A Witch’s Kitchen Page 3

  “I’m off to find my one true love!” declared an orange pixie boy, looking her over. “It sure ain’t you.” He stuck out his tongue and blew a loud, wet raspberry at her.

  Petunia, dressed in rose petals today, yelled back at him, “Your one true love is a bogey, Hawthorne. Can’t you see she’s a witch? She’s gonna hex you good.”

  Hawthorne bounced up and grinned at Millie. “Gotta catch me first!” He took off running down the Path, chased by the other pixies.

  The blue pixie girl sighed. “Slugs and bugs. Don’t mind him, Millie, he’s got as much sense as a moth by a lantern.” She peered up at Millie. “Now, why’re you asking about school?”

  “Um, actually,” Millie told her, “I’m starting school today. I was w-wondering if I could walk with you.”

  Petunia frowned, scrunching up her small pointy nose and scratching the green curly hair under her brown acorn cap. “I thought witches didn’t go to school. They stay home and learn from their mums.”

  “Well, the Baba decided I should go to school,” Millie said.

  Petunia cocked her head and squinted at her. “That should be interesting. Come on, it’s this way.” And they set off down the Path, Petunia sprinting along with Millie’s longer strides.

  “You know, you should wear a name tag,” Petunia told Millie seriously.

  Millie got worried. “I sh-should? Is it a rule?”

  “Naw. That way, if any other witches come, people will know which witch is witch!”

  Millie chuckled nervously. “That’s pretty good. Did you make that up?”

  Petunia grinned and nodded. “I’ve got lots more. What’s green and black and red all over?”

  Millie rolled her eyes. “I have no idea.”

  “A witch with a sunburn!” Petunia burst into giggles, and Millie joined her.

  “Tell me another!” Millie urged.

  “Hmm. What do you call a witch with poison ivy?”

  Millie grimaced. “Uncomfortable?”

  “An itchy witchy!” Petunia chortled.

  Millie imagined her mother with poison ivy, scratching furiously, and nearly fell over laughing.

  “You’re really good at jokes,” she told Petunia when she could breathe again.

  Petunia shrugged. “It’s nice to have someone to tell them to. My family is so sick of my jokes, I’m forbidden to tell them anymore.”

  “Do you tell your jokes at school?”

  “Sometimes,” Petunia said. “Not in class, though. I get in trouble.”

  Millie grinned. “I can imagine. I wonder which class I’ll be in.”

  “Depends. How’s your spellcraft?”

  Millie blushed. “N-n-not very good. Awful, actually.”

  “Well, then maybe school’s a good idea,” Petunia told her. “The teachers are mostly nice and helpful. They’ll give you a test to figure out which class you should be in.”

  A little shiver of fear went down Millie’s back. “What’s the t-t-test like?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, it’s easy-peasy. Or at least it was when I started school. It might be different for latecomers like you.” Which did nothing to reassure Millie at all. “Come on, we’d better get moving.”

  Millie didn’t mean to dawdle. She’d intended to go straight to school as quickly as possible. But for the first time, she could stop and look at things that she’d only seen in a brief blur as her mother’s broom zipped by.

  Close to the Path, the trees were young and slender, singing each other their morning gossip, and the sun broke through their branches to dapple the Path with light and shadow, nourishing the ferns and holly, wild roses and blackberries, long nodding lilies, tiny bright pansies, and many other wildflowers that grew among their roots. Farther in, the trees grew larger and the Forest more dim. If she squinted, Millie could just make out the trunks of huge trees, wider than the Path. Shadows moved under those branches, large and strange, and Millie realized that her mother hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said it wasn’t safe to leave the Path.

  So Millie turned her focus back to the Path. She kept stopping to examine mushrooms and flowers or to greet fairies zipping about on iridescent wings, harvesting the morning dew and competing with brightly colored hummingbirds and buzzing bees for flower nectar. An elderly salamander ambled past them along the Path and wished them a very good morning. He wore a bright yellow waistcoat and a jaunty red beret.

  “Well,” Petunia announced. “Here we are!”

  The Path branched off into a wide, shady glade carpeted in short, brilliant green grass. In the precise center of the glade stood the largest oak tree Millie had ever seen. It was at least as wide as her house. Its crown of glossy green leaves climbed high above the forest canopy and shaded a patch of the glade at least fifty strides from trunk to path.

