by Natasha Lowe
“You’re in a good mood,” Cat said. “I haven’t seen anyone this happy in Potts Bottom all week.”
“I’ve stopped worrying, Cat. I decided this morning. I said, ‘Ted Roberts, you can’t spend the rest of your life worrying about something that may never happen.’ ” The postman shifted his bag of mail over to his other shoulder. “Besides,” he added, “if you ask me, I think she fell off that work broom over the Pacific Ocean and got eaten by a shark.”
“I haven’t heard that idea before,” Cat said.
“No? Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? My mother’s the same age as Madeline Reynolds and she has trouble just getting up the stairs. So how’s an eighty-five-year-old witch going to go gadding about on a work broom? Tell me that.” Ted Roberts nodded at the mail in Cat’s hands. “I think you’ll find something interesting in there,” he said, giving Cat another huge grin.
Cat found the postcard wedged in between the electricity bill and the phone bill. It had a waterfall on the front, and when Cat turned it over, she read:
Dear Cat,
Congratulations on getting the gift! I know you’ll make a wonderful witch!!
Love, Dad
PS—Tell Mum I love her and I’m on my way home. Found myself in a bit of a sticky situation, but things are all right now.
This was an omen. It had to be. Cat smiled at the postcard and gave it a kiss. Her dad believed in her. He said so, right there in red pen. She’d make a wonderful witch. And whatever her mother thought, Cat wasn’t going to give up on her dream.
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
A Wave of Low Pressure
THE DAY GOT DARKER AND more ominous as it wore on, and Cat began to wonder if she believed in good omens. She spent most of her time helping out in the bakery, dealing with rude customers who were too anxious to be polite. The mood in Potts Bottom had hit an all time low. Poor Marie Claire’s ankle was hurting so badly she couldn’t stand for long, so Cat and her mother worked side by side in silence. Even the news that Cat’s dad was coming home couldn’t thaw the ice between them.
As soon as the bakery closed, Cat grabbed the last two lemon bars and went straight to her room, but the minute she shut the door, she wished she had gone for a walk instead. She had been stuck in the bakery all day, and her bedroom felt too small and stuffy. Cat paced around a few times and finally yanked open her window. Sometimes, on nice days or when the moon was full, she liked to climb out and sit on the roof, imagining how much fun it would be if she could launch herself off on a broomstick. This always made Marie Claire nervous, but she didn’t need to know. All Cat wanted to do was sit and eat her lemon bars and get the cake smell out of her hair.
The air felt cold as dry ice, thick and still, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Cat picked her way slowly around to the chimney pot. She sat down and leaned up against it. Taking the lemon bars out of their paper bag, Cat laid one on top of the bag and took a bite out of the other. Usually these were her favorites, but today they tasted too sweet and cloying. Her mother hadn’t put enough lemon juice in, which was most unlike her, and Cat pushed the bag away with a sigh. Even being up here wasn’t calming Cat down the way it always did. Her skin prickled and she wished the wind would blow. The heavy stillness felt ominous, and after a few moments, Cat realized why. There were no squirrels skittering up and down trees, gathering the last of the autumn nuts, no birds outside the bakery, pecking at the cake crumbs Marie Claire always scattered for them. Even the canal was silent, without the gentle splash of fish breaking the surface to feed. It was as if they had all gone into hiding. A gray wash covered the landscape, growing darker and grayer by the minute. And suddenly it didn’t feel safe to be sitting out here.
Cat sensed something was about to happen right before the air started to crackle and fizz and a swarm of birds flew out of the trees on the opposite side of the canal. They lifted into the air like a black cloud, dropping feathers and cawing loudly before swarming out of sight.
Quickly Cat scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding fast. Something was out there in the woods. Something had scared all those birds.
A jagged bolt of lightning lit up the sky. There was no thunder to accompany it, and the lightning wasn’t like any lightning Cat had ever seen before. Little green sparks flew off it, zooming across the sky and exploding into puffs of green smoke.
