A Witch’s Kitchen Page 2

  Bogdana refused to glide sedately above the forest. She loved zipping between the branches of the trees, annoying the night creatures and terrifying the sleeping daylovers out of their slumber. Millie cringed every time the broom whipped past a tree branch. She could feel her face turning green.

  At last they approached a bare hilltop crowned with a double ring of standing stones, a bonfire crackling in the center. Millie saw several witches there, including her Aunts Hepsibat, Ospecia, Ingratia, and Suspicia, along with their many, many daughters. Two other brooms circled in to land, but Bogdana blew right past them to loud, admiring curses, and set down a hair’s breadth from the altar stone. Millie scrambled off and backed away, taking care not to tip her basket of cookies and working hard to keep down her dinner.

  “Well, if it isn’t Ludmilla.”

  Millie knew that voice too well. Aunt Hepsibat’s daughter Cretacia was a witch through and through. She had plaited her hair into stiff braids that stuck out all around her face like hissing snakes. Her dress was so black it seemed to melt into the night, and she had an enormous wart on the end of her nose, gleaming in the firelight like a ripening mushroom. Atop her head she wore a magnificent witch’s hat of brushed black satin, artistically draped with cobwebs. She was flanked by the Hanterslash twins, who were Millie’s third cousins, twice removed, and who also wore black witches’ hats.

  “Admiring my hat?” Cretacia asked, her voice oozing satisfaction. “Yes, it is a beautiful specimen, fully enchanted with some very special protections I devised myself. But still no hat for you, I see.”

  Millie shook her head. “N-no, not yet.”

  Cretacia smirked. “You have no talent at all, do you? You should be called Dudmilla.”

  The Hanterslash twins giggled.

  “How about Lud-zilcha?” asked Greely.

  “Better yet,” said Grooly, “Mudzilla.”

  Millie sighed, having heard this dozens of times before. “P-please call me Millie,” she said.

  “Oh, no, that will never do,” Cretacia said. “Duddy is much better, I think.”

  “Duddy! Duddy!” shrieked the twins.

  Millie rolled her eyes. “Well, then,” she said, turning away, “I guess you don’t want any of my cookies.”

  Greely and Grooly instantly stopped their shrieking. “Cookies?” asked Grooly.

  “What kind of cookies?” asked Greely.

  Millie suppressed a smile. “Oh, nothing special. Just oatmeal raisin with pecans. But you wouldn’t want any of those, I’m sure.”

  “Um,” said Greely, glancing at Cretacia. “Well, maybe, just one.”

  “Yes, one,” Grooly chimed in. “To see how terrible they are,” she added.

  Millie opened her basket, and the scent of raisins and nuts filled the night air. All around them, heads turned. The Hanterslash twins dived at the basket, but Millie snatched it away and deftly handed them each a cookie. They stuffed the cookies into their mouths, crumbs cascading down their black dresses.

  “Cretacia, would you like one?” Millie asked sweetly.

  Cretacia turned up her nose. “What witch would make cookies that aren’t enchanted or poisoned?” She stomped off.

  Millie made the rounds, offering her cookies to the other witches, who thanked her and patted her on her hatless head and clucked behind her back as she passed. “What a pity,” they said. “All that cooking talent and not a whit of magic.” Millie did her best to ignore them.

  A low humming filled the air, like the sound of air blown over the mouth of a bottle, but much deeper. Millie turned just in time to spy an enormous mortar and pestle fly out of the forest with a woman seated neatly inside it.

  “The Baba’s here! Look, the Baba!” the other witches called out. You never knew when Baba Luci would decide to join a Coven meeting. She came or not, whenever she chose. Tonight she steered the mortar in and set it down gracefully between the inner and outer circles, then clambered out.

  Alone of the adult witches present, Baba Luci wore no hat. Instead she tied back her steel grey hair in a long, flowery scarf. Tradition stated that the same scarf had been worn by the Baba, generation to generation, all the way back to the first, Baba Yaga, more than a thousand years ago. Gossip claimed that no mere hat could contain all the enchantments laid on that simple square of cloth. Nor did she bother wearing a black gown, as most of the other witches did. Baba Luci wore a wide, red skirt with deep pockets, a white linen blouse embroidered with roses, and a knit shawl over her shoulders. In one hand, she carried a knobby cane, its handle worn smooth with use.

