Hocus Pocus and the All-New Sequel

by A. W. Jantha

  “Does a blacksmith still reside in Salem?” asks Elizabeth. “Perhaps he could fire the stone and break it with his mallet.”

  “No,” says Katie sadly. “The blacksmith unemployment rate became untenable about a century ago.”

  “We’re wasting our time,” I say. “It’ll be dawn soon.”

  The sky is still dark and the moon is still high.

  “She’s right,” says Isabella. “We’ve been running around for hours, and we don’t even know how to break the stone.”

  “I just really wish we had the spell book,” Isabella says, swiping at her own head with a front paw. “I know we’re not supposed to use it, but wouldn’t it be better than not having it?”

  “I’m not sure,” says Elizabeth, looking nervous. “I’ve told you my sister’s book can’t be trusted. It sees all and knows no allegiance except to Winifred. And I know its contents all too well. The exchange spell is single-use, meaning it can only be used on the same person once. So even if you incanted it, it would not work on them.”

  “So destroying the moonstone really is our only hope.” I keep staring at the horizon, where the black sky fades into a charcoal-colored sea. My heart aches. “But...morning is coming,” I say quietly. A fresh wave of despair rushes over me. I turn to Binx. “Can I talk to my family again? I need to tell them I’m sorry.”

  “We don’t have time,” says Katie, pacing frantically in front of the chapel. “And besides, you can’t think like that—we can’t give up. Not yet.”

  “Poppy, she’s right,” says Isabella. “We have to act quickly.”

  “Act quickly we must.” Elizabeth slowly descends the chapel steps. “It isn’t time yet to lose hope. The blood moon is bloodiest before the dawn.”

  “Did she seriously just say that?” quips Katie.

  I can’t help cracking a smile.

  Elizabeth kneels down in front of Isabella and touches her small round head lovingly, as if touching a human cheek. “I was not given the chance to watch my daughter, Ismay, grow up,” she tells her, “but I hope that your kindness and bravery come from her. You aren’t afraid to find out who you are.” She tips her head to the side. “Though we are family by blood, you come from many places, Isabella.

  “When I was alive, I was always afraid that if I were myself, no one would accept me. So instead, I pretended to be the person I believed everyone—or everyone I cared about—wanted me to be. I was a baker, and kept my life and my family hidden for fear of persecution.”

  Travis slips an arm over my shoulders and the other over Katie’s. “I thought we couldn’t waste any time?” he murmurs.

  “Shhh,” I hiss. “Let Isabella have her moment.”

  “In the end,” says Elizabeth, “my pretense didn’t matter much: the spell book betrayed me, and the rest is history. You’re a brave young woman, Isabella. And you are smart, and you are curious. Those are good and dangerous things. But you are also a witch, and that is a good and dangerous thing on its own.”

  Isabella backs away. “I’m not,” she says.

  “You’ve seen your powers today,” says Elizabeth softly.

  “The—the lightning? That was an accident. That isn’t me,” says Isabella.

  “That’s what I believed, back then,” says Elizabeth, laying both hands across her lap. “I didn’t want to be a witch, because I didn’t want to turn into my sisters—greedy and selfish and hungry for blood in more ways than one. I didn’t end up like them, but I still had my life stolen from me. I was as much a witch then as you are now, but you have shown me that you can be a witch, and even a Sanderson, without being cruel.”

  “Is there going to be a blood pact or fire dancing or something?” Katie whispers. “ ’Cuz I’m here for that.”

  Travis chuckles, and I throw them a pinched look and shake my head in mock disappointment. “Heartless,” I say. “Both of you.”

  Katie winks at me and Travis offers her a fist bump.

  “We sent Poppy’s family to Hell,” Isabella chokes out, drawing our attention back to her and Elizabeth. “And I’m a dog.”

  I feel myself tearing up at her words.

  “Oh, ducky,” says Elizabeth affectionately, “none of that is any of your faults. The day Emily died, I blamed myself for not going after her. I’d seen her that morning lured to the woods by my sister’s spell, but I hadn’t realized just what terrible magic was at work. If I’d just gone after her, I could have saved her, and saved Thackery, too. If I had just stood up to my sisters, I could have driven them from town and no one in Salem would have been hurt. I felt a tremendous guilt, and it was easier to sit with that guilt and hide than to defend myself. Now, I can help make things right. We all can.”

