A Witch’s Kitchen Page 4

  “I am delighted to meet you both,” Pteria said. “At last, we have a witch and a wizard enrolled in our school. What tremendous progress! Now, please be seated.”

  Max and Millie took their seats, Millie setting her cauldron carefully at her feet.

  “Before we begin,” said the Headmistress, “let me explain a few things about our school. It was founded sixteen years ago. As you may know, the Enchanted Forest has seen frequent outbursts of conflict between some of our peoples. Many of these conflicts arose from simple misunderstandings, and from the difficulty of seeing things from another person’s point of view. You just witnessed an example of that, the age-old enmity between goblins and pixies.

  “To foster greater understanding, the Enchanted Forest Council decided that it would be best to educate the children of the Forest about the history and culture of all the other species with whom we share this Realm. What better way to do this than to invite them to attend school together?

  “Here, goblins sit side by side with gryphons, dryads with dragons, brownies with bogeys. We learn to see each other as people, not all that different from the people you see at home every day. Unfortunately, we have had some difficulty convincing a few of the peoples to send in their children.” Pteria laughed. “To be honest, we’re still having some trouble with the more conservative dragon clans.

  “But now, your parents have agreed to send you to school, in accordance with the Enchanted Forest Common Education Act of 7,843, also known as year 508 of the Sundered Age. And I am simply delighted to have you here. It is our hope that you will become shining examples to other witches and wizards of the Enchanted Forest.”

  Oh, darkness, Millie thought. Does she want me to try to convince the other apprentice witches to come, too? I don’t know if I could handle both Grumpkin and Cretacia at the same school with me.

  “Now,” the Headmistress continued, “there are several rules at this school which absolutely must be obeyed. First, you may not harm any other student, either physically or with magic, nor may you steal from them or trick them in any way. Second, you may not perform magic on other students without their express permission and the permission of a teacher. Third, until you have been qualified, you may not use magic at all without the supervision of a teacher.

  “Finally, you may not cheat. This is not so much a rule as a statement of fact. All examinations are enchanted to be entirely cheat-proof, so don’t even bother trying. Do you understand?”

  Millie nodded. Max said solemnly, “Perfectly intelligible, Headmistress.”

  “Thank you both.” Pteria sat back in her chair. “Now, I am sure you are brimming with questions. What would you like to know?”

  Millie felt as though she was about to explode with questions, but before she could say a word, Max asked, “Why are you the headmistress if Quercius is the school? Why isn’t he the headmaster?”

  “AHEM,” said Master Quercius, his face appearing on a large branch above Pteria’s desk. “HEADMISTRESS PTERIA AND I SHARE SOME RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE SCHOOL. AS A TREE, I HAVE CERTAIN STRENGTHS AND CERTAIN RESTRICTIONS. I CARE FOR THE SCHOOL, PROVIDE ITS PHYSICAL SPACE, AND MAINTAIN ITS MAGICAL WARDS. I ALSO TEACH A BIT, BUT ON THE WHOLE PTERIA IS FAR MORE QUALIFIED AN ADMINISTRATOR.”

  Pteria smiled and nodded agreement. “Thank you, Quercius.”

  A slow smile spread across Max’s face. “That makes excellent sense,” he said, leaning forward. “How many students do you have? How many classes? Will I be in Millie’s class? Do you teach thaumaturgy? Do you have an alchemical laboratory? Will we go on field trips? Will we visit other schools and other Realms?”

  Pteria chuckled. “Oh, you’re going to be a fun one to keep up with, Maximillian,” she said.

  “I prefer Max,” he told her.

  “As you wish, Max,” said Pteria. “Let’s see if I can answer those questions. We have 414 students in twelve classes. We do indeed teach thaumaturgy, we have a state-of-the-art alchemical lab, we go on many, many field trips, and we have an exchange program between schools.

  “As for whether you’ll be in your sister’s class, I think that’s unlikely, since you’re two years younger. That depends entirely on the results of your examinations. But first, Ludmilla? Do you have any questions, dear?”

  Thoughts and fears raced through Millie’s head. What if she couldn’t cast any spells? Would she be put in with the youngest children until she caught up? Would she be kicked out of school altogether? Was there any hope for a witch with no magic? But what came out of her mouth was, “Am-am-am... Am I really a witch?”

