The Only Thing Worse Than Witches

Don’t Smell the Flowers

THE NEXT DAY, SCHOOL WAS A NIGHTMARE. AT first, everyone was so nervous about their papers on glowworms that no one even paid attention to Mrs. Frabbleknacker as she taught about the psychology of phobias. But Mrs. Frabbleknacker noticed — and she wasn’t happy. As punishment, Mrs. Frabbleknacker made Kaleigh read an entire novel in front of the class to cure her fear of public speaking, Francis sit in a janitor’s closet all day to cure his fear of small spaces, and Allison coddle a tarantula to cure her fear of spiders. Allison ran from the classroom crying.

Rupert was glad when school was over. He went home immediately and changed into black clothing and packed his backpack with emergency items — a flashlight, a water bottle, a whistle, a first aid kit — just in case.

He looked at the clock — Witchling Two was already five minutes late.

Rupert began to pace around his room as he thought about her. He was starting to get more nervous for Witchling Two’s Bar Exam than she was. They only had a week and three days until her exam, and she hardly seemed any better. Every time Rupert asked her to practice spells or her WHATs, she insisted on gathering ingredients or brewing. In only two days, they had brewed — and tested — fifteen successful potions, from flu-remedy potions, to hair-restoration potions, to sneezing potions, to tongue-twister potions, to flying potions — they had even made egg salad potion.

He knew Witchling Two just wanted to practice what she was good at, but he needed to do a better job at keeping her on task. She simply had to pass the WHATs and the spells portion of the exam — otherwise his only friend would be kicked out of Gliverstoll forever.

He tapped his pencil nervously on every object he encountered until Witchling Two popped up by his window. Rupert ran to let her in, and she toppled into the room with a goofy grin.

“Lair, lair, lair, lair! Lair, lair, lair, lair! Luh-luh-luh-lair, luh-lair! LAIR!”

“All right, all right,” Rupert said. “I get it!”

“We have to start walking over there in a half hour,” Witchling Two said. “That’s when their meeting officially starts. We have to get in and out. No talking to anyone. No stopping to smell the flowers. In and out. Got it?”

“In and out,” Rupert repeated. He twisted his hands. “Okay. Okay. This is going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“Okay? We’ll be great!”

Rupert fidgeted.

“So I’ve drawn a map of the Witches Council lair,” she said, laying a drawing of two wiggly circles and a star on Rupert’s bed. He laughed. It was the worst drawing he had ever seen.

“What is this?” Rupert asked.

“We’ll start… here!” She pointed to the left edge of the paper. “Then we’ll walk to there,” she said pointing at the star. “Got it?”

“No,” Rupert said, trying to make sense of the drawing.

Witchling Two jumped up. “Just follow me,” she said. Rupert followed her downstairs, and he locked the door behind him. He wondered for a moment whether he should leave a note for his mom — she would be home in an hour and probably wonder where he went — but he decided that if he told her about his excursion to the Witches Council lair, he would have to tell her about his apprenticeship. And if he told her about his apprenticeship, his mother would forbid it, and Rupert wasn’t ready to stop being Witchling Two’s friend. So he left no note and hoped for the best.

Rupert followed Witchling Two down Piggleswumpfer Court to Yammerstop Way. He saw the fish-and-chips restaurant down the hill, and his eye gravitated to the giant boulder behind the restaurant — the boulder that could only be seen at this street, at this angle. Witchling Two grabbed Rupert by the collar and pulled him behind a lamppost.

Rupert gulped, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Why are we stopping?”

Witchling Two shook her head and pointed at the boulder.

“What is that?”

“That’s where we’re going,” she said. “The Council meeting starts in platypus minutes.”

“Do you know where we’re going?”

Witchling Two flicked her hand. “Easy, peasy. When a witch turns ten, she’s allowed to take a tour of the Council’s lair for the first time. I know exactly where they have their meeting and exactly where they keep a record of all the WHATs. That’s where we’re headed — to the Filing Room!”