  Bogdana crossed her arms. “Mother, really. You’re fifteen minutes late.”

  “No good witch ever arrives on time,” Baba Luci replied.

  “Ha,” said Bogdana. “And I suppose you’ll want to officiate tonight.”

  “Oh, shut up, Boggy,” Aunt Hepsibat snapped. “Of course Mother will officiate. She’s the Baba.” She turned and gave the Baba a little curtsy.

  Baba Luci stepped past Aunt Hepsibat, pointedly ignoring her. “Yes, I’ll run the meeting, but first I want to see my granddaughters.”

  In a rush, half the apprentice witches ran up and flung their arms about her, but Millie hung back.

  Baba Luci hugged them all tenderly. “Cretacia, your braids are frightful — nicely done,” the Baba said. “Egberta, stop pushing. Where are your manners? Hmm, and where’s Millie?” Her small dark eyes squinted, searching through the crowd. Millie considered hiding behind a stone, but... “Ahh, Millie, my dear. What did you bring us tonight?”

  “O-oatmeal raisin pecan cookies,” Millie said quietly, knowing they were no substitute for a hat. She came forward timidly and handed a cookie to her grandmother.

  Baba Luci took a bite and closed her eyes to savor it. “Delicious, my dear. As usual.” She gathered Millie in for a great, bone-cracking hug.

  Someone sniggered and said in a not-hushed-enough voice, “At least she’s good at something.”

  Millie felt her grandmother stiffen, then the Baba patted her on the back. “Time to get to business,” she announced. “Go on with the other girls, Millie, m’dear.” She gave her granddaughter a little push, and Millie backed away to the outer circle of stones.

  “What, business before the opening ceremony?” asked Aunt Ospecia.

  “It’s a minor matter,” Baba Luci replied. “The Enchanted Forest Council has once again sent me a request that we enroll our girls in the Enchanted Forest School in the interests of Forest unity.”

  The Coven erupted with snorts and cackles and clucking tongues as all eyes turned toward Bogdana, their representative on the Council.

  “Don’t look at me,” Bogdana said. “I told them it was pointless to ask. Witches learn from witches, that’s how we’ve always done it. But they insisted on sending letters to the leaders of all Forest peoples who have no students enrolled, including the League of Infamy, wizards, gaunts, niplings, and mountain trolls.”

  “And elves?” someone asked.

  “No, they’ve actually got an elf student — odd bird apparently — and though they’d like more elves in school, they’re not pushing it.”

  Baba Luci thumped her cane on the ground for attention. “I have considered the matter,” she said firmly. “And I think that we should send a representative witch to school. This could be a valuable opportunity to gather information about the other folk of the Forest, not to mention recruiting minions.”

  Several of the witches looked thoughtful, but most looked stubborn, and a few seemed shocked and angry.

  “That’s ridiculous. Who’s going to send their daughter and interrupt her training?” Aunt Hepsibat demanded. “Who knows what drivel they teach at that school!”

  A murmur of assent arose, but Baba Luci ignored it, looking pointedly at Bogdana. Bogdana’s eyes grew round, and her mouth fell open a bit. “You can’t mean...”

  “Perhaps,” said the Baba. “We have an opportunity, a new path available to us. What we need is s
omeone brave, someone bold, to try this new thing, this school, and then report back to us. But who among us is brave enough?” She paused, waiting for someone to speak up. When no one did, Baba Luci turned to Millie.

  “Millie, I offer you this path. Search your heart.” Baba Luci’s eyes seemed to pierce Millie through. “Is this a path you wish to take? Do you accept the challenge and the risks it might bring?”

  Millie’s head spun. School? But she couldn’t go to school! She’d be the laughing stock of the Coven! Already she could feel Cretacia’s malicious grin spreading. All eyes turned to her, and Millie began to panic. But then she saw Baba Luci give her a slow wink.

