A Witch’s Kitchen Page 9

  The final gong rang. Millie collected her cauldron, still stuffed with dripping wet clothes, tucked the Elvish cooking scroll and the transformation book under one arm, and started down the stairs. Halfway there, Grumpkin blocked her way.

  Millie froze. “Grumpkin, I said I was sorry, and I’m out of cookies for you to steal.”

  Grumpkin touched a finger to his lips, looked nervously up the stairway, then behind him. Finally, he grunted and looked Millie in the eye. He seemed confused, terrified, and... concerned? “Be careful,” he whispered. “She’s watching. She knows about your brother. Tell him to take the long way home.”

  “Who’s watching?” Millie asked loudly.

  “SHHHHH!” Grumpkin motioned for her to come closer. “You didn’t hear this from me, understand?” the goblin said.

  Millie nodded and leaned closer to him.

  Grumpkin put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “Cretacia.”

  Millie’s stomach clenched. Cretacia? Here? She opened her mouth to speak, but Grumpkin shook his head vigorously, then turned and dashed down the stairs.

  “What was all that about?” asked Petunia behind her. “Was he being mean to you? I’ll go kick him in the Salivary Swamp.”

  “No,” Millie said, not quite believing it herself. “I think he was trying to help me.”

  Petunia’s eyebrows shot up. “He what? No goblin ever helps anyone unless there’s something in it for him.”

  “It was weird,” Millie admitted. “I don’t think he actually wanted to. It was almost as if he couldn’t help himself.”

  “Who couldn’t help himself?” asked Max, shouldering past a centaur.

  “Grumpkin. He says that Cretacia is watching us and knows you’re here at school.”

  Max’s face turned the color of chalk. “I thought I was so careful. I was sure she didn’t follow me. What am I going to do? I don’t want Dad to pull me out of school.”

  “You need a likely explanation for being here,” Petunia said. “Something other than going to school.”

  “Me!” Millie squeaked. “You came here to see me, since Mother won’t bring me to see you. That’s a plausible explanation. It’s even mostly true.”

  Max nodded. “That might work. In fact, it’ll be even better if I give you another ride home today.”

  Petunia jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Flying carpet, flying carpet!”

  “But don’t you have a lesson with your father?” Millie pointed out.

  He shrugged. “I’ll be late. That’s pretty normal.”

  “Then, sure,” said Millie, grinning. “I’m happy to help with your cover story.”

  They made their way down the stairs and into the glade, where they returned to their normal sizes. Max unrolled the carpet, and they climbed aboard. This time, Max took them at a pleasant pace, following the Path.

  “Thanks for taking it slow this time,” Millie told him.

  He gave her a slightly terrified smile. “I’m not just doing it for you. I want to be sure Cretacia sees me, in case Grumpkin was lying.”

  “You think he was trying to fool us?” Petunia piped up from Millie’s shoulder.

  Millie shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. How could he tell us about Cretacia if he didn’t already know her? My guess is that Grumpkin’s family has a contract with Aunt Hepsibat. Basically, that would make Grumpkin Cretacia’s minion.”

  “Hey, am I your minion?” Petunia asked.

  “Nope, there’s no contract between us,” Millie said. “You’re my friend, which is much better.”

  The flying carpet slowed to a stop just up the Path from Millie’s house. “Thanks, Max. And good luck with Cretacia.”

  Max nodded. “I think I’ll go visit my friend Sylvester instead of heading home, just in case Cretacia wasn’t watching the school. That should confuse my trail a bit.”

  Petunia slid down Millie’s arm. “See you tomorrow!” she cried, and she dashed down the Path to Pixamitchie.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Millie said. “Good luck, Max.” She watched Max take off, soaring up and over the Forest. And for just a moment, she thought she spied someone on a broomstick, flying low through the leafy canopy. But when she blinked, it was gone.

  Millie gave her neighbor the elm tree a curtsy before she went through the kitchen gate. “Horace,” she called as she opened the kitchen door. “Horace, I think I can fix you.”

  Horace hopped through the pantry door and croaked, “Really? You think so?”

