A Witch’s Kitchen Page 10

“NOW, THE BEAN. MILLIE, YOU’VE DONE SOMETHING I HAVE NEVER SEEN IN THIS SCHOOL BEFORE, AND THAT IS SAYING SOMETHING,” Quercius told her. “LOOK CLOSELY AT YOUR SPROUT. WHAT IS DIFFERENT ABOUT IT?”

  Millie peered at her pot. “It’s larger than the other sprouts were. And darker. It smells different, too. More like,” she sniffed briefly, “like bananas.”

  Cretacia had regained her composure. “You planted a banana tree instead? Well, that’s just like you, always messing things up.”

  “IT IS NOT A BANANA TREE,” Quercius told them. “IT IS STILL A BEAN, JUST A VERY DIFFERENT BEAN. TELL ME, MILLIE. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF BEAN?”

  “Cacao,” Millie answered promptly. Then she covered her mouth with her hands. “No,” she mumbled. “It couldn’t be.”

  “YOU ARE CORRECT. THAT IS A VERY YOUNG AND SOMEWHAT CONFUSED CACAO SPROUT. I HAVE BEEN REASSURING HER ALL MORNING, LETTING HER KNOW THAT SHE WILL BE WELL CARED FOR AND LOVED.”

  Cretacia frowned. “Why would you plant a cacao bean? I’d expect you to make chocolate out of it first.”

  “I d-didn’t plant a cacao bean,” Millie said. “I’m s-s-sure of it. I planted a regular b-bean like everyone else.”

  “And you tried quite a few different spells and charms to help it grow,” said Master Augustus. “But none of those would have transformed a regular green bean into a cacao bean. Did you do anything else? Anything related to cacao?”

  Millie thought back to that first Onesday. It seemed like years ago. “I... I just remember thinking that I wished it had been chocolate. I’d have known what to do with chocolate.”

  “AND DID YOU FEEL ANYTHING WHEN YOU THOUGHT THAT?”

  Millie gazed down at the little sprout. “I felt a little, um, tingly.”

  Cretacia threw her a disgusted look. “And that didn’t tell you anything? Idiot.”

  “Cretacia,” said Master Augustus. “Remember our talk about insults.”

  “Oh, yes, sorry,” she replied distractedly.

  “MILLIE, I BELIEVE THAT YOU TRANSFORMED YOUR ORDINARY GARDEN BEAN INTO A CACAO BEAN.”

  “I did?” Millie said in a small voice.

  “YOU DID. AND BECAUSE SHE SPROUTED HERE, IN MY BRANCHES, SHE WILL BE A SPECIAL KIND OF CACAO TREE. SHE IS ALREADY SELF-AWARE, WHICH MOST TREES DO NOT ACHIEVE UNTIL THEY ARE SEVERAL YEARS OLD. IN TIME, SHE WILL DEVELOP THE ABILITY TO USE MAGIC. SHE WILL WALK AND TALK. IN SHORT, SHE WILL BE A DODONAS, LIKE ME. HER NAME IS THEA.”

  Remedial History flared in Millie’s mind. The Dodonoi were an exceedingly rare race of intelligent, powerful tree-like beings. Very little was known about their culture or habits because there were so few of them, and young Dodonoi were precious and closely guarded. Quercius was the best known Dodonos in the Enchanted Forest, and he was — Millie gasped — over two thousand years old.

  Millie glanced up at him, startled. “You can walk?”

  Quercius laughed. “I DID, ONCE. I WANDERED ACROSS ALL THE MANY REALMS. NOW, HOWEVER, I AM TOO LARGE TO TRAVEL EASILY. I HAVE SETTLED HERE, AND HERE I WILL LIKELY REMAIN UNTIL THE END OF MY DAYS.” The great Dodonos sighed, and a little ripple ran through his branches. “I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD HAVE A CHILD. THANK YOU, MILLIE, FOR PRESENTING ME WITH THE OPPORTUNITY, UNUSUAL AND COMPLICATED AS IT IS.”

  “Complicated?” Cretacia butted in. “She messed this up, too, didn’t she?”

  “HARDLY,” said Master Quercius. “IT MERELY LEAVES ME WITH A QUANDARY. CACAO TREES NEED CERTAIN CONDITIONS IN WHICH TO GROW AND THRIVE. ORDINARILY, THE SHADE OF MY BRANCHES WOULD BE IDEAL, BUT MY GLADE IS A BUSY, MUCH USED PART OF THE SCHOOL AND NOT SUITED TO RAISING AN INFANT DODONAS. THERE ARE THREE OTHER DODONOI IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST, BUT TWO ARE SIMILARLY OCCUPIED WITH IMPORTANT BUSINESS, AND THE THIRD IS STILL IN HER JOURNEYMAN PHASE, WHEREAS THEA MUST REMAIN STATIONARY FOR AT LEAST THE FIRST TWO YEARS OF HER LIFE. WE MUST FIND HER A SUITABLE HOME.”