She had to get back inside, but just then the wind started to blow, howling over the rooftop with such force Cat worried she’d be swept over the edge. This was no normal wind, and she clung on to the chimney pot as mini tornados swirled out of the woods, tearing off down the canal and sending water splashing over the sides.
A thick black cloud appeared through the trees, and from the center of it flapped a giant bird. At least that’s what it looked like. At first Cat thought it was an eagle, an enormous bald-headed eagle, hunched over with jutting wings.
But as the thing rose higher, Cat realized that it wasn’t a bird at all. The dark, shadowy creature flying over the canal was a person clinging on to a broom, an outdoor work broom with a wide head of bristles. It was difficult to see what the person looked like from this distance, but Cat knew, without a doubt, that it was Madeline Reynolds.
Still clutching the chimney pot, Cat struggled to crouch down behind it, battling against the wind. The broomstick started to hover, and then, without any warning it swooped sharply toward her. Cat bit back a cry and held her breath, as if this might make her invisible. She felt a rush of frigid air as the broomstick flew nearer, and a dark shadow passed over Cat’s head.
The wind dropped as suddenly as it had blown up. There was a flapping sound, and the atmosphere crackled with electricity as the witch landed a few feet away. A wild, ragged howl cut through the air, and Cat’s stomach clenched in fear. She didn’t move a muscle, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She could hear a rustling noise and then the sound of someone chewing.
Daring to look, Cat peeked around the chimney pot, and there, squatting on the roof, gobbling down Cat’s abandoned lemon bars, was an ancient bald-headed woman with a face like a shriveled walnut. It was the same face Cat had seen in the newspaper, the face of Madeline Reynolds. She chewed with her mouth open, shoving down the two lemon bars as if she hadn’t eaten in a while. A large number ten was printed on the front of her boilersuit.
Cat shoved her fist in her mouth, biting down on a finger. She mustn’t scream. She had to stay calm. This was an old woman called Maddie, that was all. If only Cat had her wand with her though. Right now would be the perfect moment to jump out and zap the runaway witch. But the wand was tucked away at the back of Cat’s sock drawer.
There was a slurping sound as Madeline Reynolds licked her fingers clean. Cat was just contemplating throwing a roof slate at her when the old woman tipped back her head and howled, another raw, terrifying howl that made Cat think of wolves. Giving one more long howl, Madeline Reynolds sent a bolt of lightning ripping across the sky.
Then, without even glancing in Cat’s direction, she got back on her broom and took right off again, flying toward Potts Bottom. Of course Peter had been right, Cat thought. Madeline Reynolds was going back to Ruthersfield Academy. Maybe she planned to blow up the school? Cat didn’t know. But she couldn’t let her fear stand in her way. This was her chance to show Ms. Roach what she was capable of.
Not bothering to go carefully, Cat sped around the roof and slid in through her bedroom window. Even if Peter was still mad at her, she had to tell him what she’d just seen. As Cat picked up the walkie-talkie, it crackled to life.
“Cat, are you there?” Peter said, his voice so full of static it was difficult to hear. “My homemade barometer just burst. The can exploded. It expands when the pressure is low, but this is crazy.” He sounded breathless. “Something’s going on, Cat. I can sense it in the air.”
Cat pressed the speak button. Her heart was beating so hard, she could feel it pounding against her rib ca
ge. “You’re right, Peter. I’ve just seen Madeline Reynolds. It looks like she’s heading for Ruthersfield.” There was a huge amount of static, and then Peter said something jumbled that Cat couldn’t hear, followed by more static.
“What?” Cat dug the magic wand out of her sock drawer and tucked it into her pocket. She pulled her sweater down over it. “Peter, are you there?”
The receiver crackled back to life. “You’re not still planning to try to catch her, are you?”
“I am,” Cat replied. “Over and out.” She threw the handset onto her bed and hurried downstairs. Cat slipped on her jacket and poked her head around the kitchen door. “I’m going up to Peter’s if that’s all right,” she announced.
