Grace-Ella

by Sharon Marie Jones

  Mrs Bevin narrowed her eyes. ‘Bottletops. I remember the horrible thing. He was always hissing and baring his teeth at me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what Granny Olwen was like,’ interrupted Grace-Ella. ‘What’s important is that I’m a witch. And it does explain a lot, doesn’t it?’

  Iona Bevin was dumbfounded. She had always felt that there was something terribly wrong with her daughter, but this was too much.

  ‘This is awful,’ she snivelled. ‘What am I going to do? I’ll be an outcast. I’ll have to become a recluse. We’ll have to move away … somewhere remote … a shack on top of the highest mountain…’

  ‘Perhaps it’s not as bad as you think,’ said Mr Bevin.

  Grace-Ella turned eagerly to her father.

  ‘Now you won’t need to worry about why Grace-Ella sometimes struggles to fit in. We know now that she’s not different, she’s gifted. I think we’re very lucky to have such a special daughter,’ he said smiling.

  Mrs Bevin dabbed delicately at her eyes with her scarf. ‘Will she have to attend a special witch school?’ she asked.

  ‘No, Grace-Ella will learn witchcraft herself,’ said Mr Whiskins. ‘We don’t want witches to close themselves away from everyone else. Her first package should arrive today. She can go to Witch Camp and there are the annual WCAs, the Witch Council Awards, which you can attend as a family.’

  As she listened to Mr Whiskins talking, Grace-Ella began to have a heavy sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘What if I’m no good at being a witch?’ she asked quietly. ‘Mam often says I’m not the brightest grape in the bunch and I never have glowing school reports.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve never had the chance to shine. You wait and see. I bet you become a magnifulous-splendifulous witch,’ said Mr Whiskins.

  Grace-Ella smiled.

  ‘And what kind of future will my daughter have as a … a witch?’ asked Mrs Bevin.

  ‘Well, think of Harmony Enchanta, the world-famous perfumer. I think you wear her perfume, ‘Enchanted’? She is a witch, of course.’

  Mrs Bevin perked up. ‘Harmony Enchanta?’

  ‘And the fashion designer, Serena Starling,’ continued Mr Whiskins. ‘Serena’s designs, sprinkled with magic.’

  ‘Blimey,’ said Mrs Bevin. ‘I had no idea. So Grace-Ella could be world-famous one day? Imagine what Anne will say to that. She’s forever going on about how her Amelia is more than ready for university, as she’s been reading fluently since the age of two. Worldwide fame, now that is something worth boasting about.’

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t tell anyone,’ said Grace-Ella. ‘I don’t want everyone pointing at me in school and whispering behind my back. They think I’m odd enough as it is.’

  ‘Grace-Ella’s right,’ said Mr Whiskins. ‘This must be kept a family secret.’

  He pounced suddenly to the floor and slowly circled the room. The Bevins edged forwards in their chairs, watching his every move.

  ‘Remember that there could be eyes and ears lurking anywhere,’ he whispered.

  ‘I can put you straight right now,’ snapped Mrs Bevin, shattering the air of mystery. ‘There’s nothing lurking in my house. Not a cobweb in sight. But I suppose you’re right. It’ll be best to keep it a secret. People can be very ignorant about this sort of thing, very narrow-minded. And I doubt very much that a witch would be accepted at St Winifred’s. Yes, my lips shall remain sealed.’

  Mr Bevin nearly said that they’d be more likely to see a pig fly, but thought better of it.

  The doorbell rang, stopping them all.

  ‘I sense your first package,’ said Mr Whiskins. ‘I have a tingling in my tail.’

  Bursting with excitement, Grace-Ella ran to the front door.

  ‘Parcels for Miss Grace-Ella Bevin,’ announced the postman. ‘Sign here, please.’

  Grace-Ella carefully signed and balanced the brown paper parcels precariously in her arms. Wanting to give her parents space to digest her news, knowing that her mother was still in shock and needed a strong coffee, she tottered up to her bedroom to open them.

