The Only Thing Worse Than Witches

The Name

WITCHLING TWO POINTED TO RUPERT AND THEN the table in frantic, jerking motions, which was her way of saying Hide.

Rupert held up his green arm and pointed to it, which was his way of saying What am I supposed to do about my green skin?

Witchling Two shook her head. That doesn’t matter right now.

Rupert silently stomped his foot. Of course it matters! I look like asparagus!

Witchling Two smiled. No, you look more like a string bean.

Rupert cocked his head. What’s the difference?

Witchling Two raised an eyebrow. I don’t actually know.

The wooden step at the top of the basement stairs creaked.

Rupert ducked under the table and hid his head in his knees.

PLUNK came the sound of a foot on the steps.

PLUNK THUD came the sound of another two steps.

PLUNK THUD PLUNK THUD PLUNK THUD came the sound of someone climbing down all the basement stairs.

“I–I can’t explain,” Witchling Two said.

Under the table Rupert shook his head. She was supposed to say that she could explain, not that she couldn’t.

Witchling Two cleared her throat. “M-Mrs. Campbell, I—”

Rupert froze in horror. The only thing worse than being found by the Fairfoul Witch was being found by his mother. She could not find out that he ran out of school early. She could not find out that he was Witchling Two’s apprentice. But mostly, she could not find out that he had green skin.

“Why are you in my basement?” Rupert’s mother asked. “What was your name again?”

“Erm,” Witchling Two said.

Please, Rupert begged in his head. Please, for pity’s sake! Please don’t say your name is Witchy! He wiggled his toes, hoping that he could send Witchling Two his thought waves.

“Sandy,” Witchling Two said. “My name is absolutely, positively, without a doubt Sandy. Sandy, Sandy, Sandy — it rolls nicely off the tongue — like kerplunckle and mollycoddle and pollywallydoodle. Sandy.”

“Sandy, darling, how did you get in here? Did Rupert let you in? Where is he?” Footsteps got dangerously close to the table, and Rupert closed his eyes.

“AH! Mrs. Campbell!” Witchling Two said, running toward the table, too. “Why don’t we have some more of that tea again? Upstairs? Yes? Lovely? All right? Let’s go!” Rupert heard sounds of shoe scuffling, and Rupert could see the shadows of his mother and Witchling Two inch even closer to where he was hiding.

“Why is there a cauldron on the table? And why are there — oh sweet cream cheese—what is in those jars? Are you and Rupert pretending to be witches?”

“What? Oh, yes!” Witchling Two said cheerfully. “Exactly. You caught us!”

“Well I don’t think that’s appropriate behavior,” Mrs. Campbell said. “Those witches have nasty tempers, and…” Mrs. Campbell stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck. “Is that a shoe under the table? Rupert, are you there?”

Rupert cursed under his breath and rolled out from under the table. He emerged, hesitantly, afraid of what his mother might say about his new lima bean tan.

“Uh… Hi, Mom.”

Mrs. Campbell screamed. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell to the floor with a thump.

“That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be,” Witchling Two said.

“Easier? You’ve killed her!” Rupert ran over to his mother — but thankfully she was breathing and had a pulse.

“It’s the shock that does it,” Witchling Two said. “I can’t tell you how many people have had that reaction to me over the years.”

“How many?” asked Rupert.

“I just said I couldn’t tell you.”

Rupert sighed. “We were so close.”

“But so near.”

“So far,” Rupert corrected. He thought about how easily Witchling Two lied. “Sandy. Where did that come from?”

Witchling Two grinned. “Well, I wanted to wait for a ta-da moment, but I guess this will have to do.” She stood on her tiptoes and thrust her chest outward. “I thought of my name. When I pass the Bar Exam. Sandy… it comes from… well…” she looked up at him with a sheepish blush. “I want to be the Sand Witch.”

Rupert cracked open with laughter. “The Sand Witch?” he snickered. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

Witchling Two harrumphed. “Don’t laugh! I thought it was a very respectable name. And it’s so appropriate for me.”

“You did give me a sand potion. And you thought of the idea of showering ourselves in sand to get away from Witchling Four. And you did make a sand dome to hide from the Council,” Rupert agreed.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought, and you had better call me Sandy now,” Witchling Two said, and Rupert knew her mind was made up.

Mrs. Campbell began to snore on the ground, and Sandy looked at her with pity. She walked over to Rupert’s mother and began to hoist her by her left armpit, and Rupert grabbed her right one. They tried to drag her up the stairs, but she was too heavy. So instead they dragged her to the basement closet and rested her head on a mop. Rupert locked the door to the broom cupboard.

If his mother was passed out in a closet, the Fairfoul Witch might not see her. At least not for the moment.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said, “but this is because I love you.”

Sandy put her arm around him. “She really will be safest there, oh Green Machine with no Spleen who is Seen to Wean Clean Teens off Keen Beans—”

“About that,” Rupert said. “You better get me to Storm and Nebby stat — unless you want me to choke you until you’re purple.”

Sandy squealed. “Purple is my favorite color!” she said, clapping her hands together. “And oh! That reminds me! Do you have any lollipops?”