  “Maybe,” said Millie, showing him the book. “I’ve been studying transformations.” She hurried over to her cupboard and pulled out a slice of dried orange peel, then knelt down and offered it to Horace. “Here, this might do it.”

  “Orange peel?” Horace said dubiously. “Well, all right.” His long tongue darted out, licking right through the peel and Millie’s hand. Horace tried several times, then sat back. “How long should it take?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Millie replied. “I thought it was supposed to happen immediately.” She waited a few more moments, then sighed. “Oh, Horace, I’m sorry. It must be more complicated than I thought. I’ll read more of the book tonight and see if I can figure it out.”

  Horace puffed out his cheeks, then blew out a long breath. “Well, at least you’re working on it. Bogdana won’t even try. Thanks, Millie.” He looked up at her. “I don’t suppose you could bake something yummy for dinner?”

  “Of course,” Millie said, relieved that Horace was talking to her again. “What would you like?”

  Horace smiled at her. “Something chocolate, of course.”

  Cretacia and Cacao

  Millie and Max expected Cretacia to show up at school at any moment, but over the next two weeks, she never appeared. Gradually, Millie slipped into a routine. Realizing that everyone had seen her without her mud and slime mold, Millie stopped bothering to dress up and went to school looking the way she normally did, in a simple dress with an apron and her comfortable clogs. She combed out her hair and trimmed all her nails with relief. When Grumpkin teased her for giving up all pretense of being a witch, she ignored him. And he let her, which was a little weird.

  Millie continued bringing extra food for her friends, especially baked goods such as blueberry muffins, apricot bars, and cinnamon rolls. Sagara brought Elvish delicacies for her to try, and Petunia brought fresh fruits, the most important part of the pixie diet. Gradually, Max gave up bringing lunch; it was so horrible no one would eat it, including him.

  Millie’s sprout continued to grow, gradually shrugging off its husk and putting out new leaves. It was obviously not a normal bean plant, but Millie had grown fond of it and watered it faithfully every day. Millie got better at her classes, though she continued messing up her spells, turning a courage potion into chicken soup and coating the stone she was trying to levitate in meringue. It didn’t surprise her that she was starting to get a reputation among the teachers as “that witch girl who turns everything into food.”

  The one bright spot in her classes came from Master Augustus. During Independent Work period on her second Twosday, he brought her a small notebook. It was labeled, “Millie’s Journal.”

  “Millie, I’d like you to start writing in this journal every day. You can write about whatever you like,” he told her.

  Millie thumbed through it, loving the feel of the blank pages. “Can I write down my favorite recipes?” she asked.

  Master Augustus laughed. “Somehow, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

  Encouraged, she began experimenting with the Elvish recipes she’d gotten from Sagara. After a week or so, she thought she was ready to tackle the hardest recipe in the book.

  Foursday dawned bright and clear with the fresh scent of the previous night’s rain. Millie slipped into a pale blue dress and tied on an apron over it, as she usually did. Ignoring the bubbling jar of green slime in the bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her hair, and tied it back with a token bit
of black lace. Then she skipped down to the kitchen to check on the dough she’d left rising overnight.

  There was no sign of Bogdana, as usual, but Horace hopped anxiously next to the bowl, draped with a towel to keep it fresh, which had risen like a bubble about to pop. “What is this, Millie?” the ghost asked. “I’ve never smelled anything like it.”

  “You’ll see,” Millie said with a smile. Pulling off the towel, she worked quickly, rolling and shaping and smacking cakes onto baking sheets. She felt her fingers tingling with happiness as she slid the sheets into the oven. While they baked, she poached some eggs and sautéed some mushrooms and tomatoes.

  At last, Millie pulled the sheets from the oven. Horace gaped. “Breccckkk! Are those what I think they are?”

  Millie nodded. “Elfcakes! I made them especially for my friend Sagara.”

  “I thought only elves could make elfcakes,” Horace said.

  Millie shrugged. “Here, try one.” With a spatula, she lifted a crispy cake off the baking sheet and slid it onto a plate, then set it on the floor. Horace’s tongue darted out, tearing chunks out of the cake. “Mmmmmm...” he croaked.