  Nestled amongst its roots was the base of a spiral staircase that circled the trunk, disappearing among the leaves. Beneath its branches, leprechauns, unicorns, dryads, fauns, pixies and many, many more people gathered in the glade. Fairies zipped about on their buzzing, fragile wings, then popped directly up into the branches. High above, Millie spotted winged students arriving: two dragons, several pegasuses, a few gryphons. A flying carpet circled, its pilot looking for a clear space to land. Millie noticed, though, that the pixies and fairies stayed apart from the others, as did the imps and goblins, the gnomes, the dwarves, the fauns, the centaurs... all of them kept to their own races.

  Abruptly, Millie stumbled, nearly falling on her face.

  “Grumpkin, you no-good, stinky, miserable brat of a goblin!” Petunia scolded ferociously.

  Grumpkin, a fat, sickly green goblin dressed only in ragged leather pants, stood as tall as Millie’s waist, which made him tall for a goblin. He stuck out his tongue, broad and purple under an even broader, impressively ugly nose. He was bald, but black hair sprouted out of his enormous ears. “Witches should watch where they’re going when they walk. She nearly stepped on me.”

  “Oh,” Millie said, regaining her balance. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “No, you’re not!” Petunia screeched. “He did it on purpose!”

  “Did not.” Grumpkin crossed his arms. “What’s a witch doing at school anyways? I thought witches kept to witches.”

  “It’s my first day,” Millie told him. She felt a silly grin spread across her face and quickly covered her mouth with her hand to hide her dimples.

  “Oh, ho ho ho! A witch at school!” Grumpkin crowed. “You must be a really terrible witch to get sent to school like this.”

  Millie flushed. “N-nonsense. My m-mother is a Councilor. She’s just setting an example for all the witches of the Enchanted Forest.”

  “Uh huh,” Grumpkin said. “Sure, your mum’s a Councilor. My mum is, too. And so’s Titchy’s, ain’t she?”

  A small, ghastly gray imp about twice the size of Petunia flew up and landed on Grumpkin’s shoulder. With his left horn, he scratched idly at one leathery wing, smiling at them with his needle-sharp teeth. “Nah,” the imp said. “She went to a Council meeting and ate all the other Councilors. Ha!”

  “Your mum couldn’t eat a slug without choking on a bone!” Petunia screeched back.

  Grumpkin sniffed. “You look like a witch, but you sure don’t smell like a witch. You smell like... fried bacon and cookies.”

  “Scones,” Millie said, then blushed and tried to hide her lunch cauldron behind her. She hoped the blush wouldn’t show through the slime mold.

  “You don’t even have real green skin. Look!” Grumpkin pointed to a spot on Millie’s arm, where she’d scratched at the itchy coating of slime mold, and it had flaked off, revealing her pink skin beneath. Sneering, Grumpkin announced, “I don’t think you’re a real witch at all.”

  “I am so a r-r-real witch!” Millie cried indignantly, and Petunia shouted, “Yes, she is! She has a hat and everything!”

  Grumpkin studied Millie’s hat, a wicked glint in his tiny black eyes. “How do we know that’s
a real witch’s hat?”

  “Yeah,” echoed Titchy. “How do we know? I think we should examinate it.”

  Millie took a step back. “You wouldn’t d-d-dare.”

  “I heard all witches’ hats’re enchanted,” Grumpkin said, “so they don’t fall off when they’re flying. If that’s a real witch’s hat...”

  Titchy launched himself into the air and snatched Millie’s hat off her head.

  “Give that b-back!” Millie cried. “It’s my hat! My m-mother gave it to me this morning! I haven’t had a ch-ch-chance to enchant it yet.”

  Petunia ran up Grumpkin’s back to his shoulder and shouted in his ear, “Give Millie her hat back!”

  “Ow!” Grumpkin cried. He made a swipe at her, but Petunia just jumped to the ground so that Grumpkin boxed his own ear and howled. “I’ll get you for that.”

  Millie chased Titchy across the glade, trying in vain to get her hat back. Just as she had nearly caught him, he tossed it to a nearby goblin. “New game!” he cried. “Pass the hat!” All the goblins, imps, and a few young bogeys with their long, hairy arms joined in the game, gleefully throwing Millie’s hat back and forth while Millie chased it helplessly.

