by Natasha Lowe
For a few minutes Cat sat slumped against the wall, staring at the stack of magic books. She let out a deep sigh, knowing she should take off the uniform and go downstairs. Her grandparents would be wondering what had happened to her. It was as Cat started to get up that she felt a gentle tickling on her leg. With her free hand Cat scratched at her shin, and something scuttled onto her fingers. She looked down and screamed, waving her arm about in a frenzy. A huge hairy spider, the kind with a fat body and thick legs, was crawling across her hand. Feeling like she was about to vomit, Cat gave a violent shake and the spider dropped into her lap. Panic coursed through her and she screamed again, flicking the spider onto the floor with the wand. A strange tingling sensation fizzed along Cat’s spine, and the spider immediately puffed up to the size of a golf ball, turning bright neon green. Scrambling to her feet, Cat gave a muffled howl as the spider turned violet, then orange, then yellow. She backed away, still watching as it began to glow indigo blue, pulsing between all the colors of the rainbow like a crazy disco ball. This wasn’t normal. Cat knew that. Spiders did not behave like this, even the most deadly kind. Hardly daring to believe what was happening, Cat clambered onto the high chair and pointed her wand at the creature again. She felt the same delicious, tingly feeling, which was just as Clara Bell had described, and the spider began bouncing around the room.
“Are you all right, Catkins?” her grandmother called up. “Grandpa thought he heard you scream.”
“I’m f-fine, Gran,” Cat panted, watching the spider bounce about like a rubber ball, hitting the walls and ceiling and continuously changing colors. “Never been better!” she called down, clamping her lips together to stop herself from screaming out, “I’m magic! I’ve got the gift! I’m a Late Bloomer like Clara Bell.” It was all Cat could do not to charge around the attic doing cartwheels. This was the moment she’d been waiting for her whole life. And now that it was here, she wanted to shout it all over Potts Bottom.
The spider gave a particularly high bounce and landed smack in the middle of a large, sticky web that hung from a corner of the attic. There was a strong smell of licorice, a sweet, dark, treacly scent that must have been what magic smelled like. Cat was relieved to see that the spider appeared to be trapped. It had stopped moving and changing color, staying a lovely shade of magenta that reminded Cat of an enormous jewel caught in the web.
“Did you find the cap?” Edith shouted up as Cat took off the uniform, trembling all over with excitement. Her hands shook as she put the clothes back in the box, squashing them on top of the books and mini cauldron.
“I did. I found a lot of great things I can use,” Cat yelled, stuffing the pilot’s cap in too. The wand Cat kissed and slipped into her pocket, pulling her sweater down so you couldn’t see the tip. It was far too precious to let go of. She gave a soft laugh and did a little dance. “I’ve got the gene,” Cat whispered, picking up the box. “I’ve really got the gene.”
She couldn’t tell anyone yet though, not even her grandparents, not until she had figured out how to tell her mother first. And that wasn’t going to be easy, especially when Cat told her mother that she wanted to apply to Ruthersfield Academy.
Chapter Four
* * *
Out of Control
GRANDPA ROGER HAD DRIVEN CAT as far as the narrow canal path would allow him, so she wouldn’t have to walk the whole way home lugging the box of stuff. Luckily, after showing her grandparents the pilot’s cap, Granny Edith had waved her hands at Cat and said, “Take that dusty box out of my kitchen, Cat. Whatever’s inside, you’re welcome to it.”
Now, as Cat walked along the gravel path that led to the bakery, she felt as if she was hugging an enormous box of secrets. Secrets so special and amazing that she didn’t care how heavy the box was or how much her arms ached; she had never been happier in her life. The air was crisp and fresh, laced with the tang of wood smoke, and a harvest moon hung low in the sky, reflecting its light off the canal.
“I’ve got the gift!” Cat whispered, needing to say the words out loud because she still couldn’t really believe it.