  Headmistress Pteria looked startled. “Well, so far as I know. You’re the daughter of a witch, yes?”

  Millie nodded.

  “Then you are most probably also a witch.”

  “Probably?” Millie pounced on the word.

  The headmistress sighed and sat back in her chair. “Well, I am not a witch, but I have studied the history of the Enchanted Forest extensively, and I have read that, very rarely, a girl who has no magical talent is born to a witch.”

  Millie’s heart sank. “I kn-n-new it,” she muttered.

  “Wait a minute,” Max interrupted. “Why do you think you’re not a witch?”

  Millie glanced at him, embarrassed. “Well, because every time I try to use magic, it goes h-h-horribly wrong. I once turned M-mother’s cauldron into a p-pumpkin, and it exploded. It took me hours to clean up that mess. And the last potion M-mother tried to teach me, I turned into ch-ch-chocolate sauce.”

  Max burst out laughing. “Pumpkin!”

  “AH,” said Master Quercius. “YOU’VE ANSWERED YOUR OWN QUESTION.”

  “I have no t-talent, and I’m not a w-w-witch.” Millie bit her bottom lip, trying not to cry.

  Headmistress Pteria snorted, smoke trailing out her nostrils. “Quite the contrary. What Quercius means is that, in both those cases, you clearly used magic. Otherwise, no pumpkin, no chocolate.”

  A tingle went through Millie’s body. “I never thought of that,” Millie admitted. “Then, I am a witch?”

  “You have talent,” Headmistress Pteria said. “Whether you use it to become a witch is entirely up to you. Witchcraft, like any magical practice, takes more than talent. It requires craft, discipline, and most importantly, persistence. If you are willing to work at it, I am sure we can help you to develop your talent. Is this acceptable to you?”

  Millie thought they were probably mistaken. Just because she’d done things with magic didn’t mean she could ever control it. But she thought it would be impolite to argue. “I think so,” she said slowly. “I want to learn to use magic. It would make M-mother so happy.”

  Headmistress Pteria looked at her sharply. “Your mother is not here, Ludmilla, and it’s not her talent you’re using. If you wish to harness your talent, you must find your own reasons for doing so.”

  Millie nodded doubtfully. “I’ll t-try. But, could you please call me Millie? Only M-mother calls me Ludmilla.”

  “Millie, it is,” Pteria said. “Now, let us proceed to your examination.” She paused to take out two slates and two pieces of chalk.

  “At this school,” the Headmistress continued, “we do our best to place students in classes according to their abilities and prior experience. You will learn with other students, but you will progress at your own rate and in your own time. In order to determine which class you will join and which special subjects you will take, we need to assess your abilities and knowledge with an examination. Please don’t worry about this. Wrong answers are just as valuable to us as right ones. Answer as honestly and completely as you can. Do you understand?”

  Max and Millie nodded, the scones in Millie’s stomach feeling more like stones.

  “If you are both ready, you may take your slates and begin. There is no time limit; take as long as you like.”

  Max took his slate and chalk eagerly, and Millie took her own. At the top of the slate, it said, “Entrance Examination.” Below it was a questi
on:

  Q. When did the Three Hundred Years’ War begin, and which of the Realms were affected?

  Millie’s heart sank. She had no idea. In shaky letters, she wrote, “I don’t know.”

  The slate cleared itself. A new question appeared.

  Q. What are the magical properties of mugwort?

  Millie relaxed. This she knew. Her mother had instructed her in all the ingredients she used for her potions. She quickly wrote, “Mugwort is a cure for parasites such as worms. However, if harvested at midnight during a new moon, it has the opposite effect, infecting the victim with worms. This is known as midnight mugwort.” She went on to explain details of harvesting and dosage, then added her favorite recipe for mugwort tea, blended with rose hips, lemon balm, and lavender.

  The slate cleared again.

  Q. What are the seven sigils of Simerical?

  That was a tough one. Millie thought hard and recalled seeing a sigil marked “Simerical 3” in one of her mother’s spellbooks. She drew it as carefully as she could and labeled it.