“Right,” Rupert nodded.

“Stay close to me,” Witchling Two said. “We can’t get separated.”

“Right.”

“And remember, don’t smell the flowers.”

“Right, we’re in a rush.”

“Yes, but don’t smell the flowers.”

“Right,” Rupert said. “Hurry. Yes. Got it.”

“Yes, but don’t smell the flowers.”

Rupert stamped his foot. “Okay!” he said. “I got it already!”

Witchling Two smiled. “Good!” she said, and then she ran.

Rupert followed her as closely as he could, sticking to her back like sweat. Together, they ran down the rest of Yammerstop Way, past the row of coral houses. They ran past the playground (though Witchling Two stopped for a moment to put a handful of sand in a jar). They ran past the quilting store. They ran past Kaleigh’s purple house (to which Witchling Two squealed, “Ooh! I want a house like that one!”). They ran past the fish-and-chips restaurant. And then they ran immediately left, to a grassy area where the boulder sat.

Rupert and Witchling Two panted for breath as they walked up to the giant rock. Witchling Two pressed her hand against the boulder, and it rolled aside, revealing an archway that led straight into the heart of the hill.

With two enormous gulps, they walked inside, and the boulder rolled back into place behind them. Rupert stared — the passageway had linoleum floors, pictures of fuzzy, smiling baby animals on top of powder blue wallpaper, and bright lights.

“This is… not what I expected,” Rupert said.

Witchling Two grabbed his hand, and they briskly jogged down the hallway, which led into a domed room with twelve golden chandeliers. Cawing blackbirds flew across the room then rested on the arms of the chandeliers, peering down at Rupert and Witchling Two with their beady eyes. Across the domed room were two carved doors and an archway. Rupert wandered to the center of the circular room, where he could hear the echoes of voices.

“Ve haven’t been ushering enough of ze tourists!” a gruff-sounding woman said. “Ze past month ’as been too slow on ze business.”

“It’s been fine,” a soft but firm voice said. Rupert recognized the voice — it was Nebby. “I’m more concerned about Justice Column Forty-six. The amendment for this article is still up for debate.”

“Pish posh!” said a nasally voice. “I’m more concerned about Witchling Two gallivanting with that human!”

“There is no reason to believe that she is still with the human,” Nebby said coldly.

“We caught her! We chased her! How can you deny this?”

“That was one time. There is no evidence that indicates she’s still with the boy, and now you’re spreading rumors and lies.”

There was a hissing sound, then a gavel, then cries of Order! Order!

Witchling Two put a hand on Rupert’s arm. “We don’t have time for this,” she whispered.

“They’re talking about us,” Rupert mouthed back.

She shrugged and walked toward the archway, beckoning for Rupert to follow her. They walked into an archway and found themselves in a tunnel made entirely of dirt. The cold air made Rupert shiver. For a while, he kept up behind Witchling Two, but he soon found himself slowing down until finally he stopped.

His nostrils twitched, and he sniffed. He smelled the most beautiful smell that anyone in the world had ever smelled.

“What is that?” he said. “What is that wonderful—”

He looked to the left and spotted a bed of flowers. He walked over to them and leaned closer. They were the most delicate shades of red, violet, pink, and indigo, and Rupert reached out to touch one…

Footsteps came closer from around the corner. “What are you doing?” shouted Witchling Two.

Rupert sniffed. “Come smell these!” he said. “They are splendid!”

“I told you not to smell the flowers!”

Rupert inhaled. “Oh, how glorious!” he said. “How wonderful! How magnificent! How astonishing!”

Witchling Two hoisted him up into a piggyback and began to run down the hallway with him. “I told you not to smell the flowers. Never trust a pretty flower. They are terribly sneaky things… as sneaky as bunnies.”

Rupert twisted and turned, trying desperately to get out of her piggyback grip, but she held on to him tightly.

When she rounded the corner, she put him down. She dragged him down a torch-lit hallway, and with the flickering firelight, it was starting to look like a real witch’s lair. Finally, they stopped at a wooden door.

