‘‘No,’’ said Mildred.
‘‘So, she probably has eye of newt in all her potions because it’s what you’re supposed to use if you want to be a proper witch,’’ said Nina. ‘‘And anyway, you know very well that Mistress Truax keeps the eye of newt jar, along with a few of the rarer components, in her quarters, and I’m not going to try and get them. We’ll just have to do without.’’
‘‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this now,’’ Mildred protested.
‘‘Don’t you want to show up that snotty Cwen Dana?’’
Mildred nodded.
‘‘She keeps going on about the beautiful jewelry her dad has sent her for the dance. And we really can’t afford anything good for ourselves. This is a good idea,’’ Nina said confidently.
‘‘But all this spell does is coat anything with gold,’’ argued Mildred. ‘‘And not even real gold at that. It doesn’t make our jewelry worth any more than it already is.’’
‘‘But Cwen won’t know that,’’ said Nina, with a mischievous smile. ‘‘If we do this right, ours will look better then the ones she’ll be wearing. That’ll stick in her craw for a while. I can’t wait to see her face.’’
‘‘But we aren’t allowed to make any potions,’’ insisted Mildred. ‘‘We’re still just learning the different ingredients and what they do. If Mistress Truax finds out we did this, we’ll be in detention for the rest of the year.’’
Nina smiled. ‘‘Think about what Caman will think when he sees you at the dance all prettied up with our jewelry adorning your neck and ears.’’
A determined look entered Mildred’s eyes.
‘‘Okay,’’ she said. ‘‘Let’s do this.’’
‘‘All right then, what do we need?’’ asked Nina.
Mildred read the ingredients and instructions while Nina did the work. Soon they had a small cauldron boiling on the Bunsen burner. They’d done everything for the spell. Now it was time to try it out.
Nina reached into her pocket and pulled out the earrings her family had given her when she’d left for school. They were nice, but anyone could see that they weren’t the best quality, just the best they could afford. Cwen always made Nina feel like they were nothing but tin. Now she was going to feel the way Nina had.
She held out her hand.
Mildred slowly pulled out a small necklace and a pair of earrings from her pocket. They looked even worse than Nina’s.
Mildred stood there staring at the jewelry in her hands.
‘‘What’s wrong?’’ asked Nina.
‘‘I’m still not sure.’’
‘‘Trust me,’’ said Nina. ‘‘We’re going to be a hit.’’
Reluctantly, Mildred placed the jewelry into Nina’s open palm.
‘‘Thank you,’’ said Nina.
Mildred started to fidget. She bit her lip and nervously flipped through the book as Nina held her earrings over the small cauldron.
All she needed to do now was drop them into the liquid, and they would come out looking like the best gold jewelry money could buy.
She let go, watching with anticipation as they fell toward the cauldron.
Mildred suddenly shrieked, ‘‘No! Don’t—’’
The earrings hit the liquid.
There was a tremendous flash of bright light. Nina shut her eyes, but the glow penetrated her lids. She felt hot wind flow over her, as if she’d been scalded by hot water. A rushing sound, so loud Nina was sure she would become deaf, filled her ears. Just as Nina felt she couldn’t take anymore, everything stopped, and the room was quiet again.
She opened her eyes and tried to move.
She couldn’t.
For a brief moment panic took over, but Nina fought it, controlling her breathing and telling herself to calm down.
When she was calmer, Nina looked around and couldn’t believe her eyes.
Everything in the classroom—every piece of equipment, the chairs, the tables—was now gold. As she lowered her eyes she could see that her hand, still poised over the cauldron, was also coated with the metal.
She looked for Mildred. As she’d feared, her friend now stood covered from head to toe in gold. Her mouth was open in midsentence, and her hand was stretched out toward Nina in an aborted attempt to stop her. Frantically searching her friend’s face for signs of life, Nina suddenly saw Mildred’s eyes move.
Thank the gods, she thought to herself. But what went wrong?
She looked down at the cauldron, now empty of any liquid. The earrings were sitting at the bottom completely unchanged.
