Hocus Pocus and the All-New Sequel

by A. W. Jantha

  We go in single file because we’re trying to be covert, so when I spot Jenny and a couple of other soccer girls from school walking in step in a clump, I hold out one arm to keep Travis and Isabella back. I peer around the corner of the brick building we’re hiding behind.

  Katie isn’t with them, but the five girls don’t seem to be talking to each other anyway.

  “There’s something wrong with them,” I hiss.

  Each girl hums the same eerie tune, and they make their way slowly across the square, splitting up to look under park benches and in trash bins. It’s freezing out, but the girls are still in their soccer shorts and flimsy jerseys from Mom’s party, and they don’t seem to mind the chill.

  “It’s the song,” says Isabella. Her pointed ears perk up as she tilts her head to make sure. “I can hear it.”

  “Yeah, it’s the angry mob spell to hunt us down!” I whisper.

  Juan wanders into the square, and I jump back so he doesn’t spot us.

  Travis tries to push past me to get to his friend, but I grab him by the lab coat and push him against the wall.

  Juan continues, his vampire cloak flapping around his ankles. He has a faraway look on his face and doesn’t seem to notice us, even though he walks right in front of us. His phone is pressed to his ear, and I catch the faintest trace of a song as he slips past. My mouth fills with the taste of buttercream frosting again, and the need to hunt down the moonstone, the spell book, and ourselves. I swallow hard and try to block out the sound until he’s safely past.

  I shake my head. “The best way to help him is to get the stone,” I whisper.

  “She’s right,” adds Isabella.

  Travis nods, looking resigned, but his eyes follow Juan until he disappears down an alley.

  “It’ll be okay,” I say, and I really hope I’m right. It doesn’t seem fair to leave the soccer squad or Juan wandering around in the cold and the dark—but then none of this seems fair.

  “Principal Taylor’s place isn’t far,” says Isabella.

  Once the coast is clear, she trots ahead of Travis and me, venturing back out onto the dark square. We follow her down a sidewalk along a row of houses, looking left and right.

  Isabella stops short in front of a charming yet aging house. “We’re here,” she says.

  The yard is home to several sycamore trees with thick crowns of rounded leaves. Even in the moonlight, I can tell they’ve turned to bright yellows and oranges with the recent cold snaps. A bed of leaves covers the lawn and drifts onto the sidewalk. I’ve walked past this house a thousand times—I’ve even thought of photographing the contrast of the leaves against the trees’ pale, scarred trunks—but I never knew Katie Taylor lived here.

  I lead us down the walk and cross to the front steps, with Travis and Isabella right beside me. I can feel their eyes on me as I ring the bell to the right of the white double doors.

  The sound echoes through the house, and the following pause is long enough that I decide the place is deserted. That, or Principal Taylor is actually fast asleep.

  I turn to my friends. “Great. Now what do we do?”

  Travis waves his phone. “Google’s got nothing.”

  “Think, think, think,” says Isabella from where she paces on the porch.

  We turn to go just as a click and a snap tell me the locks on the door are being undone.

  One of the front doors grumbles and swings open, and we spin around to face it.

  Principal Taylor is standing there, in slippers and striped pajamas, looking uncertain.

  “Why are you here? Is Katie with you?” His eyes swing past us to the empty street. They search up and down it, linger briefly on Isabella sitting near my feet, and return to meet mine.

  “She’s not. We actually came here because we need your help,” I say. My voice breaks when I do, and I wince, angry at myself. I clear my throat. “My family needs your help.”

  “Not interested,” he says. “Have a good night.” He slams the door in our faces.

  “So, that went well,” says Travis.

  Isabella plants her front paws on the door, scrabbling at it. “Principal Taylor!” she shouts. “Principal Taylor, it’s the mayor’s daughter, and I’m not leaving until you talk to us.”

  Principal Taylor swings open the door again, examining the lower third of it, then looking back at me. “If your dog has scratched the paint, tell Isabella Richards that I’ll charge City Hall,” he says dryly, looking around for her and obviously not realizing she’s literally right under his nose.