  “Can’t she just go live with other cacao trees?” Cretacia asked.

  “I CAN MAKE ARRANGEMENTS TO SEND HER TO A CACAO FARM IN ANOTHER REALM, BUT I WOULD PREFER THAT SHE STAY NEAR TO ME, SO THAT I MAY INSTRUCT HER IN THE WAYS OF THE DODONOI.”

  Millie reached out and gently touched a tiny leaf, and she felt a tingle go through her again, and a feeling of quiet joy. Considering carefully, Millie said, “Well, we have a nice big backyard, and it’s shaded by a lovely, kind elm tree. Mother’s wards are very strong, so no one would bother her, and I could keep her company when I’m not at school. It would be a little like having a sister.” Millie liked that idea. “I’d have to get Mother’s permission, though.”

  “YOU ARE KIND TO OFFER. I THINK THIS IS A GOOD SOLUTION. WITH YOUR PERMISSION, I WILL SCRY YOUR MOTHER TO INQUIRE WHETHER THIS IS ACCEPTABLE.”

  Millie gulped. “Could I t-talk to her first, please?”

  “CERTAINLY,” said Quercius. “PLEASE INFORM ME OF YOUR DECISION ON ONESDAY.”

  Cretacia sniffed. “Millie will probably kill it. She messes everything up.”

  “Well, if this is how Millie messes up,” Master Augustus said, “I hope she keeps on doing it. The world needs more Dodonoi and more unusual results.”

  “Hmph,” said Cretacia. “She still didn’t do it right.” And she stomped off.

  Master Augustus cocked his head. “Rather competitive, your cousin.”

  “You have no idea,” Millie said.

  “MILLIE, COULD YOU PLEASE BRING THEA TO MISTRESS MALLOW? SHE IS SKILLED IN GARDEN MAGIC AND HAS PREPARED A PLACE FOR THEA UNTIL YOU HAVE OBTAINED PERMISSION TO KEEP HER.”

  “Of course, Caretaker,” Millie said.

  “Please come back in time for Arithmancy at ten-thirty,” Master Augustus said.

  “I will.” Millie picked up the pot. “Hello, Thea. We’re going to be friends, you and I.”

  In response, the sprout unfurled a new leaf.

  Millie carried the pot up the stairs to the laboratory, where Mistress Mallow was waiting. “Goodness gracious me,” said the brownie. “I never thought I’d live to see a Dodonas sprouting. They’re terribly rare and secretive, you know. Bring her over here.”

  Millie brought Thea to a small side table in a shadowy corner of the room. A slab of black slate lay on the table, and when Millie set the pot down on it, she found it was pleasantly warm.

  “Eighty degrees,” Mistress Mallow said. “Just the right temperature for a cacao tree.”

  Millie thought she could hear Thea sigh in contentment, and the little sprout stretched up a bit more.

  “Growing fast,” Mistress Mallow said. “We’ll have to repot her soon.” She turned to Millie. “Now, suppose you tell me just what’s going on with your magic.”

  Millie blushed. “I don’t know, really. I always get things muddled.”

  “Hmm, that’s so, but muddled in the right way, I’d say. I tried that chamomile tea you made in class nearly two weeks ago. Slept so deep I didn’t wake up until yesterday.”

  Millie clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry, M-m-mistress!”

  The brownie smiled kindly at her. “Don’t be. I tested the tea quite thoroughly first, you know, and determined that it was, in fact, a sleeping potion. It gave me the best sleep I’ve had in months, soothing and restful as sleep is meant to be, rather than just knocking me out. That’s subtle magic.”

  “Oh,” said Millie. “But I didn’t mean to.”

  “So I gathered,” Mistress Mallow quipped. “Now tell me what happened in fussy old Pym’s class. You turned your insect repellent charm into honey, correct?”

  “Yes, that one really didn’t work at all,” Millie said sadly.

  “But it’s very similar to what you did with both the tea and the bean. In just about every case, you transform what you’re supposed to be doing into a food. Tell me, Millie. Do you like to cook?”

  Millie couldn’t help it. She started laughing. And laughing. When she couldn’t stop, Mistress Mallow made her sit down and thumped her on the back. Gasping, she nodded, tears streaming down he
r face. “Yes, Mistress. I like to cook. I LOVE to cook. It’s what I love doing most of all.”

  Mistress Mallow glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Bother. It’s time you went back to class. But I want more time to talk to you, and to the Headmistress. Something curious is going on with your magic. Can you meet me in Pteria’s office during recess?”