  Chapter Four

  The Book of Rules

  Grace-Ella opened the first parcel and found a small touch-screen tablet inside. She turned it on and after a few seconds of whirring, the blank screen lit up. ‘Welcome to The Witch Academy’ flashed across, before it turned black again. She tapped the screen a few times, but nothing happened. She was beginning to think that it must be broken when an image started to appear. A tall woman dressed in a long, black cloak, with snow-white hair cut sharply at her chin and small half-moon glasses balancing at the end of her nose, stepped out of the screen and stood in the middle of the bedroom like a hologram.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said crisply, peering over her glasses. ‘My name is Penelope Pendle and I am the head of the Witch Council. As you are aware, you are now officially a witch and it’s of paramount importance that you strictly follow the Council’s rules. Failure to do this could have dire consequences for yourself and your future as a witch. You must read and learn The Book of Rules before you begin your training. Now, unless you have any urgent questions I shall leave you and, all being well, won’t see you again until you’re ready for Witch Camp.’

  Grace-Ella sat on her bed in stunned silence, her mouth gaping open.

  ‘Excellent,’ announced Penelope Pendle, before vanishing in a puff of purple smoke.

  ‘She was in a hurry,’ said Mr Whiskins. ‘Lots of witchy work to do, I suppose. Come on, let’s open the other packages.’

  In the second parcel was a wooden box. Grace-Ella carefully lifted the lid and inside was a wooden wand. Circling the widest end was a ring of black and emerald gem stones, which twisted halfway up the wand like a creeping vine. At its tip was a five-pointed star.

  Lying on top of the wand was a small rectangular card with strange black symbols written on it.

  ‘I wonder what they mean,’ puzzled Grace-Ella.

  She turned the card over and on the other side in bold black letters was the word ‘BESTOW’.

  ‘It must be the name of my wand,’ she whispered. ‘The symbols must be the magical way of writing it.’

  Grace-Ella’s heart beat quicker as she held the wand in her hands. Had she really been bestowed with magical powers? Would she be able to cast real spells?

  Placing the wand back in its box, she unwrapped the next parcel: a book. Its cover was dark purple velvet with the words ‘The Book of Rules by Aldyth Bedortha’ written in shimmering gold.

  The last and heaviest of the packages was a small black cauldron.

  ‘Wow,’ said Grace-Ella gazing at her new gifts. ‘I really am a witch.’

  Settling back against her pillows, she picked up The Book of Rules. She turned to the first page, which was written in an old-fashioned black twirling font. She was about to start reading, but the book started to read itself in a shrill high-pitched voice. Resting it on her lap, Grace-Ella listened.

  “Greetings, fellow witch. My name is Aldyth Bedortha and I am the founder of the Witch Academy. You are now a member and you must abide by ‘The Nine Golden Rules’. Failure to keep to these rules will result in punishment or even banishment from the witch community. Read on for case studies of witches who broke the rules and follow their example at your peril. You have been warned.”

  The Nine Golden Rules

  Rule 1: Always cast your magic in private. Only in the company of other witches can spells be cast openly.

  Rule 2: Never use your magic as a means of revenge on a foe. Your magic is to be used for good only.

  Rule 3: Never allow personal greed to affect your magic. Your magic cannot be used as a means of making you rich.

  Rule 4: Never use your magic to cheat. You must not cast spells to help you to cheat in any circumstance, as you must continue to learn life’s skills and lessons in the same manner as ordinary folk.

  Rule 5: Never use your magic on unsuspecting victims. A pers
on should always be aware that magic is being cast on them.

  Rule 6: Do not exceed nine spells on one person. A non-witch has a spell limit of nine. Exceeding nine spells will result in permanent changes to that person.

  Rule 7: Never cast a spell on another witch. Casting a spell on another witch tampers greatly with her powers and can be extremely dangerous.

  Rule 8: Always follow spells and potions carefully. Do not attempt to alter an established spell or potion – the results could be disastrous.

  Rule 9: Report mistakes immediately. If you cast a wrong spell, or a spell doesn’t work as it should, you must report the incident to the Witch Council, who will then manage the situation.

  Abide by ‘The Nine Golden Rules’ and you shall become a successful witch.