There was a sweet, spicy scent wafting from the bakery, and Cat knew that her mother was making gingerbread. The shop door was closed, so Cat staggered around to the back, sending the chickens scattering. They lived in a little coop that Cat’s dad had built, but most of the time the chickens roamed freely around the yard, gobbling up stale cake and bread crumbs that Poppy and Marie Claire threw out for them. Light streamed through the kitchen window, and Cat could see her mother pulling a pan of gingerbread out of the oven. Auntie Charlie and Uncle Tom were sitting by the fire with Marie Claire, and Peter’s lanky frame was sprawled across the table, sketching something out on a piece of paper. His glasses had slipped down his nose and he appeared to be talking to himself, which was not uncommon for Peter. Cat had forgotten that the Parkers were coming for supper. Not that she minded. Even though Auntie Charlie and Uncle Tom weren’t her real aunt and uncle, Cat adored them as if they were family. Auntie Charlie and her mother had been best friends since they were girls, and Auntie Charlie still came over most days. When Peter and Cat were little, they had spent hours and hours playing on the bakery floor together, making up games and squabbling over the crayons and blocks. Being only children, they felt more like brother and sister than friends. Cat was very fond of Peter, but like all siblings, they were excellent at annoying each other too. And since Peter had joined the science club and spent most of his time making weird inventions these days, the annoying part of him was definitely getting bigger!
Cat tapped on the back door with her shoe, unable to use her hands. She smiled through the glass pane as her mother rushed over to open it. “Gracious, Cat! What on earth did you find?”
“A pilot’s cap and a few other things” Cat said, lurching into the kitchen. “Hi, Auntie Charlie. Hi, Uncle Tom.”
“Hey, that looks heavy. Where do you want it?” Uncle Tom said, leaping to his feet. He always looked like a giant in the bakery because, at six and a half feet tall, his head nearly touched the ceiling. Cat guessed he had come straight from work, since he still wore his uniform. Uncle Tom was the Potts Bottom chief of police.
“I’ll just take this up to my room. Thanks, Uncle Tom,” Cat said, resting her chin on the box to make sure the flaps were down. “I’ll be right back,” she added, shuffling across the kitchen. Cat caught Peter watching her, and when he noticed she was looking, he raised his bushy eyebrows and grinned. It was as if he knew she was carrying a great big secret, and Cat turned her head away, pointedly ignoring him.
She hurried as fast as a person can hurry carrying a heavy box of magic books and a mini brass cauldron upstairs to her room. There were three little bedrooms on the second floor of the cottage, and the bakery, kitchen, and a small living room down below. As Cat shoved the box under her bed, a cloud of dust floated up, and she darted over to open her window; otherwise she’d be coughing all night. Then, wiping her hands on her skirt, Cat raced back to the kitchen.
Her mother was just putting a roast chicken down in the middle of the table. She clapped her hands. “Clear your stuff off, please, Peter. And, Cat, knives and forks.”
“What are you doing?” Cat asked, glancing at the piece of paper in front of Peter. It looked just the way his bits of paper always looked, filled with squiggles and numbers and odd little shapes.
“I’m figuring out how to make an earthquake detector,” Peter said, brushing back a clump of black curls from his face. They sprung from his head in a wild, frizzy mass that always made Cat want to reach for the scissors.
“Well, you never know when that will come in handy,” Cat said. “Considering there’s never been a single earthquake in Potts Bottom as far as I know!”
“It’s going to pick up small vibrations in the earth,” Peter said, helping Cat put knives and forks around the table. “And just because we’ve never had an earthquake, Cat, doesn’t mean we won’t get one.”
“
We might get hit by an asteroid, too!” Uncle Tom joked gently, and Cat couldn’t help laughing, because for weeks and weeks Peter had convinced most of the kids at school that an enormous asteroid was en route to hit the earth. He had worked out the exact time and day it would happen, judging from the speed and direction the asteroid was traveling, and a great many other facts that no one else could understand. So at eight thirty a.m. on Tuesday, September 25, most of the kids from Potts Bottom Elementary had refused to go to school and taken shelter in their cellars. A number of kindergartners had apparently been in hysterics, and when the asteroid didn’t hit, hordes of angry parents had turned up at the Parkers’ house demanding to know what Peter was playing at, scaring their children half to death.
“I wasn’t off by much in my asteroid calculations,” Peter replied calmly. “It was entirely possible.”
