by Sam Short
“You cheeky little thing, William,” said the woman, with a deep laugh, accompanied by the laughter of the other pupils and some of the parents. “I’m not that old!”
Another of the boys spoke up. A young male witch named Jeremy, whose quick grasp of everything Millie had taught the class over the past month, was fast propelling him to the position of the star pupil, although Millie would never voice that accolade out loud to the rest of the class. She had to remember to pretend that every pupil was as bright as the next, even if one of the other boys in the class, a stocky werewolf named Harry, had genuinely believed that coconut milk was produced by cows which lived in the tropics. “Oh, you were a pupil here once? You’re a vampire born to vampire parents, are you, Mrs Jackson?” he enquired. “You weren’t bitten and turned into a vampire? You were actually a vampire child once? That’s cool!”
“Jeremy!” warned a tall man, who Millie presumed was the young witch’s father. “You know it’s rude to ask a vampire how they came into existence! Especially a female vampire!” He gave Mrs Jackson, whose cheeks had taken on a red tinge, an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Francine. He wasn’t brought up to be so rude!”
“Oh, that’s fine, Raymond! I don’t get offended that easily,” said Mrs Jackson, with a wave of her hand.
“I’m sorry for asking you personal questions, Mrs Jackson,” said Jeremy, wilting under the stern glare of his father.
Mrs Jackson gave the young witch a soft smile and adjusted her hat. “I accept your apology, Jeremy, now let it be forgotten.”
“Mrs Jackson?” said Katie, the girl with bouncing brown hair and forest green eyes, standing at the long bench nearest to Millie. “Jeremy’s dad just called you Francine… were you known as Frannie when you were a pupil here at Spellbinder Hall? And did you attend cookery classes?”
If the girl’s eyes had been brown, Millie suspected that had she been the same age as the younger witch, they’d have been hard to tell apart. Aside from the slight bend in Millie’s nose which Katie did not possess, or the very shallow cleft in Millie’s chin which was also absent on the younger witch’s smiling face, they could easily have been mistaken for being members of the same family.
Wondering whether she should intervene and move the focus back to the reason the children and adults were gathered in a classroom on a Friday afternoon — the children’s cooking accomplishments, and away from the group conversation which seemed to be developing, Millie took another look at the sinister ghost which stood silently in the corner. She shuddered. Perhaps she’d allow the conversation between parents and children to continue until she was more comfortable about the fact that a robed and hooded apparition appeared to be gazing in her direction from the shadows of its hood.
Mrs Jackson cocked her head inquisitively as she answered Katie’s question. “Yes,” she confirmed. “Although nobody has called me by that name for years, I was known as Frannie during my school years, and yes — I did attend cookery classes. We all did in those days, it wasn’t a choice like it was for you guys, every pupil was required to attend cookery classes — until the unfortunate incident which forced the closure of this classroom.”
“You mean the unfortunate incident involving the teacher who was cooked in the oven?” said Harry, from his position on the bench nearest the rear of the classroom. “That story is so cool!”
A pear-shaped woman stepped forward from among the group of adults, her hair a disordered mass of curls. “Harry! It was not cool! I happened to be in this classroom when it happened. It was awful, as I’ve told you many times before! It’s certainly not something we laugh about!” She dropped her eyes, and her shoulders slumped. “Poor Miss Timkins. What an awful way to go — turned into a soufflé mix and then baked in an oven.”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” said Harry. “I know it’s not a laughing matter. I won’t mention it again. I promise.”
Giving the ghost in the corner a sideways glance, Millie cleared her throat. It was time for her to take back control of her classroom. That much was obvious. “If everybody is ready,” she said, surprised at the authority her voice conveyed. “Then I think it’s about time we allowed the children to begin their cookery demonstration. They’ve all been very excited about having the opportunity to show you what they can do, and as an extra show of their skills, they each have one of the old recipe books I found in the cupboard when I revamped this room.