  I prickle at hearing him threaten Isabella.

  Poppy, focus. Your mission.

  “We need your help,” I say firmly. “Please.”

  “Not interested,” Principal Taylor repeats in a clipped, measured voice.

  “Come on, we just have a question to ask you,” adds Travis.

  “Not you, too,” Principal Taylor says, narrowing his eyes at him.

  “Yep, me too,” says Travis. “And I’m quitting Quiz Bowl if you don’t help us.”

  “I regret to inform you, Mr. Reese, that I do not give two figs about the Quiz Bowl team.”

  “We’re national champions!” Travis says. “I know you use us for fundraising appeals.”

  I clear my throat. “Principal Taylor, I know you and my dad weren’t exactly friends growing up. But if you help him now, it’s a chance to make up for old times. Please don’t leave us hanging.”

  “Yeah,” says Travis eagerly. “We’re helping you help yourself. Something terrible is going to happen to Salem if you don’t help.”

  Principal Taylor turns bright red, and his thin lips twitch. “Leave you ‘hanging’? Choice words, Miss Dennison,” he says. “If anyone should have a guilty conscience over leaving anyone hanging, it’s your father.”

  At my look of confusion, he pulls the door open a little wider. “Didn’t know that about your dear old dad, did you?” he asks, raising his voice. “Well, he’s the one who should be making up for old times.”

  “He...” I trail off, not sure what to say or where this is going. “What are you talking about?”

  “I did try to get cigarettes and lunch money from your father, sure. I even tried stealing candy from his brat of a little sister. And then loony witches locked me and my best friend Ernie in cages. That was bad enough. But it was Max Dennison who left us for dead on Halloween night. After they summoned those three witches in the first place...Never you mind what happened!”

  I falter and look from Travis down to Isabella in shock.

  Principal Taylor knows the truth about the Sanderson sisters coming back?

  Principal Taylor was there twenty-five years ago? And Dad left him and Ernie for dead?

  “Well, good news is you got out in one piece,” says Travis sheepishly.

  I glance back at Principal Taylor. His eyes have gone wild and slightly unfocused, as if he’s landed right back in that cage from twenty-five years ago. He shakes his head at Travis’s words.

  “I—I had no idea,” I say. “So...so you know about the Sanderson sisters.”

  “Oh, I know all about those three. After they locked us up, they were going to eat us! If Ernie and I hadn’t taken turns screaming,” he says, voice rising again, “no one would’ve found us. But we did scream, and they did find us, and then Max Dennison—again, your father, in case that is still not clear—spread a rumor that Ernie and I did it to ourselves, wandering into the old house and thinking it would be funny to get in the cages, then losing the key. And you know what? The whole town believed him.

  “Do you know what that’s like, Miss Dennison? To realize people you’ve known your whole life would rather believe the new kid than believe you? To know that someone would do a thing like that—like leaving you locked away in an old haunted house a quarter mile from town without food or water and then never apologize—never even acknowledge it—for twenty-five years? Why, Ernie moved all the way to Oregon to start a new life as a park ranger. Said he
didn’t want anyone to be lost and scared the way we were that night. No, no. I don’t owe Max Dennison or his family squat.” He goes to shut the door again.

  This time I shove my foot between it and the doorframe.

  The door bites hard into my boot and I wince.

  I don’t want to believe him, but I saw the cages in the house—and he knows about the Sanderson sisters. This isn’t a story someone makes up, and especially not Principal Taylor. I’ve also never heard him say so many words together at once.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s clear someone has to apologize on my dad’s behalf.

  He looks at me, skeptical, and I sense there might be a chance to get him to help us. We have to ask him if he knows anything about the blood moonstone, get to Winter Island, and locate the stone.

  Right now, we don’t even have a car.

  “I promise I didn’t know,” I say. “But since you’ve encountered the witches before, then you’ll believe me when I tell you that they’re back, right here in Salem.”