  And so it went. Some of the questions Millie could not answer at all. For these, she simply wrote, “I don’t know,” and went on. When it came to magical ingredients, she knew nearly every answer and made guesses on two she wasn’t quite sure of. She also did well in languages, which she had learned from her recipe books and her mother’s spellbooks.

  Suddenly, the slate said:

  Examination complete. Please return slate to your examiner.

  Millie looked up. Max had disappeared, and so had Headmistress Pteria.

  The Power of Scones

  “H-h-headmistress? M-max?” Millie called out.

  “AH, MILLIE. HAVE YOU FINISHED?” Master Quercius replied.

  Millie sighed with relief. “Um, yes. What should I d-do?”

  “JUST PLACE THE SLATE ON HEADMISTRESS PTERIA’S DESK. SHE AND MAX HAVE GONE TO LUNCH. YOU MAY PROCEED OUT TO THE GLADE.”

  Lunchtime? Already? Millie’s stomach suddenly growled. She put the slate and chalk on the desk and picked up her lunch cauldron.

  “Thank you, Master Quercius,” Millie said politely.

  “YOU ARE QUITE WELCOME,” the tree replied.

  Millie pushed out through the moss curtain and went down the stairs to the glade. Under the branches, tables had been set up where the students were eating lunch. Each table had a pitcher of water and glasses on it. Millie noticed that the students were all still the same size. A hush fell over the crowd as Millie entered the glade. Then a leprechaun threw an apple at a centaur, and everyone began talking again.

  Millie spotted Petunia waving madly at her from a table full of other pixies. Millie waved back and began to weave her way through the tables. Halfway there, she tripped and fell sprawling on her face, mercifully without spilling her cauldron.

  “Oopsy.” A much taller Grumpkin stared down at her, a sneer on his face. “That’s for getting Titchy in trouble.”

  “Titchy got himself in trouble,” Millie pointed out, getting to her feet.

  Grumpkin frowned. “Quercius can see anywhere in the school, but he can’t see everywhere. Not all the time. Remember that.”

  Millie refused to respond, pushing past him to Petunia’s table. Petunia met her halfway, her hands balled in fists. “Oooh, that nasty-fatsy-patsy Grumpkin! I wish I could kick him!”

  “Not allowed during school, right?” Millie asked.

  “Right, but just wait until after school.”

  “Don’t you get in t-trouble because of me,” Millie told her.

  Petunia grinned at her. “Nah, pixies and goblins are old, old enemies, aren’t we? We have to show them who’s best of the Underforest!” They had reached the pixie table, and all the pixies cheered, casting jeers at the goblins, who hooted and threw stinking food back at them. Millie had to duck several times until a fairy in a green cap — a teacher, Millie realized — hurried up and put a stop to the impromptu food fight.

  “Now, Millie, let me introduce you to my brothers and sisters and cousins,” Petunia said. “There’s Daisy and Cowslip and Vetch and Primrose and Clover and Holly... and here’s my little brother Peaty!” She hugged a young pixie boy and pinched his cheek while he squirmed and hollered “Leggo!” at her. Millie instantly forgot nearly every name Petunia told her. She’d never been near so many pixies in her life. She wondered how Petunia managed to keep track of them all.

  “Hey, guys,” Petunia said, “how many goblins does it take to make a sandwich?”

  All the pixies groaned. “Aw, come on, Petunia!” Peaty whined.

  “None! Goblins are too stupid to make bread!”

  Petunia’s family began pelting her with berries. “Yikes! It wasn’t that bad. Quick, Millie, retreat!”

  Millie spun around and nearly collided with Max.

  “Oh, Max!” she said. “Petunia, you remember my brother, Max.”

  “Introductions later!” Petunia hollered as a giant blackberry smashed into her shoulder. “Right now, run!”

  “This way,” Max said, leading them away. “I found a mostly empty table.”

  As they approached a table near the edge of the glade, Millie paused. The other student at the table was an elf girl, maybe a little younger than Millie, who pointedly ignored them. She was wearing the strangest clothes Millie had ever seen: dark blue trousers and a tight-fitting shirt with an odd symbol, π, centered on a picture of a pie. A white elf robe hung loosely over her shoulders. The elf munched slowly on a leaf while studying a scroll and making occasional notes.