  Isabella looks hopefully at Elizabeth. Behind them, Emily and Binx smile wanly.

  “We all make mistakes, poppet,” says Elizabeth. “The trick is learning how to move past them—and, when you can, to use them to your advantage.” She pauses and offers both of her palms to Isabella. “Now it’s my turn,” she adds.

  Isabella rises up on her back legs and places one paw in each of her ancestor’s hands.

  “While you were away,” says Elizabeth, “I was chatting with Poppy’s family, and they had an idea for how to turn you back into a human that doesn’t involve the spell book. I don’t know if it’ll work, but let me try it.”

  I want to ask if they’re okay, but there’s a crackle in the air, and the wind seems to shift.

  As Travis, Katie, and I look on, a spark of searing-white electricity snakes around Elizabeth’s hands and Isabella’s paws. The light fizzles and fades, then reappears, swirling around Elizabeth’s left wrist and up her arm before piercing her shoulder and disappearing.

  Another snaking line of electricity—this time yellow—loops around Isabella’s legs and body, sinking into the base of her spine. Soon bolts of bright electricity have twined themselves around the two witches like a single glowing rope that sparks and snaps and disappears.

  Isabella’s body starts to shift, growing and twisting.

  Thick curls sprout from her head and her arms lengthen, fur retreating and skin shifting.

  The light around her is so bright I have to look away.

  There’s an explosion of sparks, and the light snuffs out.

  I look back, ghosts of the rope lights squiggling through my vision.

  Isabella has transformed back into a human.

  She’s kneeling in front of Elizabeth, their hands tightly clasped. Isabella is wearing her all-white Athena costume, which by now is worse for wear. She looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers for a moment as if she can’t believe her eyes. Then she turns to us, beaming.

  I can’t begin to describe how happy I am.

  Isabella jumps up and throws her arms around me, squealing. “Hands, not paws!”

  I want to tell her I’m glad she’s back, but I realize she was never really gone.

  I’m at a loss for what to say to her. All I can do is smile.

  She gives me a tight squeeze, and my heart soars.

  Then we part, and she runs over to hug Travis, who’s grinning broadly.

  “Good to have you back, Dog Breath,” he says.

  Aunt Dani would reel at that nickname.

  “Thanks,” Isabella replies, batting him playfully on the shoulder. She turns and pulls Katie into a long hug.

  At first, a look of surprise passes over Katie’s face, but then she puts her arms tightly around Isabella, too, and smiles. Neither girl says anything, but I see a thousand versions of I’m sorry and I missed you and I forgive you pass between them through that hug. It makes me smile.

  Isabella pulls away, and Katie lifts her arm so Isabella can do a twirl as I cheer her on.

  “Take a bow,” Katie laughs.

  Isabella stops in front of Elizabeth and pauses to catch her breath. “Thank you!” Isabella exclaims. “I mean, I wish you’d done it a bit sooner....”

  “I only wish I had thought of it
myself,” Elizabeth says. “Magic isn’t always as simple as reading a spell. It wasn’t until Poppy’s mother asked if you had lightning powers, too, that I realized there might be a way to transform you back without the spell book’s help. Luckily, it worked.” She pauses, and a little smile appears on her face.

  “Thank goodness!” cries Isabella.

  “Seriously,” I add.

  “If your lightning magic is as strong as I think it is,” continues Elizabeth, “you’ll need to learn how to control it. Watch.” She lifts her hands over her head and white sparks crackle between her fingers, then blossom overhead in a dazzling miniature firework.

  Isabella bites her lips and holds out her own hands. “What if I can’t do it?” she asks.

  “There’s nothing to do.” Elizabeth touches Isabella’s arms and elbows, making small corrections and helping her relax. “Now,” she says softly, leaning over Isabella’s shoulder, “breathe deep and...”

  Yellow lightning flies from Isabella’s hands, making a great crack and releasing a fireball that bursts in midair. The recoil sends her backward, shooting right through Elizabeth and crashing into me.