“Well, I think your earthquake sensor sounds very interesting,” Marie Claire said, hobbling over to the stove. She picked up a pan of potatoes.
“Marie Claire, I’ll do that,” Cat offered, rushing over to help. “You look like your ankle is hurting.”
“It’s a little achy today, but nothing that your mother’s dinner won’t put right.”
The meal was delicious, although Cat couldn’t eat a thing. She was far too excited, and every few seconds she would pat her pocket, unable to resist the temptation to feel the magic wand.
“Cat, are you looking for something?” Poppy finally asked. “You seem very distracted.”
“No, just thinking about my Antonia Bigglesmith project. And I had two Twirlie bars at Gran’s house,” Cat admitted. “So I’m not really hungry.” This was true, but it certainly didn’t account for her loss of appetite.
“Oh, Cat, how can you eat those things?” Poppy sighed. “They’re full of additives and preservatives.”
“And taste heavenly,” Cat pointed out, smiling at her mother. She loved the soft vanilla-flavored cake and sweet cream filling of a Twirlie bar. So what if they had a shelf life of a hundred years? They were Cat’s favorite treat in the entire world. She would take a Twirlie bar over a homemade cupcake any day of the week.
As the dinner wore on, Cat found it harder and harder not to say anything. She kept squirming about on her chair and had to press her lips together to stop her news from bubbling out. She would explode if she didn’t tell someone.
“Cat, have you got fleas?” Peter asked, leaning forward and claiming the last roast potato. “Because you’re starting to make me feel itchy.”
“I have to show you something,” Cat burst out. “This old pilot’s cap that belonged to my great-granddad. It’s going to be part of my costume.”
“Really?” Peter looked surprised.
“I just told you I was going as Antonia Bigglesmith.”
“No, I don’t mean ‘really’ about that. I mean, really, you want to show me?”
“Go on,” Poppy said. “We’ll do the dishes and call you down when it’s time for dessert. It’s nice to see you two working on your projects together. Who are you going as, Peter?”
“Herbert Onsteen!” Peter said, getting up from the table. “Greatest inventor who ever lived.”
“You don’t need a costume then, do you?” Cat said, grinning. “You’re tall, you’ve got the mad scientist hair! Little bits of paper sticking out of your pockets.”
“This better be quick,” Peter muttered, following Cat out of the kitchen. “Because I’m not missing your mum’s gingerbread.”
“Wait till you see what I’m going to show you,” Cat said, charging up the stairs.
“Well, I know it’s not a pilot’s cap,” Peter replied, lolloping after her.
Cat pulled him into her bedroom and shut the door. “Peter, the most amazing thing happened this afternoon. You are not going to believe it!”
“Why are you telling me then?”
“I can’t tell my mum, or my friends. Not that you’re not a friend,” Cat added hastily. “But you know what I mean.”
“Do I?” Peter sat down on Cat’s bed.
“Yes, of course you do. You’re a good secret keeper.”
“Ahhh, so that’s it. You have to tell someone, and you know I won’t blab to Auntie Poppy. Oh, look at this!” Peter said, picking up a strange contraption from the floor. Rolls of cardboard tubes had been fastened together at right angles with duct tape. “You still have the periscope I made you in year one—for checking under your bed to make sure Madeline Reynolds wasn’t hiding there, remember? Look.” Peter demonstrated, peering through one end and putting the other end under the bed. “Wow, I did a great job with the mirrors,” he added, admiring his handiwork.
“Put it down,” Cat said, looking slightly embarrassed. “That was a long time ago. I never use it anymore.”
“Which is why it still lives by your bed, right?”
“Just put that down and listen, will you,” Cat said impatiently, pulling the wand out of her pocket.
“What on earth . . .” Peter began, staring at the wand.
“I know!” Cat jumped up and down. “It’s real, Peter. I’m magic!!!”
“Wait, that’s a real wand?” Peter held out his hand. “Can I look at it?” He leaned forward and Cat handed him the wand.
“Did you hear me?” She twirled around. “I’m magic! I’ve got the gift! I’m a Late Bloomer, Peter.”