Regaining her composure, Nina heard noises coming from outside of the classroom. Normally the halls were fairly quiet during the day, what with Headmaster Griffith being a stickler for proper behavior. But now Nina could hear screaming coming from the halls. Students were all talking at once, and some of the teachers could be heard trying to calm them down. Feet could be heard running everywhere.
She strained to make out what was being said.
‘‘What happened to Cwen?’’ cried a voice near the classroom door.
Nina recognized the voice as Cwen’s friend Mae. Wherever Mae was, Cwen was not far behind. The two were nearly inseparable.
How far has this spell gone? Nina wondered.
‘‘She was just standing here,’’ continued Mae. ‘‘Suddenly there was this light and now she’s like this. What’s happening? Why—’’
Another voice cut her off.
‘‘Miss Mae Ogden! Please be quiet! I’m trying to get this door open. I don’t want to hear another word out of you.’’
That was Mistress Truax’s voice. Nina felt herself panicking and saw that Mildred was as well.
‘‘But—’’ began Mae.
‘‘Not one more,’’ threatened Truax.
Nina could’ve sworn she heard Mae swallow. She heard the rattling of the doorknob and the creaking of the door as Mistress Truax continued to try to open it.
A loud cracking sound came from beyond Nina’s vision.
‘‘Finally!’’ exclaimed Mistress Truax. The potions teacher walked past Nina, looking around the room.
‘‘Oh my, what an awful mess,’’ she said, seemingly not talking to anyone in particular.
Her long black hair, normally tied in one long braid, was free and flowing down her back. She must have been off duty before being called out here by Cwen or Mae, thought Nina. Everyone knew that Mistress Truax hated being disturbed. Her punishments were always more severe when she had been bothered during her time off. The deep blue eyes now staring into Nina’s brown ones told her she was right to worry.
Mae’s voice came from the doorway. ‘‘Nina!’’ she said, almost spitting the name. ‘‘I should’ve known you were behind this.’’
Mistress Truax held up her hand.
‘‘That’ll be enough, young lady,’’ she said to the girl. ‘‘Go and stay with Miss Dana.’’
‘‘You’re in for it now,’’ said Mae, from her voice almost laughing, before she left.
Mistress Truax stood between the two girls. Nina could see that part of her dress was covered in gold. The teacher followed Nina’s glance down to the patch.
‘‘Ah, yes,’’ said Truax. ‘‘When your little spell went off, I was just out of its reach, but part of my clothing wasn’t. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for poor Miss Dana, who was eavesdropping outside the door.’’
She walked up to Nina and looked into the girl’s eyes.
‘‘She’d sent Miss Ogden to fetch me, saying someone was in here after hours. I arrived in time to see the fireworks. Now exactly what were you working on in here when you shouldn’t have been?’’
She looked down at the empty cauldron and reached in to pick up the earnings. Holding them in her open palm, she examined them for a bit and then closed her eyes reciting something under her breath. Then she stopped and opened her eyes.
‘‘Oh, I see,’’ Mistress Truax said. ‘‘You were trying to liven up your rather un
impressive jewelry collection. I assumed as much when I saw Miss Dana’s condition, but it’s always safer to confirm a spell before trying to reverse it.’’
‘‘Darlene?’’ said a soft voice from the doorway. ‘‘What’s going on in here?’’
Mistress Sigismund stepped into Nina’s view. She was the headmaster’s secretary. She was also Mistress Truax’s best, if not only, friend. Together they lived in a suite of rooms on the school grounds. Nina couldn’t believe that anyone could be friends with Truax, but the two women could nearly always be found together.
Mistress Sigismund’s eyes darted around the room, while she nervously ran her hand through her forever unruly mop of red hair. The students always said that she looked as if she had just been shocked with a thousand volts.
‘‘Kendra?’’ said Mistress Truax. ‘‘Observe Miss Whiting and Miss Gilly being their mischievous selves again.’’
‘‘Oh, Darlene,’’ said Mistress Sigismund. ‘‘Don’t be mean. They’re just young girls. Are they all right?’’
‘‘They’re all fine for now, but I must start a reversal spell.’’