  “Yes, of course,” Millie said. “I had a question for you anyway.”

  “Then off you go,” Mistress Mallow said. “And don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Thea for you.”

  Elfcakes and Pizza

  Millie thought that Arithmancy would never end. Cretacia mercilessly mocked everyone in class. Under Master Augustus’s watchful eye, she didn’t insult anyone, but she was bitingly sarcastic. “Oh, poor little dryad,” she cooed at Izzy. “You should be careful about thinking so hard, your wooden head might catch fire.” Millie wished that Sagara was there to put Cretacia in her place, but of course Sagara studied arithmancy with the more advanced students in another classroom.

  By the end of the lesson, Millie was completely wrung out with anger and worry. As soon as the lunch gong rang, she ran to her cubby, grabbed her cauldron, and dashed down the stairs, not even waiting for Master Augustus to dismiss them.

  Somehow, Sagara had contrived to reach their table first. “Arithmancy’s still too easy in the advanced class,” she said. “They aren’t even up to basic algebra yet.” Her eyes narrowed. “How’s Cretacia at math?”

  Millie blinked. “I don’t actually know. She was too busy making fun of everyone else.”

  “Ha!” Sagara said. “She’s probably terrible at it and just covering herself.”

  “I can’t imagine Cretacia being terrible at magic. She’s the best apprentice witch in our Coven.”

  “I’ll bet you she’s not nearly as good as she pretends to be,” Sagara said. “Wait. Do I smell elfcakes?”

  Max and Petunia dashed up. “Millie, I saw Cretacia! She’s here!” cried Max.

  “I know,” Millie told him. “She’s been in my class all day.”

  “Oh, no, here she comes,” Max groaned. Cretacia was stalking through the lunch tables, headed right for them. “Quick, everyone sit down. I’ll put up a ward.”

  Hastily, they all took their seats. Max pulled out his wand. “Hiljaisuuskupla,” he intoned dramatically, waving the wand in a circle around his head before pointing straight up. A shimmering curtain extended from the tip of his wand, surrounding them in a faint dome. All sounds from the crowded glade abruptly stopped.

  “Dome of Silence,” said Sagara, looking grudgingly impressed.

  Cretacia ran up to them and pounded on the dome, shouting something, but none of them could hear her. Her face turned bright red, and she made menacing arm motions at Max.

  “I can see why you’re good at this,” Petunia said.

  Max put his head down on the table, slightly crushing his hat. “I’ll pay for it, I always do. Usually, she just gives me hives, but this time, I am doomed. Finished. Defeated. Cretacia’s going to go straight home and tell my father everything, and I’ll never be able to come back.”

  Petunia balled her fists. “I’ll take care of that nasty Cretacia.”

  Millie shook her head. “Trust me, that just makes it worse. I’ve found the best thing to do is just ignore her.” She pointedly turned away from Cretacia.

  The others followed suit. After a few more minutes of silent rage, Cretacia folded her arms and stalked away. Max heaved a sigh of relief. “It worked.”

  Petunia eyed the shimmering dome. “I wish I could do this sometimes, when I have ten brothers and sisters all pouncing on me.”

  “Doesn’t your mother stop them?” Millie asked.

  Petunia shook her head. “Mum expects us to solve our own problems.”

  “Ahem,” Sagara said. “Millie, I believe I asked you a very, very important question.”

  “About Cretacia and math?”

  Sagara rolled her eyes. “No, about ELFCAKES.”

  Max’s head popped up. “I thought I smelled something good.”

  “Mmm, me, too,” Petunia said.

  Millie dropped her cauldron on the table, took off the wax paper, and pulled out handfuls of elfcakes, about a dozen in all.

  Sagara gasped. “Oak and ash. I thought I was dreaming. Where did you get them?”

  Millie smiled at her. “Come on, Sagara. You gave me the cookbook. I made them.”

  Sagara stared at her. “Only elves can make elfcakes,” she declared. “You can’t possibly have done this.”

  “It was a tough recipe to translate, but I think I figured it out. Why don’t you taste them and tell me if I got it right?”

  Hesitantly, Sagara reached out and took a cake. Then she bit into it, closed her eyes, and sighed. “They’re a little sweeter than my mother’s but, yes, they’re real elfcakes.” And she devoured the whole cake and licked her fingers after. Max and Petunia looked at Millie pleadingly. “Go ahead,” she said. “Help yourselves.”

  Everyone sat down and began the serious business of eating. Petunia passed around strawberries and watercress sandwiches. Sagara offered a mix of nuts, seeds, and dried fruits along with a green salad. Max pulled out a wax paper packet containing bizarre, triangular pieces of flat bread coated with tomato sauce and topped with melted cheese.