  If I go to school, Millie realized, I won’t have to study with Mother anymore. That would be wonderful. And maybe, just maybe, I might learn to use magic. If I don’t, at least I’ll have learned something useful for the Coven. And I’ll get to meet other people and go to new places.

  A Baba’s gift, Millie knew, was never simple. There would be consequences if she accepted, not least of which would be her mother’s disapproval. And she had to choose truly, to follow her heart, or the Baba would know. If she wasn’t completely honest, she would at least disappoint Baba Luci and at worst make her angry. And you never, ever wanted the Baba angry with you.

  So Millie thought hard and listened to her heart. And her heart said, At school, you won’t be Bogdana’s daughter. You’ll just be Millie.

  Millie looked her grandmother squarely in the eye and said, “Yes. I accept.”

  All the witches began talking at once, Bogdana arguing — actually arguing! — with the Baba. A laugh rang out, high and clear, drowning everyone out. “Perfect!” Aunt Hepsibat crowed. “Send our most useless member. It’s no loss to us, and Ludmilla might actually do some good as a spy, for once. Unless she turns out to be useless at that, too.”

  “I seem to recall a certain girl of mine,” Baba Luci said quietly, “who always got her invisibility spells tangled, making her clothes invisible instead of her person.”

  Aunt Hepsibat blushed. “Not my bloomers, though.”

  “Thank darkness for that,” Aunt Ingratia quipped.

  The Baba cleared her throat. “It’s late. Time we began. Gather round, all.” The Baba took her place before the altar. Still grumbling, the other adult witches formed a ring within the inner circle. The Baba raised her hands and began the opening incantation in the rolling tones of High Mystery.

  With the other apprentice witches, Millie stood back and watched the ritual from the outer circle of stones. She was too shocked and confused to pay attention. School! Does Baba Luci think I’m a lost cause, too? But Millie had seen the Baba’s wink. She was certain her grandmother approved of her decision.

  Maybe school would be a good change.

  Cretacia sauntered up to her. “Well, well, lucky you.”

  “R-really?” Millie stammered.

  “Oh, yes!” said Cretacia brightly. “Now you’ll have a whole new crowd of people to laugh at your utter lack of talent.” She danced away, giggling.

  “Oh, darkness,” Millie moaned.

  First Taste of School

  After five days of unbearable anticipation, Onesday finally arrived, and Millie rolled out of bed early with one thought on her mind: School! The last few days had been a whirlwind. Bogdana had dashed out shopping and come back with a selection of new gowns to wear instead of her simple dresses and aprons, and then she set Millie to tattering the sleeves and tearing the lace. She also bought Millie a new lunch cauldron.

  Millie was in the kitchen making breakfast when, to her astonishment, her mother came downstairs, groaning and creaking, just as Millie pulled the finished scones out of the oven.

  “I’ve come to help you get ready,” Bogdana told her. “You will represent all witches to your schoolmates, so you need to make a good impression.”

  Bogdana slathered Millie’s hair in mud and slime mold, which gave it a nice tinge of green, then teased it into a truly impressive cloud of tangles. She rubbed slime mold into Millie’s face, arms, and hands and forbade her to wash up all day.

  Her mother picked out Millie’s most artfully ragged black dress. Millie chose red-and-black striped stockings to go with it. Bogdana raised an eyebrow at that.

  “I suppose that will do,” she said, “but I wish you would grow your fingernails instead of trimming them all the time. And couldn’t you sprout a few proper warts?”

  Millie stared at her shoes, black with pointy toes and tarnished silver buckles. “I’m s-s-sorry, M-mother.”

  “Well, they’ll come with spellcrafting, I expect,” Bogdana told her. “Now, come down to the dining room. I have a surprise for you.”

  The announcement terrified Millie. Not another broom? She had already broken three of them attempting to fly, along with her left arm the last time, which her mother had grumpily healed.

  She followed her mother down the stairs. On the dining table there was a large, square box, tied with tattered black lace. Not a broom, then.

  “Well, go on,” Bogdana said impatiently. “Open it.”

  Millie untied the lace and lifted the lid. “Oh, M-m-mother!” she cried. “My first hat!”