  Petunia whistled shrilly. Instantly she was surrounded by pixies and fairies. A moment later, the crowd scattered, the pixies swarming the goblins and the fairies chasing the imps. Several of the bystanders began taking sides and cheering them on. Millie kept trying to keep up with her hat, but she was also trying not to trample all the pixies underfoot, and she was getting more and more frustrated and angry.

  Mother said I should dominate them, strike terror into their hearts, Millie thought frantically. How do I do that? And then she thought, What would Mother do?

  “Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop it or, or I’ll, I’ll turn you all into frogs!” Oh, darkness, she thought. How will I ever do that?

  The Dragon, the Tree, and the Test

  “That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

  Millie glanced behind her. A young wizard came up to her, still rolling up his flying carpet. He was human, like her, a couple of years younger, wearing rumpled purple robes, which looked good against his tan skin. Short, unruly brown hair stuck out every which way from under his pointy wizard’s cap, and his green eyes glinted at her. He was trying hard not to smile, but even so, Millie could see his dimples. There was something terribly familiar about him...

  “M-max?” Millie asked. “Max, is that really you?”

  The wizard broke into a wide grin. “Indubitably!” He dropped his carpet on the ground and flung his arms around her.

  Millie could hardly believe it. “Max!” she cried, hugging him back. Even though Max was two years younger than Millie, he wasn’t much shorter. “You’ve grown so much! What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, my errant sibling,” Max said. “I’m going to school.”

  Millie pushed back to look at him. “Really? How did you get your father to agree to that?”

  Max gave her a wink. “I’ll tell you about that later. Right now, let’s retrieve your purloined hat.”

  Millie had completely forgotten about her hat. With a final hug, Max let her go, drew his wand, and pointed it at the hat. “Palaa omistajallesi.”

  The hat wrenched itself from the grasp of two imps, a goblin, and half-a-dozen pixies and sailed through the air to land neatly back on Millie’s head. Petunia cheered, and several of the fairies and pixies applauded.

  “Oh!” Millie said. “Th-th-thank you. How did you learn to do that?”

  Max gave her a puzzled look. “Lots of practice. When did you start stuttering?”

  Grumpkin was advancing on them, but now he stopped and howled with laughter. “Witchy’s got a BOYFRIEND!”

  Max frowned. “Stop that, you mannerless oaf.”

  Several goblins and imps gathered around them, pointing and laughing. Grumpkin began to dance in circles around Max and Millie, singing:

  * * *

  Witches and wizards, sitting in a tree,

  K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

  * * *

  The other goblins took up the chant, dancing a ring around them.

  Max turned a peculiar shade of red. His hair stood on end, and smoke began to trickle out his ears. He pointed his wand at Grumpkin, but before he could do anything with it, a gong sounded, and a voice boomed out across the glade.

  “THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH. SCHOOL IS NOW IN SESSION.”

  Immediately, everyone in the glade fell silent, and the goblins ceased their capering. Max turned pale as a ghost.

  “GRUMPKIN, THAT IS NO FIT GREETING FOR NEW SCHOOLMATES. APOLOGIZE. IMMEDIATELY.”

  Grumpkin twisted a toe in the dirt, bowed his head, and muttered, “Sorry.”

  “MAXIMILLIAN SALAZAR,” boomed the voice. “KINDLY PUT YOUR WAND AWAY. SPELLCRAFT ON YOUR FELLOW STUDENTS IS NOT PERMITTED.”

  Max swallowed hard, put his wand back up his sleeve, and said, “I do beg your pardon.” But he was definitely not looking at Grumpkin when he said it.

  “TITCHY, YOU WILL APOLOGIZE TO LUDMILLA AND PROCEED TO THE HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE TO RECEIVE YOUR PUNISHMENT FOR THEFT OF LUDMILLA’S HAT.”

  Titchy approached Millie with a grimace, gave her a graceless and grudging, “Sorry,” then flew toward the staircase.

  “ALL STUDENTS, TO YOUR CLASSROOMS, PLEASE.” A gong sounded, and the students formed lines and began climbing the spiral staircase.

  “Excuse m-m-me,” Millie said in a small voice. “I d-don’t know which classroom to go to.”

  “WELCOME, LUDMILLA NOCTMARTIS,” said the voice. “LOOK UP. DO YOU SEE ME?”