‘‘Are they in immediate danger?’’ Mistress Sigismund looked worried.
‘‘No,’’ said Mistress Truax. ‘‘But if it isn’t reversed soon, the change will be permanent and they will die from thirst and starvation.’’
‘‘What?’’ Nina felt the same way.
‘‘Only their outsides are covered by the gold,’’ explained Truax. ‘‘They still need food and water but can’t take in nourishment.’’
‘‘Then you must do something,’’ Mistress Sigismund pleaded. ‘‘Quickly!’’
‘‘I will.’’ Nina watched as Truax went to Mildred and looked over her shoulder at the grimoire. ‘‘When I feel they have learned their lesson.’’
Mistress Sigismund looked even more worried.
Mistress Truax let out a small laugh.
‘‘What is it?’’ asked her friend.
‘‘It seems Miss Gilly came across a little footnote in the book and she tried to stop Miss Whiting, which would explain her expression. Unfortunately, it was too late.’’ Nina saw Mildred roll her eyes.
‘‘What footnote?’’
Mistress Truax took on the tone she used when teaching.
‘‘Although the reasons for it are still unknown, eye of newt has the distinct property of being able to contain the spell to only a specific area, depending on the amount used. Without it, spells will go wild and can cause damage and havoc.’’
Mistress Truax turned to Nina.
‘‘With the size of your potion, you could have coated everyone in the entire school as well as several acres of the forest outside. Who knows how long it would have been before anyone noticed and sent help. By then, some—or maybe all—of us would be dead.’’
‘‘Why didn’t it?’’ puzzled Mistress Sigismund.
‘‘I keep a containment field around the classroom for incidents such as this,’’ answered Mistress Truax. ‘‘The spell bubbled out around the door and poor Miss Dana was caught inside it. Fortunately the overall field held, or it would have been worse.’’
She lifted her robe to show her friend the gold patch.
Mistress Sigismund gasped. ‘‘Are you all right?’’
‘‘I’m fine, only whatever was in my pocket was . . .’’ Her eyes widened in realization, and she reached into the gold-covered pocket, pulling out what looked like a gold-plated flower.
‘‘Oh, bother,’’ she said.
‘‘What’s that?’’ asked Mistress Sigismund.
Mistress Truax sighed. ‘‘It was a rose. I was going to give it to you tonight at supper.’’
‘‘It’s not my birthday.’’ Mistress Sigismund looked a little confused.
‘‘I know,’’ said her friend softly.
A big smile crossed Mistress Sigismund’s face, and Nina thought she was going to jump up and down for joy. She also thought it was about time Truax focused on fixing her and Mildred’s predicament instead of roses.
‘‘May I have it?’’ Mistress Sigismund asked.
‘‘Now?’’ said Mistress Truax in surprise. ‘‘But I have to fix it.’’
Mistress Sigismund shook her head. ‘‘I think it’s pretty like that and besides it’ll last longer than a real one. And it’ll always remind us of this day. That makes it even more special.’’
Mistress Truax smiled the first genuine smile Nina had ever seen from her, but she hurriedly hid it away.
She held out the rose to Mistress Sigismund, who snatched it quickly from her hands as if afraid that her friend would suddenly change her mind. She clutched it to her chest.
‘‘Thank you, Darlene,’’ she said.
‘‘You are welcome.’’
I swear, it’s like they’re the only two in the room, thought Nina, a little annoyed. Can we please get on with getting us back to normal?
Suddenly a booming voice echoed down the hall.
‘‘What’s going on here?’’ bellowed Headmaster Griffith. ‘‘Why’s everyone just milling about? And why’s there a golden statue of Miss Dana in the middle of the hall? I know she’s rather fond of herself, but this is just not okay. I can’t have my students making effigies of themselves.’’
‘‘You go and take care of the headmaster,’’ said Mistress Truax, shooing her friend away. ‘‘Explain what’s happened while I start the reversal spell. It’ll take some time, so I may be late for supper.’’
‘‘I’ll keep it warm,’’ said Mistress Sigismund as she quickly left the room.
‘‘Mistress Sigismund,’’ said Griffith. ‘‘What’s going on?’’
