The Unwilling Witch (6 page)

“Hello,” Norman said.

“Hi. It's Angelina.” I paused. This wasn't going to work. Even if I kept Norman from talking about what day it was, Sebastian would still find out soon enough. Especially when Mom woke him up for school tomorrow.

“Well, what do you want?” Norman asked.

I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “What do you know about running water?” I guess the walk to the mall was still bothering me.

“What
don't
I know about running water,” he replied. “There's hydroelectric power, of course, and—”

“No, I mean what about crossing running water?”

“Well, the most obvious means is a bridge,” Norman said. “But it's funny you should mention running water. There's that old superstition about it, of course.”

“What superstition?” I asked.

“You know. Witches can't cross running water.”

I almost dropped the phone. “Witches?” I asked.

“Sure. I thought everyone knew that. Hey, I have to go. Bye.” He hung up. I hung up. I walked back to my room, trying to swallow the idea that Norman had handed me.

I looked at Darling. “I'm a witch.”

“Mewrrrrlll,” she said. I think that's the cat version of “Duh.” She hopped onto the floor, as if the topic bored her, and curled up in a patch of sunlight.

A witch … I was a witch.…

The idea was so ridiculous that I cackled. I mean, I laughed, but it sounded way too much like a witch's cackle. “Stop it,” I said aloud.

What next? Should I get a big, black, pointy hat? No way I was going to make that kind of fashion blunder. Was I supposed to start boiling disgusting stuff in a huge iron kettle? Yuck. I thought about that Shakespeare thing, the one with the three witches chanting, “Double double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.” What was it they put in the pot? Eye of newt? I'm not even sure what a newt is. Some kind of crawly thing. Double yuck.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't seem any different.
A witch?
I shook my head. “I don't want this. I didn't ask for this.”

But as I gazed into the mirror, I noticed the smallest hint of a smile on my lips. Power. I had power. Kids never get any real power. At least, this kid had never had any real power. Until now …

 

Thirteen

BOOK LEARNING

I started reading the book. Darling hopped right up on the bed and draped herself across my legs. In a moment, she was napping.

The book said that there were certain ancient powers that were passed from person to person. There was no way to tell what form the power would take, or how it could be controlled or used. Most of the people who had the power couldn't do much with it. A person might have some small talent for finding lost items or growing large vegetables.

Once in a while, someone with power used it to do great good or great evil. I shuddered as I read about that part. The book warned that evil could even be done by someone trying to do good. Power wasn't a simple gift. I'd certainly learned that already.

The last chapter told about the actual passage of power. I wasn't happy to learn that power could be stolen. The book said:

He who seeks to steal power must dispatch the holder.

I sort of remembered that a
dispatch
was a letter or a message. I was about to reach for my dictionary when my eyes wandered to the next page. According to the book:

There exist two opportunities for the passage of power.

Power may be passed on the fifth day of possession, in a place of power, at a time of power, before five minutes have flown.

Power must be passed after five times five times five years.

It took me a moment to do the math. Five times five times five …
125 years
! I thought about the woman in the park. She'd had her power for a century and a quarter.

I needed to learn more about witches. I looked across the room at my bookcase. Other than
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
and an old copy of
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,
there was nothing that might help, and I suspected my answers wouldn't be found in Narnia or Oz. Mom and Dad had lots of books, but they were mostly novels. Rory had Dr. Seuss. Sebastian had comic books. The library was closed on Sunday. The last time I'd typed anything into a search engine, I'd gotten mostly information I knew was wrong.

But Norman had a whole house filled with books. I lifted Darling off my legs and put her back on the bed. She shifted, but she didn't wake up. I rushed over to Norman's place.

“It's open,” his mom called when I rang the bell.

I walked in and followed the wonderful smells to the kitchen. Mrs. Weed is a caterer. She had a batch of something fabulous bubbling in a pot on the stove.

“Hello, Angelina,” she said. A timer went off. She glanced across the room at a second oven. “Could you stir this for me for a moment? I have to get the rolls out.”

“Uh, sure,” I said, taking the spoon from her.

“It's coq au vin—a French chicken stew. I'm making it for a party at the Uppersnoot Country Club tomorrow.” She dashed to the oven and opened the door. The wonderful smell of baked rolls filled the air.

As I stirred the stew, something floated to the surface. It was small and round and black. Another one appeared next to it. I gagged as I realized I'd just learned what eye of newt looked like. In a moment, the whole surface was filled with them. They bobbed around, staring in a hundred directions. A couple of them popped with wet splashes and sank out of sight. A couple more popped. Then they all started bursting.

“Thanks,” Mrs. Weed said, reaching for the spoon as the last eye winked out of sight.

I handed the spoon to her, then looked back in the pot. Everything seemed normal. But I wouldn't want to be dining on coq au vin at the country club tomorrow. No thanks.

“Your brother's upstairs with Norman,” Mrs. Weed told me.

“I know. But that's not why I came. I have a report due on witches, and I couldn't get to the library.”