  “They—they’re back?” His face goes ghostly pale.

  “Yes! My mom and dad and aunt are in Hell right now, and the witches are out there doing who knows what, and they turned Isabella into a dog.”

  “It’s true,” she says.

  Principal Taylor screams and jumps a foot in the air at the sound of her voice.

  “Do you know anything about a blood moonstone? Is there one at the lighthouse?” she asks him.

  He stares at her and stammers incoherently, and then his eyes sweep the night air behind us.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” he says. “But you shouldn’t be outside. And neither should I. We’re not safe. Go on home. Go!”

  “Katie’s out there somewhere, probably under their spell. Don’t you want to help her?” says Travis.

  “Katie...Katie is just fine,” Principal Taylor says, narrowing his eyes at us. But his hand trembles as he raises it to close the door.

  “But—but what about everyone else?” I ask.

  “They’ll be fine come morning,” he says. “They were last time.”

  “This is different from last time,” I insist.

  He leans forward then, just over the threshold. “I wouldn’t know,” he says gruffly. “Last time, I was locked in a cage!”

  I take a step back, and he slams the door in our faces. Then I hear the sound of the locks being bolted and heavy footsteps receding quickly into the house.

  “Well, that didn’t go as planned,” says Travis.

  “We’re screwed,” I say. “Totally and utterly screwed.”

  “That was some heavy stuff,” he says. “Maybe your dad was the jerk face, Pops.”

  “Apparently,” I say. “Isn’t there an old saying about how history has two sides?”

  “Now how are we going to find the blood moonstone?” Isabella chimes in. “It could be anywhere on Winter Island! We could spend months looking.”

  “Well, I guess at least that’s a start,” I say. “But how do we get there?”

  Across the street, five little girls skip through the park holding hands. They’re dressed as Tiana, Mulan, Cinderella, Belle, and Merida, and none of them is older than seven.

  “Go, little children,” they chant in creepy angelic unison, “hither and yon, search in the starlight and up until dawn. Find stone and book with the Sanderson claim; wrap them up and summon my name.” They unlink hands and scour the street, clambering into tree branches and running their fingers through the water of a fountain. Then they come back together, rejoin hands, and start the chorus again.

  “That’s got to be the least effective and creepiest way to assemble a search party in the history of man,” says Travis.

  “Let’s maybe not be in the wide open?” suggests Isabella.

  We step away from the front door and crouch behind a tree.

  “What now?” I whisper.

  “Even if Winnie has her little mob find the moonstone before we do, we still have this,” Travis says, motioning to the spell book in his hands.

  “Right. Maybe you shouldn’t be waving that around? Just a thought,” I say, watching as another group of kids in costumes races through the streets chanting the Sanderson spell in unison.

  Travis chuckles sheepishly and tucks it under his lab coat. “Good call.”

  “So, we’ve got to find the blood moonstone before their search party does,” Isabella whispers urgently. “Let’s get to the lighthouse and start looking.”

  “One small problem. The lighthouse is miles and miles away, up the coast, and we don’t have a car,” I say.

  “Or any clue where on the peninsula the stone could be,” Travis adds quietly.

  “Think, think, think,” says Isabella, running in tight circles.

  “Will you quit doing that? It’s making me dizzy,” whispers Travis.

  Just then, a car pulls up the driveway and parks, and Katie Taylor steps out. She’s got warm-ups on under her shorts and a state champs sweatshirt on over her jersey. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail, which glows gold in the moonlight, and her zombie makeup has been scrubbed clean.

  When she sees us, she looks repulsed. “What the hell are you doing here?” she yells.

  I freeze, not sure what to say.

  Travis looks at me, shrugging.

  Isabella’s ears stand straight up at attention.

  Katie approaches us with her arms crossed. “I should’ve known you’d be behind the zombies. Weirdos.”

  She’s lobbing her usual insults, but her tone betrays her. Katie Taylor’s definitely freaked out.

