Hocus Pocus and the All-New Sequel

by A. W. Jantha

  I glare at Winifred. “How can you live with yourselves?” I ask.

  “Just fine, thank you,” she says primly. She adds a milky liquid to the cauldron, then, glancing furtively at Mary, takes a swig straight from the bottle.

  “Maybe if you weren’t so horrible, you wouldn’t’ve been killed in the first place,” I tell her.

  “Yes,” says Winifred without bothering to look at me. “That worked out so well for my dear, pure-of-heart sister Elizabeth.”

  “She died,” Sarah says helpfully, pausing mid-pirouette.

  Mary picks through the scattered trash, blowing flakes of dust and glass from salvaged herbs as she collects them. She finds a few unbroken bottles and tastes the contents, occasionally wrinkling her nose.

  I jump at the touch of something wet against my wrists, but then I hear a familiar voice whisper, “Shhh.”

  Isabella. Relief washes over me. I scoot slowly to the side to give Isabella a better angle for hiding. She nibbles delicately on my fabric restraints, careful to avoid nipping my skin.

  Thankfully, the witches don’t seem to notice. Winifred and Mary bustle around the cauldron, filling it up and stoking the fire to make the contents boil quicker.

  “I’ve never been happier to see you,” I whisper to Isabella.

  She pauses and looks up at me with her round, dark eyes, her head tilted at a forty-five-degree angle. From a dog, it’s almost comical, but I’ve studied her face enough to see past the dog’s body she’s trapped in. The look Isabella—the real Isabella—is giving me is a never-been-happier-to-see-you-too look. Isabella looks back at the cluster of witches and ducks farther behind me. Her teeth get back to work on my binds, this time with more tugging and desperation.

  “Thou hasn’t got much to say now, hast thou?” Winifred asks, casting her eyes in my direction.

  “What are you making, anyway?” Travis breaks in, pulling attention back to his side of the room.

  “We are planning to boil a delectable and fortifying brew,” explains Winifred, rolling her Rs once more.

  “Ooh, should we add rabbit ears and newt livers?” asks Mary.

  “It need not be that delectable, Mary.”

  Sarah has unwound a bracelet from her wrist and is nibbling one end. It looks like a piece of leather or twine, but I have an uncomfortable feeling it’s something else entirely.

  “Didn’t we try this potion once before?” Mary asks.

  “Not the Life Potion, you dimwit,” Winifred chides. “A new spell, if your miserable memory serves you.” Winifred points to the spell book with a long, gnarled finger punctuated with a long, sharp fingernail. There are ancient red letters at the top of the page reading everlasting life elixir. “It requires the blood moonstone. We’ve discussed this, Sister!”

  “Winnie,” Sarah says, “you promised! You promised that after we made the immortality elixir, that we could invite some guests to join us in our celebration. Billy Butcherson, perhaps? Ooh! Or the dockworker’s boy. The pretty one. What was his name?”

  “Peter,” says Winifred, clearly trying to end her sister’s daydreaming as quickly as possible.

  “Peter,” repeats Sarah with a happy sigh.

  “After we possess everlasting life, we’re not just inviting anyone back, you silly girl,” says Winifred. “We’re bringing back Mother and Master in exchange for these brats!”

  So, that’s truly their grand plan, is it? And what, we’re the ones who they’re going to exchange? I can’t say I expected less from them. On the plus side, maybe I’ll see my family again. Poppy, get a grip. I twist my left wrist carefully and feel the fabric slacken. Slowly, carefully, I work both hands out of their weakened knots and flex my fingers to help blood flow back in.

  When Winifred turns away to check the quickness of the boil, I hear a crackle of electricity and see a shiver of yellow lightning dance over the cage’s lock.

  It’s the same yellow lightning that struck at the cliff that showed us where the blood moonstone was buried, and that struck inside the Sanderson house earlier, and that jumped between Isabella and me at school, making my hair stand on end....If Isabella is the source of the yellow lightning, that would be so badass. Especially if she can control it to get the upper hand over her distant witchy relatives.

