The Power of Poppy Pendle (5 page)

“Ouch!” Charlie winced, trying to stand up. “I think I twisted my ankle when those girls pushed me over.” She hopped about on one leg. “I can’t put any weight on it.”

“Careful.” Poppy wrapped an arm around Charlie’s waist. “Lean on me. I’ll take you home.”

“Are we going to fly on your broomstick?” Charlie sounded excited. “I’ve never flown on a broomstick before.”

“Well, you’re not missing much,” Poppy said, lifting Charlie up onto her shoulders. Then grasping her briefcase in one hand and her broomstick in the other, Poppy set off with a skip. She immediately tripped and lurched forward, almost losing her balance.

“Are you sure we can’t fly?” Charlie asked rather nervously, clinging to Poppy’s braids. “I must be a bit heavy for you.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Poppy reassured her as they headed off down Canal Street. “Believe me, walking is much more pleasant.”

By the time Poppy got home, it was beginning to get dark. She had walked right across to the other side of town carrying Charlie on her shoulders. They’d chatted and told jokes, and Charlie had listened to all Poppy’s new recipe ideas. Talking to Charlie, Poppy felt as if she could truly be herself, and she was still feeling happy as she skipped up the garden path.

Edith Pendle opened the front door before Poppy had even reached for the brass knocker. “Where in heaven have you been?”

“I, um, basketball practice ran late,” Poppy said, her happiness turning to guilt. She knew her mother would disapprove of Charlie because Charlie didn’t go to Ruthersfield. “I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Oh, Poppy, you walked home, didn’t you?” Mrs. Pendle sounded disappointed. “That’s why you took so long.”

Poppy sighed and shoved her broomstick in the umbrella stand. “I don’t really like flying, Mum.”

“But you’re marvelous at it.”

“I don’t like flying,” Poppy repeated. “It makes me feel sick, and I can’t think when I fly. I’m too busy concentrating on not falling off. I’d much rather walk. It’s relaxing and you see more.”

“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard of, honestly.” Mrs. Pendle frowned at her daughter. “Well, go and do your homework, Poppy. It’s so late. You don’t want to get behind.”

“We don’t have any tonight.”

“You must have homework. It’s a school night. How can you not have any homework?”

“We weren’t given any, but I did get an A for my essay on the history of the wand,” Poppy said, knowing this would please her mother.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Poppy!” Mrs. Pendle’s frown disappeared, and Poppy made a dash for the kitchen. “Are you going to practice some of your spells?” Edith Pendle called after her. Poppy pretended not to hear. There was a recipe for almond crunch bars she wanted to try, and of course her mother wouldn’t approve. Charlie, on the other hand, thought they had sounded delicious when Poppy described them to her on the walk home. You mixed marzipan into the batter. Poppy had promised to save her new friend some. They’d agreed to meet down by the canal tomorrow, so long as Charlie’s ankle was feeling better.

“Just a strain,” Charlie said after school the next day, holding up her bandaged foot for inspection. They were sitting on the low stone wall of an abandoned cottage that had been built alongside the canal. It had been empty for years. Part of the roof had fallen in and all the windows were broken. The canal was a man-made river cutting right through the middle of Potts Bottom. Nowadays it didn’t get much traffic. An occasional pleasure barge would steam by once in a while, but usually there were more ducks floating down it than boats.

“It’s not too sore and I’m using my grandpa’s walking stick,” Charlie said. She was munching on one of Poppy’s almond crunch bars. “Mmmm, these taste better than anything Patisserie Marie Claire sells.”

“That’s my dream,” Poppy said, throwing a stone into the water. “To own a fancy cake shop when I grow up.”

“Well, I’m sure you will. I’d buy things from you all the time.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Poppy explained. “My parents would never allow it. They’re so proud of me being a witch, and I’m a good witch, a really good witch. That’s the problem. It would break their hearts if I became a baker.”

“Have you told them how you feel?” Charlie asked. “Sometimes parents can surprise you.”

“You don’t know my mum and dad,” Poppy said miserably. “My mum hates it when I bake. She’s even banned me from looking at my cookbooks. The only books I’m allowed to read are things like
Magic Through the Ages
and
The Art of Flying
.”

“Oh, those do sound fun, though,” Charlie said. “We don’t have anything like that in our house.”

“You have to be a member of the Witches’ Guild to join the Magic Book Club,” Poppy told her. “They send me a new book every month. My parents signed me up when I was still a baby, if you can believe that. Apparently, I was the youngest ever person to join.”

“Really!” Charlie looked impressed.

“I inherited the gift from my great-grandmother Mabel,” Poppy explained. “Magic just happened to me when I was little. It wasn’t something I could control.”

“It must be sort of special though, being magic,” Charlie said. “Flying about on a broomstick, casting spells. I wish I were. My life’s so dull.”

“I’ll bet it’s not. You just think it is. Believe me, magic doesn’t make you any happier.”

“Would you show me a spell?” Charlie begged. “I’ve never seen real magic before. Please?”