  Good luck.

  The book banged itself shut, startling Grace-Ella. She really was going to have to get used to all these strange happenings if she was to become a successful witch.

  That night Grace-Ella lay awake long after she heard her parents go to bed. She was far too excited to sleep. Tomorrow she would have to suffer a whole day in school, now that the summer holidays were over, before she could return home and start casting her first spells.

  Grace-Ella had never really liked school. She envied the way Bedwyr talked about his school – smiley teachers and fun lessons. He once asked her what they did during ‘Friday’s Golden Hour’ at St Winifred’s. Once he had explained what he meant, Grace-Ella had answered, ‘Oh, if we’ve worked hard all week we’re allowed half an hour free time to practise the harp or traditional dancing.’

  ‘You’re hilarious,’ he’d said, clearly thinking that she was joking.

  Tucking her wand under her pillow, Grace-Ella finally drifted off to sleep. That night, her dreams were filled with tall witches with shrill voices and puffs of purple smoke.

  Chapter Five

  Spells for Beginners

  At breakfast the following morning, Mrs Bevin worried about what she was supposed to do with the cat all day.

  ‘I’ll be out all morning. I’ve got yoga and then a skinny-latte and catch-up with the girls. I hope you can keep yourself out of mischief,’ she said, glaring at Mr Whiskins.

  ‘You know what we cats say – while the boss is away, bring the mice out to play,’ he teased.

  Mrs Bevin inhaled sharply, her cheeks flushed and her nostrils flared. She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of a reply.

  Mr Bevin smiled. He’d tried to have the last word in conversations with his wife for years. He looked at the cat in awe.

  Mr Bevin dropped Grace-Ella off at the school gates then drove the ten miles back along the narrow country road to Aberbetws.

  St Winifred’s was an imposing, grey stone building, built on a hillside. It had two large archways at the front. Between the arches was a large plaque with the name of the school and the date it opened, 1847, inscribed on it.

  Under one archway, the younger girls lined up, with the older girls queuing at the other. Grace-Ella always thought that they looked like long slithery snakes dressed in their hideous bottle-green pinafores.

  She pushed open the heavy iron gates and walked up the winding driveway edged with trees. She headed straight towards her friend, Fflur Penri. Fflur was also a bit of a loner and they had quickly become best friends.

  Fflur was constantly being teased at school by Amelia and her friends. They had given her the nickname ‘Fatty Fflur’. She was a little bit big, which seemed to be a Penri family trait. Mrs Penri prepared big, hearty meals and puddings for her husband and didn’t think twice about piling up her daughter’s plate as well. Fflur often returned home from school upset about Amelia’s spiteful words, but Mrs Penri would simply say, ‘Ffluri-fach, it’s only a little puppy fat. Don’t listen to those horrid girls. You’re lovely just as you are. Come on, let’s make some buttery pancakes for tea.’

  At lunchtime, Fflur and Grace-Ella were sitting on one of the benches under the trees.

  ‘Oh no,’ groaned Grace-Ella. ‘What does she want now?’

  Tip-tapping towards them with her long hair swishing around her shoulders was Amelia. With her head held high and her nose pointed in the air, she looked like a wily fox sniffing out its prey.

  ‘Miss Fitz has asked me to tell everyone to bring their PE kits every day next week, as there’ll be hockey practice every lunchtime. There’s a friendly match next Saturday against St Clare’s and she wants to choose a team. Not that you have any chance of being picked. Oh, and by the way, Grace-Ella, Mami says she hopes that new flea-ball cat of yours is kept locked indoors at night because she doesn’t want to find any poopies on our front lawn.’

  Smiling tightly and rolling her eyes in disgust at Fflur, she turned on her heels and marched off.

  ‘Ugh, she’s such a horror. And that whiny voice of hers gives me the googies. Perhaps I’ll tell Mr Whiskins to leave a little present on number fifteen’s doorstep,’ giggled Grace-Ella.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Fflur, wiping the crumbs of her smuggled pastry from her mouth.