  “This is the last thing I need right now.” She’s only inches away, and Travis and I step aside and let her pass as she beelines up to her front door.

  “Katie, wait—” I start, but Katie cuts me off.

  “No, Dennison. The whole town’s gone full Night of the Living Dead and I’m getting inside before they develop an appetite for brains or something. Get out of my way.”

  I spin around to face Katie. “We know. We saw them, too.”

  “My best friend is acting like she doesn’t even know me. People are lumbering around, humming and singing like they’ve lost their minds,” says Katie, turning the key in the lock.

  “Did she get a phone call?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Jenny. Did she get a phone call? Did you see her pick it up?”

  Katie leans against the door, huffs, and turns to face me, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. Why?”

  “We know what’s happened to her,” I say, “and we’re trying to fix it. We can save everyone, including Jenny.”

  “But we need a ride,” Travis says.

  Katie scoffs. “Why would I give you guys a ride anywhere? Forget it. I’m out.”

  “Coward,” says Travis.

  Katie freezes.

  “Pretty pathetic for the captain of the soccer team to run and hide when the rest of the team needs her,” Travis says a little louder.

  “Where are you going with this?” I whisper to Travis.

  “Trust me,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth.

  Katie turns, eyes narrowed. “You don’t know the first thing about team sports, nerd.”

  “I know that when your team’s out on the pitch and the other guys have you on your heels, the captain isn’t supposed to hand the armband off and take a seat on the bench until things get easier.” Travis takes a step forward. “The captain’s supposed to push through it. Get ahead. Find a way to stay in the game. The field’s for those who can; the sideline is for those who cannot.”

  Katie seems to thaw a little at his words.

  “Good going, coach. Where did you get all that?” I whisper.

  “I play a lot of FIFA,” he whispers back.

  Katie’s hand leaves the doorknob, and something like resolve comes over her. She moves past us, back to her car. “Get in,” she sighs. “But if you’re lying to me...”

  She’s obviously too worri
ed about Jenny to come up with the perfect insult.

  She climbs into the front seat, and Travis climbs into the back.

  “Katie, thank you,” I say.

  Katie falters then, and I realize she’s just as shocked as I am that I’ve thanked her. She recovers quickly, a hand on the open door. “Your resting witch face doesn’t fool me, sweetie.”

  I let her snide comment go. “How fast can you get us to Winter Island?”

  She considers this. “Depends on how many kids are blocking the streets, but not too long, I’d imagine,” she says. Then she glances at Isabella. “But do we have to bring the dog? It’s going to shed all over my leather seats.”

  “Yeah,” I say protectively. “The dog’s kind of key to the whole thing.”

  “Okay,” she says. “But you’re paying to get the upholstery cleaned.” She slams the driver’s side door shut.

  I slide in behind her, and Isabella hops up onto the seat between Travis and me before I close the door.

  The front door of Katie’s house opens and her dad runs down the walk to the driveway. He’s pulling on an old faux-leather jacket over his striped pajamas. “Katie, you come back inside this instant!” he shouts. He stumbles in his slippers, which actually remind me a lot of my dad’s.

  Katie rolls down the window. “Stay inside, Dad.” She raises the window and locks the car doors. As she pulls out of the driveway, she mumbles, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  As Katie’s car pulls out onto the street, it’s quiet except for the whir of the heater.

  Zombie kids fill the street, and Katie tensely maneuvers around them. “So if I drive you to Winter Island, you’ll help Jenny get back to normal?” asks Katie.

  “Right,” says Travis.

  “Why do you want to get to Winter Island, anyway? Talk about random,” says Katie.

  “There’s something there we need to find to break the spell,” I say.

  “Spell? Okay, you need to explain more about that,” she says. “Does this have anything to do with your family’s bogus Sanderson sister story? Is this all some kind of sick payback?”

  “No. And you can start by telling us what happened to Jenny,” I say.

  “Way to redirect the conversation. Fine. After your lame party, I went to Jenny’s for a while, but she got a call from Bella Richards,” says Katie over her shoulder.