  “Have a seat,” Max said to Millie and Petunia.

  Millie sat, then set her bedraggled hat on the table. The lovely black velvet was torn in several places, and the peak had been crushed in. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to my mother,” she said.

  “Obnoxious goblins,” said Max. “I’d attempt to repair it, but I’m not allowed to use magic at school yet. And also, I’m really not very good at fixing things.” He looked uncomfortable, and an enormous rumble sounded from his stomach.

  “Haven’t you eaten yet?” Millie asked.

  Max looked embarrassed. “I, er, neglected to bring a lunch.”

  “Oh, that I can fix,” Millie said.

  Pulling the napkin off the top of her lunch, she spread it between Max, Petunia, and herself and began laying out her lunch. Scones, of course. Deep-fried frog legs wrapped in wax paper. Mushrooms sautéed in butter with marjoram and thyme in a small crock. Shaved beet and fennel salad. Cheese and bacon sandwiches. As she pulled out the food, Max’s eyes grew bigger and bigger.

  “I’m sorry,” Millie said. “I only brought one fork and one spoon. We’ll just have to make do.” She handed him the fork.

  “Mother made all this for you?” Max asked a bit wistfully.

  Millie giggled. “Mother burns toast. She hasn’t cooked a meal in years.”

  Petunia gaped at her. “You made all this? It smells delicious.”

  “Help yourself,” Millie said. Max took a sandwich and nibbled it suspiciously. His eyes widened, and he began to devour it. Petunia grabbed a scone.

  Millie took some frog legs and salad. “Does your father cook for you?”

  “Sort of,” Max mumbled around a mouth full of food. “He buys the ingredients and then makes it look and taste as though it’s cooked using illusion spells. This sandwich is amazing!”

  “Better than your father’s illusions?” Millie asked.

  “Muh bedda!” Max said through a mouthful of food. He swallowed. “I mean, much better. I’ve been suspecting for a while that Dad has eaten illusory food for so long, he’s forgotten what it’s supposed to taste like. Except for the Thai food. That’s pretty good. But he doesn’t make it very often, and I still don’t understand why he insists on serving it in little paper boxes.”

  The elf glanced up at Max with an odd expression, then quickly turned back to her scroll.

  “What’s Thai food?” Petunia asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”r />
  “It involves lots of peanuts and noodles and cilantro, and sometimes it’s really spicy. I think it’s from some other Realm.” Max took a spoonful of mushrooms.

  “So you’re brother and sister, but you don’t live together?” Petunia asked.

  “Half-siblings,” Max corrected. “We have the same mother, but I live with my dad.”

  “That’s how it usually works with witches and wizards,” Millie added. “Only we usually visit a lot more. Mother had a fight with Max’s father about five years ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  Petunia sniffed. “It must be nice, having your parents all to yourselves. I have to share mine with a dozen brothers and sisters and way too many cousins. Half the time, my mum doesn’t even remember my name.”

  Millie noticed the elf sneaking glances at them and the spread of food. “Excuse me,” Millie said. “Do you like scones?”

  The elf raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re talking to me? I thought I was invisible,” she said sarcastically.

  “Y pelraelle,” Millie said, which meant “I’m sorry” in Elvish. “You were reading, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Yet here you are, at my table, which I find quite disturbing. Especially your pidgin Elvish,” said the elf, rolling her eyes.

  Max snorted. “First you’re mad because we didn’t notice you, and now you’re mad because we did? That’s essentially inconsistent.”

  “What are you, a walking dictionary?” The elf glared at him. “You’re new here, so I will lower myself and explain a few things. This. Is. My. Table. No one else sits here. No one bothers me. No one.”

  Max half-rose from his seat. “I don’t see your name engraved on this table. What gives you the right...?”

  Millie broke in hastily. “I am t-t-terribly sorry,” she told the elf. “As you said, we are n-new here, and we didn’t mean to offend you. Here,” she said, handing the elf a scone. “A peace offering.”

  The elf studied the scone, then sniffed it suspiciously. “What’s it made of? Are those real or illusory raisins I smell?”