‘‘A moment, Headmaster,’’ she said.
Mistress Truax turned to the two students. ‘‘While I work on fixing this mistake of yours, why don’t the two of you start working on a one-thousand-word essay about the importance of eye of newt in spells.’’
Nina groaned inwardly.
‘‘And you can read them to the entire class when you’re done,’’ she finished with a little smile. ‘‘That seems a sufficient start to your punishment. I’ll decide what else you have to do to make up for this blunder later.’’
She turned and removed her pointed hat. From it she produced a small cauldron as well as other jars and equipment. She set up the equipment on the nearest table.
Mistress Truax opened one of the jars.
Extracting an eye of newt, she held it out for the girls to see.
With a grin, she dropped it into the cauldron.
Narrator: It’s said, ‘‘All that is gold does not glitter. ’’ In the case of the golden students of Griffith School of Magic, it could be said, ‘‘All that is gold should have read the entire spell first.’’ Still, the girls have learned a valuable lesson. Or will.
MARC MACKAY is forty-two years old and has been writing seriously for the last four, thanks to friends who encouraged this habit. ‘‘Eye of Newt’’ is his first sale, which is one of the best moments in his life. Marc is a technical writer for a company that makes graphics cards for computers, creating user manuals shipped with product. Previously, he was a software tester for the same company. He’s had several odd jobs, including seven years as a cook with the Hard Rock Café in Montreal as well as working in a garage. When not at his regular job, he plays keyboards in a punk rock band. Unlike many other writers, Marc does not own any cats and is not currently working on any novels, only short stories. But that could change.
Chafing the Bogey Man
Kristen Britain
Narrator: Meet Bob MacDuff. Has-been golf pro. Has-been husband. The image of failure on the road to despair. He’d do anything to turn his career around. Even read a little family history. But reading can be such a dangerous thing . . .
Bob MacDuff rested his head on the cool surface of his desk. The house was dark and silent; much too dark and silent since Susan and the kids had left him. Well, that is the kids he had hoped to have—a
boy and girl—the perfect family portrait. That seemed unlikely now.
Trophies, looking tarnished in the shadows of his den, and framed covers of sports magazines hanging on the wall illustrated the successes of his life, from a state championship for his high school golf team to wins on the amateur circuit and the rising star of his professional golf career.
Trophies, purses won, a beautiful wife, sponsors galore, this big house . . . Where had it all gone wrong?
Bob gazed at the framed photo on his desk; he was eight years old, holding his first golf club, his father kneeling beside him.
‘‘Lost another one, Dad,’’ he told the picture. ‘‘Didn’t even make the cut to the second round.’’
Lately his sponsors were dropping like flies, leaving only one—a small chain of hardware stores on the verge of bankruptcy. Instead of wearing a fashionable logo like the Big Names, Bob was stuck with a shirt emblazoned with a wrench and the name ‘‘Lucky’s Nuts & Bolts,’’ the irony not lost on him or on the sports columnists who got lots of laughs at his expense. ‘‘Lucky?’’ they said. ‘‘More like unlucky!’’
Now his wife had left, he’d received a notice from the IRS that he was going to be audited, and, worst of all, his agent wasn’t answering his calls.
‘‘I don’t know what’s happened to my game,’’ he told the picture of his dad. Inside, however, he knew the late nights, the jet-setting lifestyle, the dark side of fame had distracted him from what mattered, precipitating his decline. His ancestors must be twisting in their graves.
Bob came from a long line of golfers; his forebears had helped develop the game in Scotland. A portrait of a kilted ancestor bearing a golf club in one hand and a claymore in the other actually hung in the historical museum in Troon. When his family emigrated to America, they brought their love of golf with them.
They also brought their love of single malt scotch. Bob opened a drawer and withdrew a bottle and glass. He poured the amber liquid, thinking his love of the scotch far exceeded his love of golf these days.
Some hours later, Bob still sat slumped in his chair with only his desk lamp aglow. The bottle of scotch was more empty than full. As empty as Bob felt with his career tanking and everything that mattered in shambles.
Misspelled Page 9