  I react with just enough time to steady myself and keep us both from toppling over. “Well, okay,” I say.

  “Thanks for always having my back,” says Isabella. She laughs and takes a step backward. “Wait till Stanford hears about this,” she says, watching yellow sparks jump from her fingers.

  I snort, and Katie smiles.

  Elizabeth just looks perplexed.

  “This explains the static and all the zaps of electricity that kept happening to us today,” I tell Isabella. “It all makes sense.” An idea hits me. “Hey, can you zap the stone? Maybe that’ll break it!”

  “Always full of ideas, Poppy. I have always liked that about you. Let me give it a try,” says Isabella.

  Elizabeth’s expression changes to one of worry.

  I place the moonstone down on the grass, and Isabella stares hard at it and takes aim.

  Bolts of yellow lightning crackle around her knuckles like fiery wires.

  “Stop!” Elizabeth exclaims, standing between the stone and Isabella.

  Isabella startles and releases her fist.

  The bolt ricochets and hits a nearby tombstone with a skull and crossbones, which cracks and smokes.

  “What? Why?” she asks, suddenly frazzled.

  “Yeah!” says Travis. “Using Isabella’s lightning magic to zap the stone is the best idea we’ve had all night!”

  “Speak for yourself,” Katie chimes in.

  Elizabeth looks from the stone to each of us. “The moonstone is made up of energy. A great, powerful kind of energy. Trying to destroy its magic with your magic could be dangerous and result in a fiery blast. It could be large enough to endanger the town. You’ll need to do it in a place with a lot of open space. Somewhere to take the brunt of the shock to minimize the damage. But that should do it.”

  “The lighthouse,” Travis says.

  We all turn to look at him.

  “What do you mean?” asks Isabella.

  “I have an idea!” he says.

  “Travis, explain,” I say impatiently.

  When we continue to stare, he points in the direction of the coast. “If we can blast it off the lighthouse and over the water, no one gets hurt,” he explains.

  “Then if everyone’s in favor, it’s settled. Let’s head back to Winter Island,” I tell them.

  “Wait,” says Isabella, faltering in a way I’m not used to seeing from her. “What if I can’t do it?”

  “You can,” I say with conviction.

  Isabella steels her expression and nods, but she still looks unsure.

  “Besides, dear,” adds Elizabeth, “I’m coming with you.”

  We’re standing outside Travis’s house in his driveway, staring at his closed garage door.

  “What’s taking him so long?” asks Katie, crossing her arms.

  I knew we shouldn’t have split up. I knew Katie and I should have followed Travis and Isabella through the already open front door to his house. I stare at the dark windows and listen intently. Beside me, Katie holds a bucket. Inside is the soil we dug up from the cemetery since Elizabeth wanted to join us. She hovers above the bucket and looks from me to Katie.

  A minute feels like decades.

  “Should we go after them?” I ask.

  Suddenly, there’s a motorized whir, and the garage door begins to rise.

  Travis’s face peeps from beneath the moving door. “Well, we were right about my family. They’re not here, and none of them are night owls, which only means one thing: they’re part of the zombie mob. At least my siblings are.”

  I step forward. “Travis, I’m so sorry.”

  Isabella appears beside him in the garage. “The good news is, we got four bikes.”

  The door shudders into place, and the motor stops.

  I peer into the dim garage and see the four bikes leaned up against the wall. Isabella starts to pull them out onto the driveway, one by one, and I help her. Katie walks up to one with a milk crate attached to the front and plunks the bucket into it, then saddles up. Travis hands a helmet to her, then clips on his own and offers two more to me and Isabella.

  “Hey, Isabella, you sure you can’t make these bikes fly?” he asks her. “We’d get to Winter Island much faster.”

  She shoots him a look. “I’m working my way up, okay?”

  “Hey, Dennison,” calls Katie, tossing her car keys to me. “My pockets suck. I’m trusting you with these.”

  I take the car keys and see there’s also a key with a plastic lighthouse covering the top. Then I clip on my helmet. “Let’s go.”

  Sarah and Mary stumble out of the Sanderson house and onto its depressing front lawn.