  Millie made herself a pot of tea and had an elfcake with eggs, mushrooms, and tomatoes. The elfcake was light and fluffy yet flat, unlike any cake or scone or muffin she’d ever made. More like a pancake, but richer, more full of flavor. Still, Millie thought she could improve upon it with practice.

  “That was delicious, Millie,” Horace said. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you think you can fix me today?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Millie said. “I’m going to try to talk to the potions teacher today. Mistress Mallow might know what I did wrong. She’s been out sick for the past two weeks, but I heard that she’d be back today.”

  Horace nodded. “That sounds good.” He watched her pack her lunch, frowning at the number of elfcakes she packed into the cauldron on top of her slice of leftover eel pie. “You’re not going to take all of those, are you?”

  “Don’t worry,” she told him, tucking a layer of wax paper over the elfcakes to keep them dry. “There are plenty more for you and M-mother today. And if you eat them all, I’ll just make more tomorrow. No school on Endsday, you know.”

  Horace nodded. “Good. I miss you when you’re at school.”

  “Millie! Come on!” came Petunia’s voice from the kitchen gate.

  “See you tonight, Horace,” Millie said.

  “Have a good day,” he replied as she dashed out the door, cauldron swinging.

  Max was waiting nervously in the glade when Millie arrived at school, Petunia perched on her shoulder.

  “Cretacia’s up to something,” he said, clutching his flying carpet. “She was nice to me all morning, and she only does that when she’s got something really wicked planned for me.”

  Millie glanced around the glade, but she saw no sign of a witch’s pointed hat or Cretacia’s signature braids. She did, however, spy Grumpkin. He was surrounded by a cluster of goblins, all chattering away, but he kept glancing over his shoulder, as though he was waiting for something.

  The gong rang. “Come on,” Petunia said. “She can’t get to you in school.”

  They hurried up the stairs to their classrooms. Petunia and Max peeled off and headed into their class. Millie went farther up the stairs to Master Augustus’s room. She could hardly wait to tell Sagara about the elfcakes. She walked through the archway and stopped short.

  There, chatting amiably with Master Augustus, was Cretacia in her full witchy finery: hat, dress, braids, warts and all.

  “Ah, good morning, Millie,” Master Augustus called out. “It seems word has gotten out about you attending our school, and it inspired Cretacia here to visit our school for the day.”

  Cretacia looked Millie over from head to toe, a delighted, horrible grin cracking open her face. “Well, Millie. How nice to see you.” Millie’s stomach tied itself into knots.

  “Since you are cousins, Millie, I thought you could be Cretacia’s buddy today and show her around,” Master Augustus went on.

  “Um, of course,” said Millie, determined not to let Cretacia see how upset she was. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Good, good,” said Master Augustus. “Now, put your things away, and let’s get ready for circle time.” He hurried off.

  “Well, well,” said Cretacia. “It seems that school has been good for you, Millie. You’ve clearly given up any pretense of being a witch and accepted your fate as a talentless nothing.”

  Millie clenched her fists. “I’m a p-perfectly good w-witch, Cretacia, and I’m doing f-fine here at school.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” said Cretacia, glancing at Grumpkin as he came in. Grumpkin ducked his head, throwing his lunch sack in his cubby and hurrying over to the growing circle of students. “I understand you’ve done absolutely nothing right since you got here.”

  Millie had to unclench her teeth to say, “It’s circle time. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  Millie found Sagara and sat next to her, while Master Augustus called Cretacia over to him and introduced her to the class.

  “This is Max’s evil stepsister?” Sagara whispered to Millie as the rest of the class called out, “Hello, Cretacia!”

  Millie nodded. “She hasn’t said anything about Max yet, but I’m pretty sure Grumpkin’s her minion. He must have told her about Max.”

  “Grumpkin,” Sagara said in a voice that would have curdled milk. “Did I ever tell you how miserable he made me when I started here?”

  “No, but I can imagine,” Millie said.

  “Now, Cretacia, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” Master Augustus asked.