“Try the middle bookcase in the living room,” Mrs. Weed said. “Second or third shelf, I think. Feel free to borrow whatever you want.” She dipped a spoon in the pot, then tasted the broth and made a face. “Hmmm, I guess I went a bit heavy on the salt.”

“Thanks.” I went to the living room. As I looked through the shelves, I heard Norman and Sebastian arguing upstairs.

“I wish you'd quit moping around just because I was an hour late,” Sebastian said. “You've been sulking since I got here.”

“An hour?” Norman said to him. “You're a day late. A whole day. You missed everything.”

“You're crazy. It's Saturday!” Sebastian shouted.

“Sunday!” Norman shouted back. “Irrefutably, positively Sunday. Look. Right here on the computer. See the date?”

“I don't care about the stupid computer. I know what day it is,” Sebastian said.

“Wait right here,” Norman told him.

I heard footsteps stomping down the stairs. Norman rushed past me and grabbed something from the table. As he ran past again, I noticed he was carrying the comics. The
Sunday
comics.

I pulled out four books on witches and hurried back into the kitchen.

“Find what you need?” Mrs. Weed asked.

“Yes, thanks again.”

“Any time.” She glanced at her spoon, tasted the stew once more, and frowned. “That's the last time I buy chicken from Krestner's Market.”

I rushed home with the books. I'd just reached the porch when I heard the shout.

“Hold it right there!”

 

Fourteen

DON'T EVER LEAVE ME

“What's wrong?” I asked, turning to face Sebastian.

“It's Sunday,” he said. “Last thing I knew, it was Saturday. Next thing I know—
blam!
—it's Sunday.” He looked at the books in my arms. “You did something. I know it.”

I took a step back. Sebastian took a step forward.

“What's going on?” He reached for the books.

“No!” I yelled, grabbing his arm.

Shock.

I closed my eyes when I felt the jolt. I stayed that way, hoping to hear Sebastian's voice. All I heard at first was a gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze, followed a moment later by the sound of the front door.

“Hey,” Rory asked, “where'd that tree come from?”

Tree?
I opened my eyes. Oh, gosh. I'd done it again.

Right at the edge of the lawn where Sebastian had been standing, I saw a small tree.

“Where'd it come from?” Rory asked again.

“I got it at the mall,” I told him. “But I don't like it here—it's the wrong size. I think I'll return it.”

He nodded, as if this made sense. Then he reached past me and pulled off a small leaf.

“Rory, you'll hurt him!”

He shook his head. “It's just a tree.”

“It's a living thing.”

He stared at the leaf in his hand. “I can get some glue.”

“That's okay. One leaf won't make any difference.” I hoped I was right.

Rory shrugged and dropped the leaf on the ground. Then he wandered off.

“Would you like a snack?”

I looked up at the front door. Mom was there. She hadn't noticed there was a new tree growing in the yard. I think people see a lot less when they get older—especially when they become parents. “Maybe later,” I told her. “I'm not hungry right now.”

“Okay.” She went back inside.

“Hey, is Splat around? He just went running out of my house. He kept shouting, ‘I'll get her for this'”

I spun toward the sidewalk, and found myself facing Norman again. “I think he was headed back toward your house,” I told him.

He nodded and started to go away. After two steps, he turned back and said, “Nice tree. It's a thornless honey locust,
Gleditsia triacanthos,
if I recall correctly. You might want to prune some of the lower branches.”

“I might.” I watched him walk off. Norman saw everything, but he noticed very little.

As soon as Norman was gone, I grabbed a branch of the tree. Since I'd shouted
no
to make it happen, this time I shouted, “On!”

Sure enough, the tree changed back into my brother.

“Ouch!” Sebastian shouted, reaching up to the side of his head. “Why'd you pull my hair?”

I glanced down at the leaf Rory had dropped. It wasn't a leaf anymore, but a clump of hair. “It was an accident,” I said, stepping on top of the hair so Sebastian wouldn't see it.

“You did it again, didn't you?” Sebastian said. He was starting to turn red. “You did something before, and you just did it again. What did you do?”

I didn't have the energy to keep hiding this from him. “I don't know,” I told him. “But whatever happened, it only seems to happen when you tease me.”

“I don't tease you,” he said.

“Yes, you do.”

“Do not. You're the one who's always bugging me. You can be such a pain. Do you know that?” He poked me with his finger.

“And you—” I almost poked him back. Instead, I moved away and held my hands up. “Trust me—you don't want to continue this.”

“You've got that right.” He stormed off, leaving me to wonder how things had gotten out of control so quickly.

I went up to my room and read until it was time for dinner. At first, I tried making notes about anything that seemed important. After a while, I realized that there was no single answer to anything. Power seemed to take many forms. Some witches cast spells with words; others used objects. Some had amazing abilities; others could do little more than make fresh milk turn sour or get rid of warts.

There was some scary stuff, too. People used to think there were witches all around. They believed a witch would float, so when they thought someone was a witch, they'd throw her into a lake. If she floated, that proved she was a witch, so they'd kill her. If she sank and drowned, they knew she wasn't a witch. I felt terrible when I thought about how many innocent people had gone through a trial they couldn't win.