  Millie peered up into the branches, looking for the source of the voice. Petunia poked her foot, then pointed at the trunk. Millie saw only a couple of knots and a wisp of moss, then she looked again. The knots were spaced just like eyes, a knob formed a nose above a wide slash in the bark, the moss a beard beneath it. The knots blinked, the slash spread into a kind smile. The great oak tree spoke to her.

  “I AM QUERCIUS, CARETAKER OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST SCHOOL. YOU AND YOUR BROTHER ARE EXPECTED. PETUNIA, WILL YOU PLEASE BRING OUR NEW STUDENTS TO HEADMISTRESS PTERIA’S OFFICE?”

  Petunia made a tiny curtsy. “Certainly, Master Quercius. I’ll take them right up.”

  “THANK YOU, PETUNIA.” The face smiled again and then faded back into the bark. Now Millie couldn’t find it at all.

  Max looked unhappy. “My first day, and I’m already going to the Headmistress’s office.”

  “Don’t worry,” Petunia said. “All new students have to go to the Headmistress’s office. Oh, hold on a second. Here comes Wee Willie.” She giggled.

  A young giant approached the school, taking care to wade between the trees and not trample anyone, the ground shaking slightly with each cautious step. He crouched down, reached out a hand, and placed one finger upon the school’s spiral staircase. In an instant, he shrank down to about Millie’s size. With a shrug, he proceeded up the steps to class.

  Petunia dashed after him. As she set foot on the first step, the pixie began to grow. By the time Millie and Max had caught up with her, she was nearly as tall as Millie. As Millie stepped up, she felt herself shrink ever so slightly. Max grew a bit, until they were all exactly the same height.

  “See?” Petunia told her. “In the Enchanted Forest School, everyone is the same size, even the teachers.”

  Max whistled. “That is a highly complicated spell. Only a very talented enchanter could have created it.”

  “THANK YOU.”

  Millie and Max looked up at the tree trunk, but they saw no sign of Master Quercius’s face. Petunia grimaced. “It’s tricky when your school is also a person. You never know when he’s listening in. Come on, I don’t want to be late for class.”

  Petunia led them up the winding staircase. Before they had gone even a quarter-turn around, they reached the first branch, so broad it was at least four feet wide. Glancing along it, Millie saw that it led into
a wide room formed of interwoven branches. Rugs covered and evened out the floor. Very young students sat cross-legged on the rugs, surrounding a cheerful leprechaun in a jaunty green cap.

  They passed half a dozen large classrooms, climbing all the way around the trunk twice, before they came to a small side room with a moss curtain covering its entrance. A sign above the doorway read, “Headmistress.”

  “Here you are,” Petunia told them. “Don’t worry, Headmistress Pteria is a lovely person. I’m sure you’ll do just fine on your test.”

  “Thanks, Petunia,” Millie told her friend. “You’d better get to class.”

  Petunia nodded and went back down the stairs.

  Millie glanced at Max. “D-do we just go in?”

  “That seems rude,” he replied and knocked on a large branch that framed the doorway.

  “Enter!”

  Max pulled aside the curtain for Millie. She stepped into a cozy room that reminded her of her well-ordered kitchen, though it was much smaller. The branch floor was covered with a beautiful red woven rug. Bookshelves and cabinets hung on the walls. In the center of the room stood a large desk made of dark, burnished wood.

  Two wooden chairs sat before the desk, one of which was occupied by a much larger Titchy, and behind it, in a large stuffed armchair, sat a dragon, her scales shading from lavender to deep purple, her eyes gleaming and golden. The Headmistress dressed in deep green robes, and between her curving horns, she wore an elegant green cap with an emblem of a tree, bordered in red and gold, just like the caps Millie had seen teachers wearing in the classrooms. Her tail curled neatly around her feet, and her folded wings rose just slightly above her head. Millie found herself wondering how large she’d be outside the school.

  “That will be all, Titchy. You may leave,” she told the imp, who slunk out with a glare at Millie. “Welcome, Ludmilla and Maximillian,” said the dragon. “I am Headmistress Pteria.” She held out her hand.

  Surprised, Millie reached out and took it. The Headmistress shook her hand solemnly but gently, her claws neatly turned to avoid causing injury. She shook Max’s hand in turn.