  The lock gives way with a soft click, and the door slides open by a centimeter or two. I glance back at Isabella to thank her, but she’s already disappeared. I look back at the unlocked cage door, contemplating how to play out my escape without getting quickly caught. Think.

  Isabella’s white fur flashes in the space between Katie and Travis, but then he shifts to the side and she’s hidden again. I’m holding my breath as I watch. Please don’t get caught.

  “You know,” says Winifred then, and I see Travis’s body stiffen. “Maybe you’re right, dear Sarah. Maybe I dismissed you too quickly.”

  “Oh?” Sarah says, turning and beaming. Then her voice comes out flat and perplexed: “Right about what?”

  Off to her side, Mary looks downright miffed.

  “About having just any old guests to dinner.” A conniving glow comes over Winifred’s face, and it gives me the chills. “What good is it to rule without others who will be jealous of our triumphs? Who else dost thou think might turn positively emerald with envy, sisters?”

  Sarah bounces on her heels, clapping. “Peter!”

  “Well, yes, probably,” says Winifred. “But no.”

  Sarah deflates.

  “What about Gunnilda Arden or Mathilda Picardy?” Winifred asks, turning to her. “Or Isolde Fitzrou or Frances Harvey?”

  “But those are all witches,” says Mary.

  “Yes,” says Winifred, turning to her now. “Precisely.”

  “But Winnie,” Sarah pleads, coming over and taking her elder sister by the arm. “Witches are terrible dinner guests. They try to show off and—and—steal all your turtle teeth.”

  “Yes, they do, don’t they,” says Winifred. “But our dearly descended niece has given me great inspiration. First things first: our eternal life potion is almost complete, and we shall finally live forever.”

  “Are you sure, Winnie?” asks Mary. “That’s an awful long time....”

  “Silence! We’ve had plenty of time to form this plan, and we’re sticking to it. Now all that’s left is gathering souls ripe for the exchange,” says Winifred.

  “How many souls can we bring back?” asks Sarah, delighted.

  “There are three hundred and seventy-three witches on the other side,” replies Winnie.

  “How many mortals would we need?” asks Sarah, counting on her long fingers.

  “Three hundred and seventy-three, you dolt!” says Winifred. “We shall drink the potion, cast the spell, free our sisters, and start a new cruel and crafty coven right here in Salem. Besides, Master will enjoy the new playthings, and Mother will enjoy stepping foot back to life!”

  “Master,” says Sarah wistfully.

  “Yes,” Winifred says, as if warming to her own plan. She starts to stir the cauldron and sing softly under her breath. “Everlasting life will be ours. No more blemishes nor scars. We’ll be young and beautiful.”

  Sarah and Mary chorus “young and beautiful.”

  “No more trick nor daft delay,” sings Winifred. “I’m—erm—we’re here to stay!”

  A snake of red smoke lances out of the brew, then dissipates. The cauldron simmers, and a bloodred mist churns across its thickly bubbling contents.

  Winifred hands the ladle to Mary, who continues to stir the cauldron. Winifred pulls a knobby bone-hilted dagger from her robes, dips it into the cauldron, and licks the blade. “Tasty!” she exclaims. Winifred then consults her spell book. “Ah, the trusty everlasting life elixir—let’s see.” She runs her long, crooked talon of a finger down the yellowed page, and stops on instructions that she reads aloud: “‘Lastly, add blood moonstone.’” With a proud purse of her lips, Winifred lifts the stone and carries it to the cauldron. She
pauses at my cage.

  “Now, whose life force shall we sup on first?” She leans forward to give me a wide, ugly smile through the iron bars. “I say you,” she teases. “You remind me of a girl I once tried to eat.”

  “I’m afraid I’m a little tough for your palate, witch breath,” I growl.

  Then I push myself up and forward in one fluid motion, grabbing on to the bars of the door without letting them stop me. The door swings open, knocking Winifred off-balance.

  The blood moonstone falls from her clawed hand, skitters away, and comes to a stop in a slimy pile of wilted herbs. I quickly snatch it up and shove it into the pocket of my jeans.

  There’s a shout, and I turn to see Mary falling. She was coming after me with a frying pan, but Isabella’s sunk her teeth deep into the witch’s plump calf.