“I thought the old books would bring back a few nice memories for any of you parents who once attended this classroom, and using a recipe they’ve never seen before, will be a good test of the children’s skills — which they all possess in abundance. So much so, that as you’ll discover for yourselves when you head outside to the school fete later on, they baked a lot of lovely cakes yesterday which are being sold and raffled off for the benefit of a few local charities. I’m certain that all you parents will be very proud of what your children can do.”
“I’m certainly very proud of Emma,” said a timid voice from the back of the group of adults. “She’s a better cook than I was at her age.”
“You were a wonderful cook, Beth,” said Francine. “Don’t put yourself down. You were one of the best cooks in our class!”
“I don’t think so,” mumbled Beth, looking at the floor. “Anyway, I just wanted Emma to know how proud I am of her.”
“That’s lovely to hear,” said Millie, smiling at the short woman who blushed deep crimson as she attracted everybody’s attention. “And Emma is always very enthusiastic in every lesson. It’s been a pleasure to teach her.” She cast her eyes over the other parents. “It’s been a pleasure to teach all the children,” she added quickly.
Teaching the children had been a pleasure — that wasn’t a lie, but it had been a more fulfilling pleasure to watch Emma, the shy young witch, coming out of her shell and gaining confidence amongst her peers as the term had progressed. Millie had genuinely enjoyed teaching her, and gave her a sly wink as she caught her eye. The girl blushed as bright as her mother had, and Millie felt a tinge of sadness that Emma’s mother’s apparent nervousness had been passed onto her daughter.
“We’re all very proud of the children,” said Mrs Jackson, “but before we go any further with the cooking demonstration, I’d like to ask Katie why she asked if I was once known as Frannie. That question came very much out of the blue.”
Katie pointed at the open book on the bench before her. “There’s graffiti written in my old cookery book, Mrs Jackson,” she explained, with a smirk. “Written in red ink. It says, ‘I love Frannie,’ and it’s written inside a heart with an arrow through it.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know who could have written that about me,” said Mrs Jackson, appearing to grow an inch or two as she puffed out her ample chest and fluttered her long eyelashes.
“Oh, all the boys fancied you, Francine,” said an overweight woman standing next to her. “And you know it!”
“Did they?” said Francine, a smile spreading over her face. “I can’t say I ever noticed.”
“There’s graffiti in my book, too!” said Jeremy. “It says ‘Spotty Cecil is as thick as this recipe book!’ That’s hilarious!”
One of the other boys flipped his book open and ran his eyes over the rear of the front cover. “Somebody has written ‘Miss Everest loves Mister Mop,’ in my book!”
“There’s writing in mine, as well,” said one of the quieter girls in the class — another vampire. “It says ‘hide the cakes that you bake, or Lardy Liz will eat them all and still have room for more.” She narrowed her eyes and looked over her shoulder at the parents behind her. “What a nasty thing to say about somebody. I’m glad my generation doesn’t write such horrid things inside school books.”
“Yes, well, we weren’t all like that, sweetheart,” said a kindly looking man wearing glasses fitted with thick lenses. “Your mother and I brought you up to be nice and to never bully anybody, but when I was at school it was quite different — some of us we
re bullied, and some of us were —”
A loud bang, accompanied by vibrations which Millie felt running through the wooden floor, stopped the man in mid-sentence, and he jumped in fright, spinning quickly to face the doorway.
Recognising the noise as the heavy classroom door slamming into the wall, Millie turned to confront whoever it was who had barged it open with such force. Before she could speak to the scruffy man standing in the doorway, a fast-moving shadow approaching from her right forced her to flinch, and she gave a low squeal of fright as the robed ghost sped past her, one black-gloved hand raised before it, heading straight for the new arrival.
“What the heck!” shouted the man in the doorway, holding his arms out defensively as the ghost sped towards him, leaving a trail of black sparks resembling soot in its wake. His raised arms offered no protection from the apparition, and the man gave a strangled gasp as the ghost passed directly through him — the two forms, one dead and one alive, briefly melding into a shimmering mass of black robes and a scruffy denim jacket paired with dirty jeans.