Her mother was sitting at the table listening to the radio. “That’s fine,” Poppy said, sounding distracted.
Marie Claire looked up from her book. “Did you hear the screech owl? It sounded like it was on the roof of the bakery.”
“I did.” Cat nodded.
“Well, be careful. There’s quite a storm blowing out there,” Marie Claire said.
“There’s a storm brewing off the coast of Italy, too,” Poppy added. “They think Madeline Reynolds is about to strike.”
“I have a strong feeling she is,” Cat agreed, noticing that her mother had stuck the postcard her dad had sent her to the fridge. Taking it down, Cat slipped the card into her pocket with the wand. She needed all the good omens she could get.
The streets of Potts Bottom were empty. Everyone was inside, Cat guessed, glued to their televisions and radios. As she ran toward Ruthersfield, the wind picked up again, swirling and gusting around her. Cat kept her head down as a buffer. She shivered inside her coat, fear and adrenaline coursing through her. To keep herself focused, she practiced saying “Intratangledcacoono” over and over again. Cat was so involved in her spell chanting that she didn’t see the figure lurking by the academy gates until it stepped out of the gloom in front of her. With a soft cry of terror, Cat reached for her wand, realizing as she did so that the hunched over person in the long green raincoat was Peter. “I could have tied you up,” Cat gasped, lowering her wand. “What are you doing here, Peter?”
“I thought you might need a little help.” Peter said, holding up a coil of rope. “You can’t face Madeline Reynolds without a backup plan, can you? Remember the summer your dad taught us lassoing? Well, I’m quite a good aim, if you recall.”
Cat smiled so hard her cheeks ached. “I can’t believe you came!”
“Well, your mum and my mum would kill me if anything happened to you, Cat. I mean, I couldn’t sit at home and let you face Madeline Reynolds by yourself.”
“Maddie,” Cat reminded him. “Think of her as Maddie, Peter. And I’m so pleased you’re here. I really am.”
Peter shrugged. “You can be extremely annoying, Cat, but I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
Cat gave him a slippery hug through his raincoat. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You didn’t tell your dad though, did you? We can go right to Uncle Tom’s after we catch her. I just don’t want the police charging in and wrecking everything.”
“I thought about it,” Peter confessed. “I almost did tell him, but he was staring at the television and, well . . .” He smiled at Cat. “I’ve no idea why I think this, because it makes absolutely no sense, but I sort of believe you can do it.”
“Thanks, Peter.” Cat’s face grew warm, and she suddenly felt shy. To hide her emotions, her voice became extra efficient. “This is locked,” Cat said, trying to push open the gate. “We’re going to have to climb over the wall.”
“Are you sure she’s in there?” Peter asked, joining his hands together and holding them out so Cat could use them as a step to hoist herself up with.
“I’m certain of it,” Cat panted. She sat on top of the wall, steadying herself with one hand and putting the other down to help pull Peter up. Then, scooting around to face the academy, they both dropped carefully to the playground, remembering to land with bent knees.
“Look.” Cat nudged Peter. Hovering above Ruthersfield was the biggest storm cloud Cat had ever seen. It was black as thunder and swollen with rage, hanging inches above the roof.
“She’s definitely in there,” Cat said.
Chapter Twenty
* * *
Dark Magic
IT WASN’T AS DIFFICULT GETTING inside the academy as Cat had imagined. The front door was locked, of course, but around the back of the building they found a wide-open window, thin streams of black smoke leaking out of it. Not hot fire smoke. This smoke brushed against Cat like a cold caress, chilling her right down to her toes.
“Well, we know how she got in, don’t we?” Peter whispered, looking about as frightened as Cat felt. She wondered if she should tell him to go home. After all, this had been her idea. But the truth was she wanted Peter here with her. She needed him beside her, making her be the brave one. Without him she might not have the courage to face Madeline Reynolds.
“Don’t worry,” Cat said in her most reassuring voice. “She really didn’t look that dangerous, Peter. Just an old hunched woman with no hair.”