“Oh, fine,” Poppy said, pulling her wand out of her briefcase. “But there’s no substance to magic, you know. It’s all hot air and showing off.” Waving her wand over the canal, Poppy trotted out a quick spell. Suddenly hundreds of fish popped their heads above the water and started to dance. They jitterbugged and twisted and made kissing sounds at one another with fat, pouty lips. Charlie squealed with laughter as the fish boogied about, slapping and splashing with their tails. Then, waving their scaly fins at the girls, they flipped back underwater.

“That was unbelievable!” Charlie shrieked.

“Thanks”—Poppy gave a wan smile—“but it gets boring after a while.” She sighed. “Believe me, I know.”

Chapter Six

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Just Say No

P
OPPY WAS LATE LEAVING FOR SCHOOL MONDAY MORNING, WHICH HAD
Mrs. Pendle flapping around the kitchen like a flustered hen.

“Miss Corns sent that letter home about today’s magical management class being a special one, and could everyone please be on time. And here you are, Poppy, late again.” Poppy had been up early baking lemon squares. She had hidden her
Good Eats
magazine with the recipe in it under her spell book so her mother wouldn’t see. Mrs. Pendle had canceled Poppy’s subscription to the magazine, so Poppy had to buy it from the corner shop now. The lemon squares had taken much longer than Poppy anticipated, and it was past nine o’clock by the time they were done. When Mrs. Pendle noticed the time, she snapped, “This is ridiculous,” finally shooing her daughter out the door.

“Mum, I’m sorry,” Poppy said, a warm container of lemon squares clutched against her chest. She could already feel her socks starting to slip as she hurried down the garden path. Maxine from next door was watching curiously from over the fence, a pink chiffon scarf tied around her curlers. It had started to drizzle lightly and Poppy wished she had grabbed an umbrella.

“Don’t forget your wand!” Edith Pendle dashed after Poppy and tucked a sticky magic wand into her daughter’s pocket. “No time to walk now, is there. You’ll have to fly.” Not wanting to upset her mother further, Poppy hopped onto her broomstick, balanced the lemon squares in her lap, and flew the short, rainy distance to Ruthersfield.

She made a rather slippery landing outside the school gates, skidding to a halt next to a small, dark purple van with no windows. It had
DANGER
—
FEROCIOUS CARGO
printed across both sides, and the license plate said
SCRUBS
1
. Poppy wondered why it was there, and feeling a touch nervous in case it had anything to do with her being so late, she hurried up the steps. She was actually relieved to see Deirdre Lambert rushing through the door just ahead of her. It was a nice feeling not to have to walk in alone. “What do you think is going on?” Poppy panted. “Did you see that van with the Scrubs license plates? I wonder why it’s here. Do you think it’s really from Scrubs Prison?”

“Don’t you know anything?” Deirdre sneered. “Fourth years always get the Scrubs talk in May.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re so dumb,” Deirdre said, rolling her eyes at Poppy. “It’s like, you know, the ‘big speech’ we all get,” she whispered, lowering her voice and making quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “Some of the guards from Scrubs come all the way over here, just to talk to us. Tell us what it’s really like in there.” Deirdre picked at a corner of peeling purple nail polish. “It’s meant to scare the pants off us so that we’ll stay good, not abuse our powers.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Poppy murmured, shifting the lemon squares under one arm and nervously pulling up her socks. “That must be what Miss Corns arranged for this morning.”

“Well, you’d better hurry then.”

“Did it work?” Poppy couldn’t help asking as she watched the older girl saunter off down the corridor. “I mean, scare the pants off you?”

Deirdre stopped and turned around. “Yeah, it worked all right. It was horrible, really horrible. We’re not allowed to talk about it, but I’ll tell you this,” Deirdre said. “It gave me nightmares for months afterward.”

Poppy was undeniably nervous about entering her magical management class. She tapped lightly on the door and crept inside.

“You’re late,” Miss Corns said, glancing at the clock.

“I’m sorry, Miss Corns.”

“Well, sit down quickly, please. I was just saying that we have some special guests visiting to talk with you all today. What you are about to hear is not to be discussed with any of the other students. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Corns,” the girls chanted.

“If any of you ignore this order, there will be swift and severe penalties. Am I clear?”

Before the girls could answer again, a loud knocking sounded on the door. It was immediately flung open, and a man dressed in a black guard’s uniform marched in, followed by two other similarly clad men carrying an empty iron cage. There were no smiles or cheerful greetings as the cage was slammed onto the floor. The first guard shook Miss Corns firmly by the hand, and then he turned and addressed the girls. “Any of you know what this is?” he said.

“It’s a cage,” Megan Roberts answered.

“That is correct. Does anyone know what it’s for?”

“Keeping wild animals in?” Fanny Freeman whispered.

“Close,” the guard replied. He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote the word
EVIL
on the blackboard. “That cage is what you’ll get carted off to Scrubs in if you misbehave. And some of our witches, like this one here,” he continued, thrusting out a large, glossy photograph of a bald-headed woman, “never ever leave their cages.” The witch’s eyes were so wild and angry that Poppy actually pushed back her chair, scraping the legs across the floor.