  “Surprise!” he said. “I brought something to share for once.”

  Petunia eyed them dubiously. “What is that stuff?”

  Max shrugged. “Dad calls it pizza. It’s not bad, better than a lot of his food.”

  Sagara finished her third elfcake and sat back with a contented sigh. “Those were marvelous,” she said. “But I still don’t understand how you could have made them. Who taught you elf magic?”

  “No one,” Millie said. “I just followed the recipe.”

  Slowly Sagara said, “Millie, that wasn’t just a recipe. It was a spell. Elfcakes rise by magic, and complex magic at that. Even I haven’t mastered it, or I’d have been making my own cakes ages ago.”

  Millie gaped at her. “I thought it was an odd recipe,” she said. “All that clockwise stirring and rhythmic kneading. But it didn’t seem magical to me at all.”

  “Millie!” Petunia squealed excitedly. “Do you know what this means! You cast a spell, and you got it right!”

  Millie’s stomach expanded, feeling light as air, despite all the elfcakes. Could it be true? Had she really done magic, correctly and properly? Millie looked down at the elfcake crumbs and blushed. “Actually, I don’t think it was my first success.” And she told them about Thea and the chamomile tea.

  “You see?” Max said. “I knew it all along. You’re a kitchen witch. You do food magic.”

  Petunia scratched her nose. “Except sorta backwards. My mum does some kitchen magic. Usually, you take food and turn it into something else or make it do more than just fill you up. Millie takes other stuff and turns it into food.”

  “That is weird,” said Sagara, picking up elfcake crumbs with her fingers. “Transformation is a pretty advanced skill, but that’s what you’ve started with.”

  “Hmm. We have Thaumaturgy this afternoon,” Max pointed out.

  Everyone groaned. Though it was the one class they all had together, Millie dreaded it because Master Bertemious was the most boring teacher ever. He droned on and on about thaumaturgical principles and philosophy. “Thaumaturgy is the magic of likeness. How is a mushroom like a moonbeam? How is a raven like a writing desk? Understanding these connections is the key to powerful magic, which you will learn to channel and control.”

  “Hey, it could be an opportunity for Millie to figure out her talent,” Max said. “In thaumaturgy, you use water drops to call rain and push rocks to move mountains, because on some level they’re the same. Millie seems to find how something is like food and then changes it into that food.”

  Sagara raised her eyebrows. “You’re right. That will be interesting. Now, about this pizza of yours.”
>
  “Oh, would you like some?” Max offered her a slice.

  “No, thanks, full of elfcakes,” Sagara said. “But I’ve had pizza before. Guess where.”

  Max shrugged. “A friend’s house?”

  Sagara glanced around her, then leaned forward. “No. I ate pizza in the Logical Realm.”

  Stunned silence fell on the table. Max actually stopped eating for a moment.

  Petunia set down her watercress sandwich. “You’ve been to the Logical Realm? That is so not allowed. How did you do it?”

  “I’ll tell you, but only if you swear not to tell anyone else,” Sagara said.

  “Fine, I swear,” Petunia replied.

  Sagara held out her pinky. “Swear for real.”

  “What do you call a paranoid Sagara?” Petunia asked. “A stealth elf.”

  “Swear,” Sagara growled.

  Quickly, Millie linked her pinkie with Sagara’s. “I swear.” She felt a weird tingle go up her arm as she let go.

  “Fine,” Petunia said, linking pinkies. “I swear, too.”

  Max looked dubious. “How do I know you’re not dissimulating?” he asked.

  Sagara grinned at him. “Now you’re prevaricating. Don’t you want to know about the pizza?”

  Max fidgeted, turned red, and finally reached out his pinky finger. “Curiosity will be my doom. Fine, I swear.”

  “My irritating, perfect brother brought me to see my mom. He actually blindfolded me, the jerk.” Sagara stabbed at elfcake crumbs with her finger.

  “Then the rumors are true?” Millie asked. “Your mother lost all her magic and had to go to the Logical Realm?”

  Sagara rolled her eyes. “She didn’t lose her magic. She went there on purpose.”

  Max’s mouth fell open. “Why would anyone do that? Who’d want to live in a place with no magic, powerless?”

  “Better ask your dad that,” Sagara said, nodding at the pizza. “I’m pretty sure he goes there all the time.”

  “What?” Max screeched. “That’s absurd. Impossible. Inconceivable!”

  “Then why do you keep bringing Logical Realm food to lunch?” Sagara asked sweetly. “Peanut butter on white bread, pizza, and you mentioned Thai food in little boxes. That’s called take-out. My brother told me all about it.”