They climbed through the window into what was clearly a classroom, shivering from the icy, smoking cold. Cat held out her hand and Peter took it, both of them giving the other strength. “Try to walk as quietly as you can,” Cat whispered. “We want to be the ones to surprise her.”
“Well, it’s two against one, so the odds are in our favor,” Peter said, which made Cat feel quite hopeful—until she looked at Peter’s face and realized he was trying to make a joke.
“Come on.” Cat squeezed Peter’s hand, more for her benefit than his. “Follow me.” They wove their way around rows of desks. A large crystal ball sat on the teacher’s table, and a cabinet full of miniature crystal balls stood behind it. There was a poster of a hand on one wall, with dotted lines marked across the palm. This must be the fortune-telling class, Cat thought, and for a brief moment she imagined herself sitting at one of those desks, learning how to divine the future.
“Cat, are you all right?” Peter whispered, and Cat realized she had come to a stop.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Cat shook her head. This was not the time to get all wistful and daydreamy. She couldn’t afford to lose her focus.
Cat crept over to the door and opened it slowly, trying to stop any creaking. She peered out into the corridor, but it was dark and quiet, although plumes of smoke were drifting down the hallway to the left. “This way,” Cat mouthed, motioning with her head. They tiptoed along following the curls of smoke. Cat stopped midstep as a tremendous crash exploded up ahead, followed by another colossal bang. Something buzzed from inside Peter’s pocket, and he pulled out a small metal box with a red light flashing on the top.
“My earthquake detector,” he whispered. “It works!”
“That is not an earthquake, Peter.” Cat’s eyes were huge, and she gripped Peter’s fingers hard.
“But it picked up the vibrations, which is great.” The sound of glass breaking shattered the air, and Peter’s alarm started to buzz again.
“Will you turn that off?” Cat hissed, pulling him to a halt. “Right now!” Her whole body shook and it took all her willpower not to turn and run the other way. Suddenly, a whirlwind of black smoke swirled out of a classroom to their right. Cat glimpsed the bald head of Madeline Reynolds at the center of the tornado, and she watched in horror as the witch swept off down the corridor, not even glancing in their direction. What frightened Cat the most was that she had been clasping a wand. Not a difficult thing to find in a school for witchcraft, especially when you had been a student here for seven years and knew where the wands were kept.
Still holding hands, Cat and Peter walked up to the classroom leaking black smoke. They stood in the doorway staring at the destruction in front of them. “I think this was a spell room,” Cat said, taking in the devastation. Tables and chairs had been upturned, cauldrons knocked over, and broken
glass scattered everywhere. A pungent smell hung in the air, herbal and sweet, as spell ingredients pooled on the floor, their bottles smashed to smithereens.
“I don’t think she has very good memories of this place,” Peter murmured. “Your mum was right about that.”
Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to Cat that maybe this was what her mother had been like, sweeping about in clouds of black smoke, causing destruction wherever she went. It was not a pleasant image, and for the first time Cat realized how sad her mother must have been. How hopeless she must have felt to behave in such a manner.
“Cat, are you all right?” Peter whispered again. “Because I’m fine to leave any time you want.”
Cat shook her head. She turned and started walking down the corridor. If they didn’t get this over with soon, she wasn’t going to have the courage to go through with it. “Let’s tie her up right now,” Cat said, “before she does any more damage.”
“Cat, what if your magic goes wrong?” Peter said. “I hate to bring this up, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to lasso her. And could you please stop squeezing my hand quite so tightly?”
“You can’t be a doubter,” Cat whispered, trying to loosen her grip. “Clara Bell believes in me. I believe in me, and I need you to as well, Peter.”
The trail of smoke led them down the hallway and up a flight of stairs. As they climbed, another huge crash sounded and Cat dropped Peter’s hand, grabbing him by the arm. Being this brave was exhausting. The stairway lit up for a second as lightning streaked across the sky, and then a torrential downpouring of rain could be heard, pattering against the windows.
“It’s just thunder,” Cat said shakily. “From that cloud above the building.”