As the apparition passed through him entirely, the newcomer waved his arms frantically, as if swatting at invisible flies. “Get out of here! I felt that! You’re not supposed to be able to feel a ghost!” he yelled, as the apparition continued its journey across the darkened corridor outside the classroom and through the wood panelled wall opposite, choosing to make its exit below one of the stuffed owls which resided in glass cases lining the corridor. “Bloody ghosts, they’re still as annoying as they were when I was unlucky enough to be a pupil here! They’re almost as bad as vampires, and they’re bloody awful… Pun intended.”
The man whose sentence had been rudely interrupted by the door crashing open took a step forward and crossed his arms in what appeared to be a defensive stance. “Trevor Giles,” he said, staring at the man in the doorway. “I didn’t expect to see the old school bully here today. I wasn’t aware you even had any children, Trevor. It seems that for some reason, which I can’t quite fathom, women choose not to have children with werewolves who spend most of their time either in a police cell or a pub, so I’m not quite sure what you’re doing at an open day for parents whose children attend this fine school.”
Trevor chuckled under his breath and smiled menacingly at the man who had confronted him. “Just look at you, little Jimmy. You’re still the same annoying little vampire you were when I was forced to go to school with you! You always were the nosy type, weren’t you? You want to know why I’m here, Jimmy? I’m here because little Norman over there in the front row is lucky enough to be able to call me his stepfather. I got married last week, to his lovely mother, Helen, who is now lucky enough to be able to call me her husband.” He stepped into the classroom and strode with a swagger towards the young boy in the front row, whose face had turned white. “Isn’t that right, Norman?”
Chapter 2
Her class having been so rudely interrupted, and with one of her pupils looking decidedly nervous as an overtly aggressive man approached him, Millie stepped forward, fully prepared to use her magic if the situation demanded it.
Although spells preventing the accidental use of magic by pupils were cast over the hall, no spells were preventing the use of magic by witches who happened to be part-time cookery teachers. Especially if their school parent’s day presentation had been disrupted in such a rude fashion, by such a brash man.
Placing herself between the long bench desk which Norman stood behind, and Trevor, Millie stood as tall as she could in her flat shoes — a lot shorter than Trevor, who she estimated to be a couple of inches over six-foot. She squared her shoulders and looked the man in the eyes. “Excuse me,” she said, raising a hand. “Would you mind waiting right there while I speak to Norman, please? Barging into my classroom like that was highly inappropriate. You’ve made the children nervous.”
“You even scared that ghost away!” said Francine. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ghost move so quickly. You managed to frighten the dead, that’s how loud you banged that door, Trevor Giles! You should show more respect. Although respect is something you never really did understand. Or possess.”
“Oh, give me a break,” said Trevor, a sneer on his unshaven face. “We’re not pupils here anymore, Frannie. I don’t care what you think, and it’s not like you can go running to the teacher telling tales on me anymore, is it?”
“She doesn’t need to tell tales to a teacher, Mister Giles,” said Millie. “I’m the teacher in this classroom, and I happen to think your behaviour is highly inappropriate. And I’d say that about a child, let alone a grown man.”
Displaying his disinterest with a roll of his yellowed eyes, Trevor gave Millie a thin smile. “I’m just here to support Norman. His mother doesn’t care about him. She drank too much gin and fell asleep on the sofa. I couldn’t wake her up, so I came instead of her. One of us needs to be here to show that we care about little Norman.”
“Okay!” said Millie, extending an arm and corralling Trevor forcefully towards the door, her voice a low hiss which she hoped only Trevor could hear. “That’s not the sort of conversation anybody should be having in front of an audience of children. Especially in front of Norman! That’s his mother you’re talking about. I’d like you to leave, please, Mister Giles. Immediately.”
Possibly sensing the anger brewing deep within her, or, more likely, responding to the menacing expression which tightened the muscles around Millie’s eyes and mouth, Trevor allowed himself to be guided towards the door. “I’ll see you when you get home tonight, Norman,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I didn’t really want to watch a bunch of kids cooking anyway. I was only here for the cheap bar I’ve heard is going to be available in one of the tents at the stupid little fete that’s been set up in the school grounds.”