  Isabella jumps onto Mary’s prone body, scrabbling over her shoulders and tangled hair.

  Travis is at my side.

  Katie has already gotten the front door open. “This way!” she shouts.

  Travis and I run toward her.

  “The spell book!” calls Isabella.

  I turn, but the podium holding the open spell book is on the other side of the room. Bolting for it would mean I’d risk getting caught again.

  “Poppy, hurry,” says Katie.

  I gun it past her, with Travis and Isabella racing beside me, until we’re down the steps, out of the front yard, and in the woods. We take cover behind a downed tree. Seconds later, the sisters emerge from the house. Winifred clutches her spell book, whose eye swivels, searching for us.

  We duck back down.

  “Sisters! Leave them. We mustn’t abandon our everlasting life elixir,” I hear Winifred instruct her sisters. “Besides, we’ll get the stone back soon. With a little help.”

  I peer up to watch Winifred and her sisters turn and head back into the house.

  Isabella stares up at me and Travis. “Please tell me one of you has the stone!”

  “I do,” I say, patting my pocket.

  “You rock, Pops,” says Travis.

  But neither of us laughs, like we’d normally do. We’re both still too frazzled.

  “Good work, Poppy.” Isabella paces the length of the fallen tree and back. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not long before the zombies are back,” says Katie.

  “I don’t—I don’t think dogs can cry,” Isabella says softly. “But I want to.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I say.

  Isabella shakes her head vehemently, then takes a deep breath. “How?” she grumbles.

  “We’ll find Elizabeth,” I say. “She’ll know what to do. Besides, we have the stone. They can’t cast the immortality spell without it. And we just have to find a way to break it to undo the exchange spell, right?”

  “Easier said than done,” Travis says. “Besides, it sounds like they’re about to cast another exchange spell using the book.”

  “You’re right—the witches—we can’t destroy the moonstone ourselves—and more people are at risk of being—and everything will become permanent,” stammers Isabella.

  I’ve never seen her so shaken. I just want to comfort her.

  “Isabella,” I say softly. “Trust me. We’ll be okay.”

  She shivers, then nods. “We’ll find Elizabeth,” she says. “We have the stone. We’ll break it. Then all their spells will be undone.” It sounds like she actually believes it.

  “Right. And then we’ll send those thirsty witches back to Hell,” Travis adds.

  “And turn you back into a human,” says Katie.

  Isabella looks up at me, searching my face.

  I’m not exactly sure what she’s looking for, but I nod and give a brave smile like I know she’d do for me.

  “We will,” I say, surprised at how calm and confident I am, despite everything.

  “Thanks, Poppy,” Isabella says. “I needed that.”

  I feel a warmth in my heart.

  Travis and Katie are both watching us.

  “Any time,” I tell Isabella, surprised at how tender I sound.

  “Yeah,” she says. She sounds a little more confident this time. “We didn’t get this far without each other. We have each other’s backs. We make solid plans. We get things done.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Now let’s go find Elizabeth. We need her advice.”

  Isabella turns and hurries down the trunk of the tree, leaping over the roots and into a deep pile of leaves. She shakes them off, and we follow her through the woods to the road, then across it to the graveyard, dodging from shadow to shadow so that no prowling zombie teens or flying witches can spot us.

  As I’m quietly closing the gate behind us, Katie leans in.

  “I’m not good at this,” she says, “but...I’m sorry. Again.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “I really want you to know that I am so, so sorry. For being a total witch to you. You didn’t deserve it. I never want to be a mean girl again. That is, if I get the chance to live long enough to redeem myself.”

  Isabella is far ahead already, loping up the hill toward the chapel, with Travis not far behind her.

  “The truth is, I think I was just jealous that you and Bella started hanging out, and she kind of ditched me. It hurt, to be honest.” She runs a hand through her hair. We follow the others to the clearing. “And then when I overheard you telling her about the Sanderson story, that was my chance to be a total mean girl. I feel like such a jerk. It’s just, your family seemed perfect. And hearing something so weird about them, no offense, made me feel better about my own family. As you know, it’s hard having a parent in charge of your high school, and it’s harder having a single parent who barely says two words to you because he’s too busy making sure the windows and doors are locked. Now I know why. He was witch-proofing the house.”