  Cretacia plastered a sweet smile over her face. “Well, as you know, I’m a witch, the best of all the apprentice witches in our Coven. I started riding my broomstick when I was six, and I enchanted my own hat when I was eight. The true mark of a witch is her hat, you know.” She stroked the brim of her hat for emphasis. “I am also exceptionally talented at curses.” She met the eyes of each student in the circle, and Millie watched them wither under her gaze. But Millie met her eyes defiantly, and so did Sagara. Cretacia just smiled a little broader, recognizing a challenge.

  “Millie has already told us a bit about witch culture,” Master Augustus said, “so why don’t you tell us about your family?”

  “Oh, of course,” Cretacia said. “My mother, Hepsibat, is an extremely talented witch who specializes in animation spells. She makes the best golems in the Forest. I’m sure she’s next in line to Baba Luci, the leader of our Coven.”

  Millie wanted to throw her clogs at Cretacia’s head, but she kept herself still.

  “I live with my mother,” Cretacia went on, “and with my stepfather Alfonso Salazar, a pasty, old wizard, and his idiot son, Max.”

  Millie shot to her feet. “He is NOT an idiot!” she yelled. “He’s got more talent in his little finger than you have in your whole body!”

  “Millie, sit down!” Master Augustus ordered. Millie sat in a huff. “And Cretacia, insults are not appropriate in school.”

  “My apologies,” Cretacia said. “It’s quite normal in witch culture to trade insults. It’s like a friendly handshake.”

  “Very interesting,” said Master Augustus, “but please be more considerate of others.”

  “Yes, yes, certainly,” Cretacia agreed.

  “You may sit down,” Master Augustus told her. Cretacia walked around the circle and chose a spot next to Grumpkin, glaring at the imp next to him until she scooted over and made space for Cretacia to sit. Grumpkin looked as miserable as Millie felt.

  “All right, class,” Master Augustus continued. “It’s Foursday, and that means finishing up your independent work today.” A groan rose from the circle. “Now, now. If you’ve been keeping up with your lessons, you’ll be done in plenty of time. I expect all of you to have completed your journal writing and vocabulary exercises. We’ll have a short spelling quiz before Arithmancy.
” More groans. “All right, class. Let’s get busy!”

  The students variously leapt or tumbled to their feet and dispersed around the room to pick up their work. Cretacia sauntered over to Millie. “Well, Millie? Are you going to give me the grand tour?” She glanced at Sagara. “You’re an Arela, aren’t you? What a fall for you — a princess among swine.”

  A dizzy spell came over Millie as Remedial History unspooled in her head, explaining that the Arela clan of elves was a ruling clan, once quite important but waning in power. Sagara wasn’t quite a princess, but she was close.

  Sagara drew herself up and opened her mouth to speak, but Millie shook her head in warning. So Sagara said, “Indeed. And here you are with us.” And she turned and marched stiffly away.

  Cretacia frowned. Quickly, Millie said, “Over here are the map boards, where we learn the geography of the different realms.”

  “How cute,” Cretacia said. “Does it include the Logical Realm?”

  Millie shook her head. “Too weird, I guess. Over here is the book nook, where you can do your reading work or just read for fun.”

  Cretacia sneered. “Who would ever read for fun?” She glanced over at the pots on the windowsill and smiled. “Now what’s that over there?”

  “Oh,” Millie said, embarrassed. “That’s a botany project. We’re growing beans.”

  “And which one is yours?”

  Millie shoved her hands into her apron pockets to keep from hitting her cousin. “It’s the brown one.”

  Cretacia eyed it critically. “It looks different from the others. What’s wrong with it?”

  “NOTHING IS WRONG WITH IT.”

  Cretacia nearly jumped out of her shoes.

  “Ah,” said Master Augustus, trotting over, “allow me to introduce our Caretaker, Master Quercius.”

  Quercius’s face had appeared in the large branch forming the top of the window frame.

  “GREETINGS, CRETACIA NOCTMARTIS. BE WELCOME IN MY BRANCHES.”

  Millie had never seen Cretacia so thoroughly disconcerted. “Um, thank you, Master Caretaker.”