Witchling Two whisked him into a small room with many stacks of crumpled up papers, and Rupert finally began to realize that the smell was gone— and he had a thundering headache.

“What was that?” he groaned. He felt groggy, like he couldn’t tell whether he was sleeping or awake, or what was up and what was down.

“Flowers,” she said, shaking her head. “They’re our security traps. We witches can’t smell them, but they’re meant to catch human intruders. They put you under a spell, and the moment you touch the flowers, you’re caught in a net.”

Rupert put his hand to his temple. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“I couldn’t very well leave my apprentice at the mercy of a flower bed, could I?”

Rupert licked his lips, looking around the room. “So this is the Filing Room?”

“Sure is!”

“You call this filing?” Rupert said, staring at the stack of crumpled up papers on the floor. He looked around the room. There wasn’t a filing cabinet in sight — just a whole bunch of papers on the ground and a small, wooden table by the door.

Witchling Two pulled a soggy piece of parchment out of a stack. She read it over with a hmm, then she crumpled it and tossed it over her shoulder before picking up a new piece of paper. Rupert walked over and began to read papers. They hardly made sense to him, and a lot of them had names of Gliverstoll townspeople and punishments on them.

“What are these?” Rupert asked, holding up a paper that read: Viola Frobbleman punished under article 31. Caught vandalizing the bell tower. Punishment: Toecorn. He shuddered at the thought of Toecorn.

“We keep everything all filed together, so we’ve got record on all the punishments we’ve ever given, the WHATs questions, witch evaluation reports, research notes, and witchling report cards all mixed together.

Rupert shook his head. At this rate, they’d never find what they were looking for. He dug through more papers, some soggy, some crusty, all smelling like sour eggs. There were more papers than Rupert thought — they were endless, circling the ground and piling up to his calves like a parchment swimming pool. There were far too many papers to possibly read in such a short span. But they had to try.

Witchling Two clicked her tongue. “We need to leave, Rupert,” she said. “We have bobcat minutes to get out of here.”

“One more minute,” Rupert said as he dug into another stack. It wasn’t right, and he tossed it aside. He grabbed one, two, three — but none of them were right.

Witchling Two bit her nails. “Rupert…”

“You’re going to have to do a spell,” Rupert said, looking up from the parchment he was reading.

“A spell?”

“We’ve got to find those test questions! This is your only chance. All we’ve got is no time and a lot of magic. Just think of it as more practice for your exam.”

Witchling Two took a deep breath. “I’ll try,” she said with a nod. She snapped her fingers. “I need the test papers. The test papers… the test papers,” she breathed.

Suddenly a cloud of wispy smoke erupted from the ground. The room grew thick and foggy and muggy and damp.

“What did you do?” cried Rupert. “We needed test papers, not wet vapors!”

Witchling Two let out a sob. “I’ll never pass!”

“Yes, you will,” Rupert said, waving his hands to clear away some of the fog. “I’m going to help you study, even if we can’t find current WHATs questions! Now, how much time do we have left before the Council meeting ends?”

“Catfish minutes — we really have to go!”

This trip was a failure, Rupert thought as he stood up, but this room is so messy it’s no wonder we couldn’t find anything. He grabbed Witchling Two’s hand and pulled her through the vapors, which were now erupting in spurts. “Come on — let’s get out of here!”

Witchling Two followed him but stopped dead just before the door. She walked to the wooden table in the corner.

“Come on!” Rupert said. “We have to get out of here!”

She gasped.

“Rupert!” She hovered over the table, and when she turned around, she held up a piece of parchment. “Your mom.”

Rupert’s heart leaped into his throat. “What?”

Witchling Two cleared her throat. “Joanne Campbell punished under article nineteen. Caught stealing forbidden potions from the Witches—”

“That’s my mom!”

“But that’s not everything!” she said, her face growing pale. “There’s more. It says, Punishment: Firstborn child.”