  I nod. I think about my parents again—how good Mom was at prepping the house for the party, and how she and Dad and even Aunt Dani had busted out Halloween costumes for the first time since I was nine or ten. For the first time since they told me about the Sandersons. I realize that maybe I haven’t been protecting my family secret this whole time—I’ve just been protecting myself from ridicule. And that maybe the only Dennison who hates Halloween is me.

  “I forgive you. And hey, I owe my parents and aunt an apology, too,” I say.

  “Yeah,” she says thoughtfully. “And I owe my dad one. He was just trying to protect me.”

  I sigh dramatically. “Is this what growing up feels like?”

  “I hope not. I feel like I’ve been microwaved and lived to tell the tale.” Katie laughs hard at that. She stops walking to offer me an open palm. “Truce?” she asks.

  I look from her hand to her face, where a few strands of blue hair are sticking to her jaw. I accept her handshake, and we both hurry up the road and toward the chapel. Luckily, the graveyard is zombie-free. Just ghosts—and friendly ones at that.

  Binx is sitting on the chapel’s bottom step.

  Emily has created a hopscotch board from broken sticks, and she tosses a pebble and skips after it, balancing on one foot as she leans forward to scoop the stone back up.

  “I never thought I’d be so happy to see ghosts in a graveyard!” Travis exclaims.

  “We have good news and bad news,” Isabella says.

  “What’s the bad news?” Binx asks, rising. He and Emily glide toward us.

  Elizabeth appears in the doorway of the chapel, but only watches us, her face expressionless.

  Isabella glances at me, wagging her tail. Her eyes drop to my hand, which is still grasping Katie’s, and she seems to falter. She glances at my face, then turns back to the ghosts. I give Katie’s hand a gentle squeeze and let go of it, wrapping my arms around myself.

  “The Sanderson sisters have the spell book and are going to cast the exchange spell to trade living souls for all the dead witches in Hell,” Isabella says.

  Binx gapes at us, putti
ng a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “What’s the good news?”

  I take the moonstone from my pocket and hold it up for everyone to see.

  Elizabeth nods, then turns to Binx with a look of determination. She takes the words right out of my mouth: “That it isn’t over yet.”

  How couldst thou lose the stone?” Winifred demands, blaming her sisters.

  “Well, Winnie,” Sarah says, twisting her own fingers, “thou wert there also.”

  This earns her two arched eyebrows from Winifred.

  Winifred may have been angrier at another point in her life, but the memory isn’t coming to her in this particular moment. They’ve lost the blood moonstone, as well as their supper—and she isn’t getting any younger. She slams her book onto the wooden planks. It emits a whimper that only she can hear. The sound makes her even angrier at herself. She whirls on her sisters.

  “Never in my life have I met such blundering, club-clawed stampcrabs,” she says.

  Sarah and Mary cower and busy themselves at the cauldron, taking turns stirring the incomplete potion, one more gracefully than the other.

  After a pause, Winifred turns her back on Sarah and Mary, afraid that she’ll wield her lightning magic in their direction if either sister opens her hopeless mouth. Slowly, Winifred lifts the cover of her book and smooths an apologetic palm over its title page, then holds her hand over the pages and takes a deep breath.

  The pages flip of their own accord.

  When the exchange spell that Winifred desires appears, the pages settle and still.

  She leans close to the book, studying the text of the spell in the dark.

  Behind her, her sisters lean forward, too.

  “Bring me some mortals,” Winifred says to them, eyes fixed on the window.

  “Children?” asks Mary.

  “It matters not to me,” says Winifred, grinning. “Any mortal will do....Sarah, summon old and young alike.”

  Travis and Binx emerge from the groundskeeper’s shed and approach us with a big steel toolbox.

  “Something in here’s gotta be able to crush this stone,” says Travis. He takes a hammer to the stone, and then a pair of pliers, and then he tries to crush it by overtightening a clamp, but when he loosens it again, the stone bounces out into his palm—completely unscathed.