  They find five humans under Sarah’s spell, searching hither and yon for the moonstone.

  The people crouch and look under leaves and rotten planks of wood. One of them is a sleepy-looking teen boy in a long black cape. A set of pointed plastic teeth sits on the rough wooden table in front of him. Another is a teen girl wearing a soccer jersey and shorts. Her ombré hair, stuck with leaves and twigs, falls around her face. The other three humans are children, who stare up at Mary with vacant expressions.

  Mary glances at Sarah with a sloppy sideways smile. “Nab ’em!” she growls.

  Moments later, Winifred inspects the ragtag group of human sacrifices her sisters have gathered for her review inside the house. Winifred stalks around the humans seated on the debris-strewn floor. Ruddy moonlight falling through the window soaks everything, making their clothes and faces look flushed. Mary and Sarah stand beside the smoking cauldron, waiting to be thanked. Sarah whispers something to Mary, which makes her giggle.

  Winifred shoots them both an icy look. “Five? Only five?” She sighs. “I suppose they’ll do,” she says. “For now. It’s a start.”

  Sarah claps her hands, delighted.

  “Tell me, snoring plague sore,” says Winifred, leaning over to meet the teen boy’s eyes, “dost thou believe in magic? Ghosts? Spirits?”

  He yawns. “I s’pose not,” he says.

  Winifred smacks the back of his head.

  “Why does she get to play with him?” Sarah pouts at Mary, who puts a comforting arm around her sister’s narrow shoulders.

  “Very well.” Winifred turns to her spell book splayed open on its pedestal, clears her throat, and reads the exchange spell: “‘Some inside and some without, one believes and one holds doubt. On—’”

  “‘All Hallows’ Day,’” Sarah interrupts eagerly.

  Winifred glowers at her. “‘On All Hallows’ Day ere twelve is struck, trade—’”

  “‘Four,’” prompts Mary.

  Winifred purses her lips and corrects her sister, saying, “‘—Five souls until sunup.’” Winifred snaps the book shut. “Thank thee very much.” She gives her sisters a devilish grin.

  One by one, with individual
popping sounds, the five humans vanish.

  Winifred taps her fingers together expectantly.

  A thin pair of pale hands appears in thin air, prying open a glowing green door.

  Winifred beams then.

  Sarah and Mary can’t help smiling, too.

  “It’s been centuries since we had a true living coven,” says Mary.

  “Yes,” says Winifred, and her simple agreement makes Mary’s smile grow.

  The first witch climbs awkwardly out of the tear in the emerald veil and lets it snap shut behind her. Her skirts are hitched up high, revealing striped lacy white stockings beneath a cascade of a dress that looks like a racy wedding cake. Her lavender hair is almost as pale as her skin, and her eyes are a watery green.

  The prim and proper witch smiles at Winifred. “Winnie Sanderson,” she purrs. “I never dreamed I’d see you again. It’s a shame that Hell keeps friends so far apart. We’ve been in the ‘plague-carrying squirrel’ part of Hell.”

  “Gunnilda, what a pleasure it is to have you back,” says Winifred with a tight smile. “We were relegated to the ‘attending all of your exes’ weddings on the same day’ circle of Hell.”

  The green-glowing tear in the veil stretches open again, and four other witches drag themselves out.

  One has a black snake curled around her ankle. As she regains her footing, the snake curls up her calf and disappears beneath her dress, reappearing from beneath her scalloped collar and encircling her neck instead. Another has a shock of white hair, wide white eyes, and teeth pointed like a shark’s. The fourth is a hawkish witch holding a staff with a phoenix carved on it. The last has scarlet skin and an armored dress that looks like dragon scales, with a collar pitched into a high silver-tipped fan behind her head.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure?” asks the dragon skin–clad witch.

  Winifred answers with a dark smile. “To whom,” she corrects, then adds: “To me.”

  There’s a distant rumble, and all the witches turn toward the window.

  Outside, a small lightning storm seems to have descended over the forested peninsula to the north of Salem, except that in this storm, not all the lightning arcs from the sky to the earth; instead, some of it branches backward, stretching up for the clouds. The bolts are varied shades of yellow, punctuated by a bright, blinding white.