would have been seriously impressed.” Then the truth hit me like a charging bull. This wasn’t an exam. My worm wasn’t a shoelace. It was a boy.
The smile vanished from my face. “Now what am I going to do? I’ve just turned Mr Seymour’s son into a worm!”
I glanced up and down the road but there was no sign of either Aunty Rose or Uncle Martin. Nor any Police Persons, thank goodness. If any Persons found out I had cast a spell, they’d toss me into prison and throw away the key – for ever. The Ables would never want me back; it wouldn’t matter if I managed to save the hope moth or not.
“Don’t look so worried,” said Rascal, rubbing himself against my ankles. “You were only being kind.”
It was true, but I wasn’t sure the Ables would see it the same way … or Piers. The worm wiggled its head angrily from side to side.
“Can’t you just wave your wand and change him back again?” asked Rascal.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But I’ll have to give it a go!” My only hope was that Piers’s worm brain was so tiny, he’d have no idea what was going on. If I could just turn him back into a boy, he might forget any of it had ever happened.
“Here goes,” I said, raising the fluffy pink pen. “Become Piers Seymour!” I said firmly, swooshing the pen in a circle three times.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
“Thundering ferrets! That doesn’t look right.” The tiny worm shot into the air with his little bow tie spinning round. “Sorry, Piers!” I cried as he began to loop the loop.
At that moment, an enormous black crow swooped over the fence from Honeysuckle Cottage. “Yum! I’ve never seen a flying worm before,” cawed the hungry bird.
“He’s going to eat Piers!” I cried, waving my arms wildly at the crow. “Shoo! Go away!”
Rascal dived back through the fence, spitting like a baby leopard. But the crow was almost twice as big as he was. It swooped down, opened his sharp black beak and scooped Piers up in mid-air.
“Stop!” I cried, barking at him in Crow Call (which sounds like a hyena with a bad cough). “You can’t eat that. It’s not really a worm, it’s a boy.”
Rascal leapt in the air, trying to grab the crow’s feet, but the cunning bird flapped higher. He circled above our heads with Piers hanging from his beak like a wriggly pink tongue.
“Drop that worm now, Mr Crow,” I cawed.
Suddenly, Rascal stopped jumping and pricked his ears. “Listen.”
Cats have very sharp hearing, but I heard it too. A soft purring growl like a tiger cub getting closer and closer.
I glanced past Honeysuckle Cottage along the winding country road that led towards town. Coming into view, at the top of the hill, was an enormous silver car as shiny as a suit of armour.
“That’s Piers’s parents,” gasped the kitten. “They’re coming home.”
If I didn’t manage to turn Piers back right now, Mr and Mrs Seymour would arrive just in time to see their son being gobbled up by a hungry crow. “Be a boy again! Be a boy! Be a boy!” I cried, waving the pen.
Nothing happened.
The crow made a horrible slurping sound and Piers disappeared further inside his beak.
Chapter Fourteen
The Seymours’ silver car was getting closer as the crow circled with tiny, wiggly Piers half-hanging from his beak.
“Trembling toadstools,” I groaned. “For the first time in my life I manage to get a spell right and now I can’t undo it!”
Even brave little Rascal was panicking. His hair was standing up on end like a fluffy porcupine. “There must be some way you can turn the spell backwards,” he said.
“Backwards? Rascal, you’re brilliant!” If three swoops of my wand clockwise had turned Piers into a worm, then three swoops widdershins (which is witchy-speak for the other way) might just turn the spell back round.
The crow took another loud slurp and swallowed Piers right up to his bow tie.
Swish! Swish! Swish! I waved the pen widdershins.
Poof!
There was a puff of pale blue smoke and a scream as Piers Seymour (the full-size boy) fell through the sky. The angry crow didn’t have a hope of holding him in his beak now.
“What have you done to my worm!” he cawed furiously.
I ought to have magicked a mattress for Piers to fall on … or given him wings. Luckily, his jacket caught on one of the high spikes of the fence. He was left dangling in mid-air like a piece of washing pegged to a line.
“Eight, nine, ten.” I counted his fingers and breathed a sigh of relief. None of them had been left behind in the spell.
Piers looked confused. “Who are you?” he roared at me as the electric gates opened and his parents’ car pulled into the driveway. “What am I doing up here?”
Piers seemed to have forgotten everything. Phew!
“I’m Bella Broomstick,” I said, scooping Rascal into my arms. “I’m just checking this cheeky kitten doesn’t trespass on your property. You know how naughty cats can be.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Piers roared, kicking his shiny shoes against the fence. “Get me down. This is an expensive suit.”
His parents leapt out of their car and began running towards us.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” I said. Rascal was
laughing so hard I almost dropped him. I felt all tingly inside. I had got myself (and Piers) into a horrible muddle, but I had got us out of it again … with MAGIC!
I almost wished Aunt Hemlock was here so she could see how well I had done. Almost… But not really. If she knew I could do spells she might take me back to the Magic Realm. I wanted to stay in the Person World for ever.
Uncle Martin came dashing down the path from Honeysuckle Cottage, waving his wallet. “Sorry, it took me ages to find this,” he called.
In a moment of panic I shoved Rascal under my T-shirt. I didn’t want Uncle Martin to see I was cuddling the same naughty kitten he had shooed away from his birds. “Stay there and don’t scratch me,” I hissed in Cat Chat.
But Uncle Martin wasn’t even looking at me. He was staring wide-eyed at the railings of Hawk Hall. “What on earth is Piers doing up there?” he gawped.
“Er … I think a bird might have dropped him,” I said, truthfully.
“A bird? You’re teasing me,” laughed Uncle Martin.
But, before I could say another word, Aunty Rose appeared from the direction of the village. Her hands were empty.
“My Gretel costume?” I cried. “Where is it?”
“Don’t worry, it’s gone to the jumble,” she smiled.
“Gone? And the apron too?”
“I gave the whole thing away, just like you wanted,” smiled Aunty Rose. She patted my arm, thinking she was being kind. “Whatever is going on here?” she whispered, as Piers howled like a werewolf and Mr Seymour tugged at his dangling legs.
There was a loud ripping sound as his trousers split in two.
“Oh dear!” mouthed Aunty Rose. Uncle Martin put his hand to his mouth, but he was far too kind to laugh out loud.
“Don’t gawp like a couple of goldfish!” snapped Mr Seymour. “Do something to help.”
“Of course…” They dashed towards the railings.