“The fete is to celebrate the end of the school term, and to say goodbye to the older pupils who are moving on from Spellbinder Hall,” said Millie. “It’s a special day for some people, and a well earned treat for the kids — to mark the end of the school year. There’s nothing stupid about it, and I won’t allow you to disrupt it. There’ll be no visiting the bar for you. You don’t seem like the sort of man who should be drinking around children, anyway.”
Trevor looked Millie up and down, his top lip curling into a cruel sneer. “And you’re going to stop me, are you, little witch? You know you have no real authority here at the school. Only Henry Pinkerton and the headmaster have authority here, and Norman told me that they’re both currently away on important magical business, and can’t be contacted even in the case of an emergency.”
It was true that Henry Pinkerton, the human manifestation of the magic which surged through Spellbinder Hall, was on an important trip with the headmaster, Mister Dickinson, but Millie was confident that the person left in charge of the school in their absence would take no nonsense from somebody like Trevor Giles. Fredrick, the vampire responsible for saving the life of Millie’s so-called boyfriend, George, by biting him after a German bayonet disembowelled him during World War One, took no nonsense from anybody.
Although Millie held no love for Fredrick, and the vampire often openly showed his disdain towards Millie, especially making evident his dislike of the troubled relationship she had with his protege, George, Millie couldn’t imagine him taking any nonsense from an angry werewolf such as Mister Giles. Guiding Trevor through the door, Millie nodded towards the end of the corridor. “Let’s go and ask Fredrick what he thinks about you barging into my classroom and being so nasty in front of the children.”
Clicking his tongue, Trevor glowered at Millie. “There’s no need,” he muttered. “I don’t really want to be here anyway.” Looking over the top of Millie’s head, he pointed a finger into the classroom. “I’ll see you tonight, Norman! But first, I’m going to go home to tell your mother what a huge waste of my valuable time this little trip to support her son turned out to be.”
“Go on,” said Millie, her words cold. “I
think you’d better leave, Mister Giles.”
As Trevor gave Millie one last scowl, turning his back on her and striding along the corridor, a small voice rose above the concerned murmurings of the parents in the classroom. “Miss Thorn?”
Millie gazed at the young boy who’d joined her in the dimly lit corridor, his complexion still an ashen mask of anxiety. “Norman,” she said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Please let him stay, Miss,” said Norman. “Otherwise he’ll be angry with Mum and me.”
Fresh anger churned in Millie’s gut, but she kept it from her voice and face, smiling gently at the frightened young werewolf. “Does he hurt you and your mother, Norman?” she asked.
Norman shook his head vigorously and bit his bottom lip. He dropped his eyes. “No, Miss,” he said. “He doesn’t hurt us, but he gets so angry. He turns into his wolf whenever he gets mad, and that scares us. He’s a big wolf when he transforms, Miss. Especially compared to my wolf and my mother’s wolf. Please let him stay. If he goes home in that mood, he’ll take it out on Mum. I wouldn’t like that. I just want things to be happy at home. I want my mum to be happy.”
Millie gave a soft sigh. She looked the young boy in his troubled eyes and spoke quietly. “I don’t think I should do that, Norman. I can’t allow him to disrupt the cooking presentation for everybody else.”
“Please, Miss,” begged Norman. “Please. Let me speak to him. He’s not all bad. Sometimes he takes me fishing on the beach, and sometimes he plays football with me. Mum says he has anger issues because of something that happened in his past. If I tell him he can stay if he’s nice to people, he’ll be good. I promise he will. Mum says he just wants to be liked, and if people gave him a chance they might see that he’s not so bad.”
“Let him stay,” said a voice, accompanied by the clicking of high heels on wood. “We couldn’t help overhearing Norman talking to you, and none of the parents wants Trevor taking out his anger on Norman or his mother. We think it would be best if he were allowed to remain.”