  It was indeed a witch’s hat: black, of course, with a broad brim and a pointy peak. It looked a trifle big, but when Millie put it on, she found that the tangled mess of her hair filled it out.

  Bogdana gasped and clapped her hands. “You look marvelous! Perfectly frightful! A credit to your line.” She sniffed a little. “Of course, the hat is not yet enchanted. It is traditional for a witch in training to enchant her own hat, and properly you should not even wear it until you have enchanted it. So take good care of it.”

  Millie hugged her. Bogdana hesitated, then hugged her back gently. Hugging was not a witchy thing to do, but it was a motherly thing to do, and occasionally Bogdana remembered this.

  “Now,” she said, pulling away, “remember, you are a witch and worth any ten of your classmates. You should dominate your peers and strike terror into your foes. Never let them get the upper hand. Cow them, demean them, and they will fear and respect you. Do you understand?”

  Millie wondered how she was supposed to accomplish all that, but she said, “Yes, M-mother. I understand.”

  “Good. Have you packed your lunch for school?”

  Millie nodded. “Yes, M-mother. I packed it while I made breakfast.”

  “Good,” Bogdana said. “I’ll get the broom and take you to school.”

  Millie tried not to look worried. Or panicked. Or even slightly terrified. “Oh, th-th-that’s all right, M-mother,” she said in what she hoped was a calm voice. “All the children from P-p-pixamitchie walk right past us on their way to school. I’ll just w-w-walk with them.”

  Bogdana considered. “I suppose if you are to be schoolmates, you may as well walk to school together. I certainly have enough to do this morning preparing for the next Council meeting. Council meeting, Coven meeting, it seems I spend all my time in meetings.” She tapped her foot. “Well, then, I had better change the house wards to let you out and back in again.”

  Millie’s mother crossed her arms and stared down at her shoes, mumbling to herself. Then she raised her arms and said, “Ludmilla saa kulkea.” Millie felt a pressure she’d never noticed before vanish.

  “Now remember,” Bogdana said, “Never stray from the Path. The Council has placed great enchantments on the Path so that no one may be attacked or harmed in any way so long as they stay on it.”

  Just then, Millie heard the happy sound of laughter from outside. “That’s them!” she cried. “G-g-goodbye, M-mother. I’ll come home r-r-right after school and tell you everything.”

  “Naturally,” her mother said, looking a bit disgusted. “Now get your lunch and get moving. But dawdle a bit, won’t you? You don’t want to be early on your first day.”

  “No, of c-c-course not!” Millie cried, though this was precisely what she intended to do. She dashed into the kitchen, snat
ched up her lunch cauldron, shoved several extra scones into it, and raced to the back door, pausing only to cry out, “Leftovers in the icebox!” For just one moment, she hesitated. She’d hoped Horace would be there to say goodbye, but he was nowhere to be seen. Still sulking, Millie thought, feeling guilty. She’d tried several disenchantments on Horace in the last two weeks, but none of them had worked. Maybe I’ll learn how at school today, she thought.

  Millie went out the kitchen door to the rear gate and hesitated. The Path stretched away on either side of her, west to the village of Pixamitchie, the Sleeping Castle, and the far cliffs of Westmarch that bordered the sea, and east to the deep forest and school, all the way to the Dwarf Countries under the Endel Mountains. For a moment, the possibilities made her head spin. I could go anywhere, she thought. Anywhere at all.

  Millie dashed across the Path and curtsied to the graceful elm tree that stood opposite the kitchen gate. “Good morning!” she cried. “I just wanted to say hello and to thank you for shading me on hot summer days. I’m going to school now, so I can come and visit you every day.”

  The elm rustled and whispered to her in the language of trees. A branch brushed her shoulder, and reassurance flooded through Millie. “Goodbye,” she told the tree. “See you this afternoon!”

  A group of pixie children dashed around the bend, the tallest of them no higher than Millie’s ankle bone. Millie hesitated, then stepped up to them and said, “H-hi. Are you going to school?”

  “Nah,” said a green pixie boy. “I’m gonna wrestle alligators in the Salivary Swamp.”

  “I’m going to the Dragon Vale to steal a velociraptor!” cried a pale violet girl.