  ‘Nothing,’ Grace-Ella replied as the bell rang. ‘I know who I’ll be casting my first spell on,’ Grace-Ella told Mr Whiskins that evening. ‘I’m going to turn Miss Snooty-nosed Amelia into a bug and squish her under my shoe.’

  ‘Be careful,’ warned Mr Whiskins. ‘Remember the second rule.’

  Sighing, Grace-Ella sat at her desk and started up the tablet. She opened the file ‘Spells for Beginners’ and read ‘Spell Number 1’.

  A simple spell to get you on your way,

  Let’s turn your room from night to day.

  Turn off the lights and close your eyes,

  Then say the words for a bright surprise.

  Grace-Ella re-read the spell until she was certain that she could remember it then turned off her bedroom light, closed her eyes and waved her magic wand.

  ‘Flick, click, turn on the light. Change this room from dark to bright.’

  She opened her eyes and squealed: the light in her room was switched on again. ‘I did it! I cast my first spell and it worked.’

  She eagerly turned to ‘Spell Number 2’.

  A useful spell for clearing a mess,

  As tidying up we will address.

  On the floor place a cup,

  Then say the words for it to rise up.

  Placing an empty cup on the floor she waved her wand once more.

  ‘This way, that way, twirl with grace. Return the cup to its rightful place.’

  A flash of light sparked at the end of her wand and she watched in amazement as the cup slowly lifted from the floor. It hovered in front of her face, before gliding gently to the bedside table.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ said Mr Whiskins. ‘You’re going to be a magnifulous-splendifulous witch.’

  Grace-Ella felt like there were hundreds of fluttery butterflies in her stomach. She never got her schoolwork right on the first go. She always had to rewrite her stories while Mrs Nag loudly chanted, ‘Capital letters and full stops, capital letters and full stops.’ And when she got her Maths work back, she could always expect a bright array of red crosses scattered across her page.

  By the time Grace-Ella went to bed that night, she had watched her books bounce back onto the shelf, her pens and pencils pop back into their pots and her dirty clothes dance delightfully into the wash basket.

  At eight o’clock Mrs Bevin came upstairs, as she did every night, to say goodnight and to sigh in that way of hers at the mess in her daughter’s room.

  ‘Grace-Ella, a young lady’s bedroom should be neat and tidy, not a grotty hovel like this…’

  ‘A very nice grotty hovel, don’t you think?’ said Mr Whiskins.

  Mrs Bevin stared at her daughter’s perfectly neat bedroom, her mouth opening and closing silently like a goldfish. Shaking her head, she muttered, ‘Goodnight,’ and left the room, banging the door behind her.

  ‘That was a real magical moment,’ said Gr
ace-Ella, laughing. ‘I’m going to have so much fun being a witch. I can’t wait to have a go at casting more spells.’

  Chapter Six

  Slugs, Mice and All Things Nice

  It was a damp and drizzly Saturday morning. Grace-Ella was looking forward to two days of magic and had decided to try mixing her first potion.

  Mrs Bevin had booked herself into the newly opened spa in Aberbetws. Mr Bevin had decided not to open the shop and was going to spend the morning burrowing like a beaver through the weekend’s newspapers.

  ‘I’m a bit nervous about mixing my first potion,’ Grace-Ella said, peering into the gleaming black cauldron.

  ‘There’s no need to be,’ Mr Whiskins replied. ‘Every spell that you’ve tried so far has been perfect.’

  Grace-Ella beamed. She couldn’t believe that she had managed to cast several of the ‘Spells for Beginners’ without making any mistakes.

  She opened the file ‘Potions: Part One’ and skimmed quickly down the contents list – Bursting Boils and Bunions, Farewell Facial Fur, Give the Giggles, Got the Giggles, Halting Hiccups and Worrying Warts were a few that caught her eye.

  ‘Some of these sound pretty gross.’

  She finally decided to have a go at the Halting Hiccups potion.

  ‘It’ll be useful, if I get it right. I had a really bad bout of hiccups last week, right in the middle of Mrs Nag’s Welsh lesson. She made me stand outside until they’d stopped and then I had to have the lesson by myself during break. But I suppose I’ll have to magic up a potion to give me the hiccups first.’