“Where on earth did you find this?” Peter said, examining the wand.
“In my gran and grandpa’s attic, along with all my mum’s old magic books.” Cat tugged the box out from under the bed and held up Simple Spells. “See!”
“Cat, I don’t mean to burst your bubble here, but just because you’ve found your mum’s old wand, doesn’t mean you’re magic.”
“I made a spider change color, Peter. Lots of colors. And it grew and bounced around the attic, and—”
“Cat,” Peter interrupted, handing her back the wand. “You have an extremely vivid imagination. Remember that time you thought you made a stick roll, but it was really the wind? Or the time you made a rain spell, and when it rained two days later, you thought that was because of you?”
“This was different, Peter. I felt all tingly and magical!” Cat shivered at the memory. “It was the most delicious sensation.” She opened Simple Spells, and started to flip through it. “Look, I’ll show you. I’ll do a spell.”
“Well, make it quick, because I’m ready for my gingerbread.”
“I should start with something easy, don’t you think? How about this? A simple room tidying spell?” Cat glanced around her bedroom. Her jacket and scarf and gloves were still lying in a heap where she had taken them off, and yesterday’s clothes were scattered across the floor.
“Go on then,” Peter said, yawning.
“Can you open my cupboard so the clothes can hang themselves up?”
With a loud sigh, Peter walked over to Cat’s cupboard and tugged it open. He folded his arms and rolled his eyes.
“I know you don’t believe me, Peter, but you will! I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it.” Cat glanced at the page, then, waving her wand around the room, she cried out, “Tiddlylischus!”
Nothing happened, and Peter gave a crooked smile. “I think you’re holding your wand upside down, Cat.”
“I am? Oh yes, you’re right, Peter. The tip should go the other way, shouldn’t it?” Cat flipped the wand around and tried again. “Tiddlylischus!” she shouted.
Still nothing happened, and Peter chuckled. “Should I be using my imagination here?”
Cat glared at him. “I am not making this up.”
Shaking his head, Peter strolled across the room and glanced down at the page. “Okay, Cat, seriously! That says ‘Tidylischus,’ not ‘Tiddlylischus’! You’ve got to be able to say the words right!”
Ignoring Peter’s comment, Cat tried again. “Tidylischus!” she said, making a sweeping motion with the wand. Immediately all the clothes on the floor floated into the air, and Cat danced aroun
d in delight. “It’s working, Peter, it’s working.” She watched them tumble and swirl as if they were in a dryer, but instead of hanging themselves up in the cupboard like the spell said they would, the clothes started moving faster. “Oh dear, I don’t think I’ve got it quite right,” Cat said, as her red wool sweater grabbed Peter by the arms, tugging him across the room.
“Hey, get off me,” Peter cried, as the sweater spun him around like a dance partner.
Cat’s scarf was speeding in circles, and every time it flew by Cat, it whipped her in the face. Not knowing quite what to do, she gave a panicky laugh. “Into the cupboard!” Cat ordered a pair of black socks that were dipping and diving at them like bats. Her jeans waved their legs about, racing away from Cat every time she tried to grab one. “Peter, help me,” she panted. “I can’t control them.”
“No kidding,” Peter gasped, wrestling with the sweater. “Will you go away?”
Cat managed to grab on to her puffy winter jacket as it spun by. She dragged it across the room and, with a great deal of pushing and shoving, got it into the cupboard and slammed the door shut behind it. “Oh, no, the window,” Cat groaned, turning to see her jeans squeezing through the opening. At least they were her old ones with the holes in the knees. Her socks and gloves sped out after them, quickly followed by Cat’s scarf and T-shirt. Her sweater had pinned Peter to the floor, and Cat yanked at the neck, trying to pull it off him. “I never liked wearing you,” Cat said, pulling as hard as she could. “You were always too scratchy!” Noticing the other clothes leave, the sweater abruptly let go of Peter and dashed off after them, pushing Cat out of the way as if it didn’t want to get left behind. She raced to the window to try to grab an arm, but it was too late. The sweater waved a sleeve at her, and by the light of the moon Cat watched it dance off along the canal.