The Only Thing Worse Than Witches

The Chase

THE NEXT MORNING, THE PHONE RANG.

“Hello, I’d like to speak to… Rupert Campbell please.”

“This is he.”

“Hi, Rupert, this is… erm… the witch. I’d like to offer you the job. What do you say?”

Rupert nodded vigorously, too stunned to find his voice.

“Erm… hello?” the witch said. “Darn these stupid things — Storm, the phone is broken again! I can’t hear a thing!”

Rupert heard a voice in the background, shouting: “Smack it on the table! Stupid mortal devices — give it a good thump on the rump!”

“Don’t!” Rupert shouted. “You’ll only break the phone!”

He heard a crack, and then the witch said, “Oh, there you are! Oh, no, there you were. Now there are lots of loud fuzzy noises.”

“That’s because you’re not supposed to thump phones on the rump!” Rupert said.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Rupert pulled the phone away from his ear. “Ow! Stop yelling!”

“WITCH TO BOY, WITCH TO BOY — CAN YOU HEAR ME? IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, START WORK IN ONE HOUR. MEET AT THE FISHING DOCK. WEAR PURPLE. IF YOU CAN’T HEAR ME, THEN MEET ME AT MAIN BEACH IN TWO HOURS, AND WEAR ORANGE.”

Rupert shook his head. How would he know to meet her at Main Beach if he couldn’t hear her?

“THIS IS FUN! LA LA LA! DO YOU EVER NOTICE THAT WORDS SOUND FUNNY IF YOU SAY THEM TOO MANY TIMES? ESPECIALLY WORM. WORM. WORM. WORM, WORM, WORM. WORM, WORM, WORM, WORM, WORM-WORM-WORM. ACTUALLY, BRING LOLLIPOPS TO THE FISHING DOCK!”

There was a click, and the dial tone started again.

Rupert’s mother walked in the room with the clean laundry and set it on the kitchen table. She danced around the kitchen table and wiggled her butt, doing what she called a “funky little boogie dance,” and Rupert laughed. Watching her reminded him of all the times he used to dance around the kitchen with her when he was younger. She used to grab him under the armpits and swing him up onto the kitchen table, where he would dance until he was out of breath. Then he would count to three before jumping from the table. His mother always caught him and spun him around in circles. That is, before she was too busy to do anything but work.

His mother stopped dancing and winked at him.

“Who was that on the phone?” she asked, folding Rupert’s shirt.

“No one,” Rupert said. He tried to lie smoothly, but he could feel his cheeks and neck growing red.

His mother raised one eyebrow. Rupert was always amazed at the way she was able to raise just her left one. No matter how hard he practiced in the mirror, he could never quite get it to look right. Whenever he tried, he ended up looking like a scrunched up meatball.

Rupert looked his mother in the eye, his heart racing. “It was just Kaleigh,” he said. “From school. She got bored and wanted to talk. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” his mother said. “I know you better than you know yourself, and I know you know that I know you’re lying. I don’t know what you’re up to, Rupert, but when I find out, I better like it.”

“You won’t find out, so you won’t have to,” Rupert muttered, dumping his empty cereal bowl in the sink.

A half hour later, Rupert set out for the fishing dock, wearing purple and carrying lollipops.

The witch was lying stomach-down on the dock, her face just above the water. Her blond hair was tied up in a very high ponytail that rested almost at the top of her head, and Rupert thought she looked especially unwitch-like in her short white pants and pink tank top. In fact, she looked just like any normal girl.

The dock creaked under Rupert’s feet, and the witch turned around to hush him. Rupert tiptoed the rest of the way.

“Get down,” she hissed, and Rupert obeyed.

With his face near the water, Rupert asked, “What are we looking for?”

“Here, fishy fishy fishy!” the witch called. “Come here you cute widdle fishy!”

“Are we trying to catch a fish?”

The witch turned to him, her eyes wide in horror. “Shhh! They have ears, Rupert! You’ll scare them away!”

Rupert laughed. “Well, you’ll never catch a fish like that! You think a fish is going to come running when you call it?”

“Why not?” the witch asked defensively. “My cat comes when I call it!”

“This is a fish,” Rupert said, shaking his head. “F-I-S—” But before he could finish spelling the word, the witch made kissy noises, and hundreds of fish leaped out of the water. Rupert had never seen anything like it — it was like jumping trout or leap-ing salmon or mini-dolphins — it was utterly amazing.

The witch reached out and grabbed a fish just before it descended into water, and Rupert looked at her with his mouth agape.

“I suppose you’ve never gone fishing either?” the witch said. “What a useless apprentice I’ve taken on!”

She started to walk away, and Rupert scrambled to keep up.

“Why am I wearing purple?” he said. “Does this have to do with some spell you’re going to do?”

The witch shrugged. “No, I just like the color purple.”

“And what about these lollipops?”

The witch snatched them out of his hands and popped three in her mouth. Her cheeks bulged like an overstuffed coin purse.

“I WUV WOWWYPOPS,” she hummed, and continued walking.

Rupert ran after her. She blew past Digglydare Close, and to Rupert’s surprise, she blew past Pexale Close, too. Rupert tried to ask her where they were going, but she put a finger to her lips and shook her head.

Rupert’s stomach did a kick. He had the oddest feeling — like something bad was following him — but when he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw nothing there.

Rupert caught up to the witch and took a sideways look at her face. She looked nervous, too. Rupert couldn’t help feeling that her wobbly expression was somehow related to his feeling of being followed. But when he took a breath to ask her about what was happening, the witch clamped her hand over his mouth.

“Mmmm!” Rupert said.

“I think they’re on to us!”

“Mmmm?”

“The Fairfoul Witch, that’s who!”

“Mmmm mmmm?”

“My lair must have been booby-trapped for humans. I could smell the magic when we got close,” the witch said. She let go of his mouth and grabbed his hand instead. She pulled him up the stairs that led away from the beach and up to the roads and restaurants of Gliverstoll.

“Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have put that ad in the newspaper,” she groaned. “And I shouldn’t have hung up flyers. And I definitely shouldn’t have stood on the beach with a megaphone.”

The witch leaped up, skipping steps. Rupert ran after her, but then his side started to ache, and he panted for breath.

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

Rupert coughed and panted, and the witch paced back and forth on the steps above.

“Ah!” she said. “Okay.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she looked fiercely behind Rupert. “I need to get this boy to move faster,” she said.

Rupert looked behind him, but no one was there. Who was this witch talking to?

“I need a Jetpack,” she said, and she snapped her fingers.

CRACK.

In a blink, the witch held a brown over-the-shoulder bag with a zipper on top and holes on the sides.

“Is the Jetpack in there?” Rupert said.

The witch shook her head. “It-it’s not a Jetpack,” she said in a very small voice. “It’s a pet sack.”

“A pet sack?”

“A pet sack.”

“But we need a Jetpack.”

“They’re getting closer,” the witch said.

“Who?” Rupert asked, turning to look behind him again. Still, nothing.

“The witches… the Witches Council. The Fairfoul Witch and all her underlings.”

“Well, you’re a witch!” Rupert said. “Can’t you stop them?”

The witch opened the pet sack. “This can work. Get in.”

“You want me to get in there?” Rupert grabbed the pet sack. It was made for a medium-sized dog — or perhaps a giant cat. It couldn’t possibly fit an average-sized boy like him.

“Yes!” the witch said. “And hurry!”

Rupert zipped open the bag and curled himself inside. He contorted in a way he didn’t think he possibly could. Somehow his ankle was by his ear and his wrists were knocking his knees — and his head popped out of the bag just slightly. The witch threw the bag over her shoulder and darted up the stairs. Rupert marveled at her speed — even while carrying him over her shoulder, she was just as fast.

With every landing, Rupert thumped against the witch’s side, which hurt his twisted-up body, but he tried not to think about it. Instead he peered out of the bag, watching for the top of the stairs. They were so close! Then Rupert turned around to look behind them.

This time, he caught a glimpse of the witches. There were about ten of them chasing them up the stairs. Some pointed crooked, gnobbly fingers in Rupert’s direction. Others let out menacing cackles. Rupert gulped and ducked back into his pet sack.

“They’re behind us!” he said.

“Don’t you think I know that?” the witch shouted. “Hold on! It’s about to get bumpy—”

And she leaped up the stairs so fast that Rupert thought she was flying — she skipped twenty steps and landed with a THUMP just before the top step. The witch flung the bag that held Rupert onto her other shoulder, and she sprinted toward the residential area.