Witch You Were Here Read online

  “But I…” I start to say my hair is a mess, but realize it’s going to be a mess after riding Broom Hilda, no matter what I do to it. “Alright. I’m in for some spontaneity. Let’s go!” I feel a sudden flash of excitement. “I want to meet and talk with other witches,” I add.

  Alfie looks sheepish and I start to ask him why when Snowball starts yelling, “Broom ride! Broom ride!”

  “Alfie, can’t I buy her a broomstick to ride? You know, one for children?”

  Alfie looks like I just spit on the queen’s grave! “Familiars with their own broomsticks? That’ll be a cold day in Hades! Broomsticks are only for witches!”

  “Snowball!” I yell before she can answer. “Play nice.”

  “Meow!” she answers, making it sound almost like a hiss.

  “Grab the bag of silver coins, Alfie. You’re the paymaster on this trip,” I say as I call Broom Hilda to come to me. “And no fighting on the back of the broom or you walk,” I say sternly as the three of us leave the library.

  “Where’s Sprout?” I ask, not seeing him. “Looking for more poison plants?” I say out loud.

  “Do you think he’s the one sending you the poison plants?” Alfie asks as we walk down the steps of the library. “And maybe he pushed the bookcase over on you?”

  “Alfie, I’m beginning to think nothing in Nightshade is as it seems.”

  “What do you mean?” Alfie asks as I jump on Broom Hilda and motion for him to get behind.

  “Maybe what seems bad is good and what seems good is bad,” I say. I’m not quite sure where that came from but it seems to resonate with me for some reason.

  “That’s doesn’t make sense to me,” the dwarf says, scratching his head. “Must be something you learned from Murder She Wrote school.”

  “Alfie, did you put whiskey in Suzy’s coffee?” Snowball asks from her position on the broom’s straw brush.

  Before Alfie can answer, he has to grab hold of the broomstick as I take off fast, hoping to stave off any argument between the two of them.

  “Wheee,” Snowballs says.

  “Suzy, your driving scares me. Rachel flew much slower,” Alfie cries out as I zoom high above Nightshade.

  “Which way?” I shout into the wind.

  “Beyond Granny Maycomber’s cottage and over Werewoods. Then over the hills and through the dales.”

  God, sounds like we’re entering another fairy tale!

  Later, once we come in sight of Hemlock, I think I’m flying back in time. Down below I see black roofs with tall chimneys and cobblestone streets. The only thing I see that looks modern are the railroad tracks and coal-burning locomotives pulling passenger trains into Hemlock from all directions.

  “I don’t see any cars?” I shout.

  “They follow the old ways. Technology is banned. You either fly in on a broomstick or travel by train,” Alfie shouts.

  “Oh, how quaint,” I say.

  “They use horses and carriages in Hemlock, instead of cars,” Alfie adds.

  “Oh, like the Amish,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Now direct me to the Witch’s Broom Inn,” I shout.

  Alfie points down to a big outdoor market. “Land on the lawn before the market. We can walk from there.”

  As I descend, I get a whiff of an exotic smell that makes my mouth water. “Something smells good,” I comment.

  “Duck berry pie,” Alfie says, smacking his lips. “My favorite, favorite food.”

  “Never heard of it.” I say.

  “You will love it!” The moment he jumps off Broom Hilda, Alfie heads straight for an old lady with a display of double-crusted pies spread out on a table.

  “Shouldn’t we get a room first?” I ask as Alfie sits down at one of the tables near the old woman’s display.

  “No, no, we have time, we have time,” he says. “Two duck berry pies and a bowl of unicorn milk for the cat,” Alfie orders.

  “Sure thing, Guv,” the old woman answers. She looks like she could have just stepped out of the role of the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz.

  “Unicorn milk?” Snowball asks, glancing up at me inquisitively.

  “New one on me,” I say with a shrug. “We are not in Pennsylvania. I guess anything is possible.”

  The aroma from the two pies the old crooked-nosed woman places on the table is mouth-watering.

  “Where does the milk go, Guv?” the old lady asks, holding the saucer of creamy white liquid.

  “The witch’s cat,” Alfie says as he digs his fork into the crust of his pie.

  “Eat off the floor, off the floor, nothing changes,” Snowball says. “Hmm. Smells good,” she adds just before she starts lapping milk from the saucer.

  “Why can I hear a sound like a duck quacking?” I glance at the dwarf.

  Alfie finally finishes chomping on the pie enough to speak. “That’s why they’re called duck berries. It’s the sound they make when you chew them.”

  It looks like I’m in for a lot of strange new things here in Hemlock, I think as I break through the crust of my pie and scoop up some of it along with a white berry the size of a grape. The taste is so delicious that I hardly notice the quacking sound as I chew. “I’ve never tasted anything so delicious,” I tell Alfie as I glance over at him to find him forking the last of his pie into his mouth. “Alfie!”

  “Well, I get it only once a year,” he tells me before turning and motioning the old lady to bring him another pie.

  “Snowball,” I say, looking down at her, “how was the unicorn milk?” Her saucer is empty and her stomach is as round as a softball. “Never mind. I can see for myself.”

  “Okay, let’s go register for the witches’ broomstick race tomorrow.” Alfie says, holding both hands under his protruding stomach for support as we walk through the market.

  I see creepy things staring from cages. I hope they don’t escape as we walk past. Other things are pretty, especially the firebird, a small carney-size bird covered in blue flame.

  “They are very rare and said to bring good luck,” Alfie says.

  “Can you heat a cauldron with one?” Snowball asks.

  “No, it’s not really fire; just fine blue feathers that wave back and forth, giving the illusion of flames,” Alfie explains.

  I see the steeples of the Academy of Witchcraft long before we get there. The enormous, gray-block building with arched passageways and towers with pointed tops, dwarfs the surrounding buildings.

  “Wow, they must have lots of students?” I say, in awe of the structure’s size.

  “Yeah, they come from all the towns. They will admit anyone if they pass the entry examination, no matter the age or race,” Alfie says. “However, they tend to separate the giants and trolls from the rest of the population.”

  “What no dwarf snacks for the trolls?” Snowball asks.

  “But most of the students are witches, correct?” I speak up quickly.

  “Yes, it used to be called The Witches School of Magic, but it seems everyone wants to learn magic these days so they changed the name to the Academy of Witchcraft,” Alfie says with a sigh.

  We pass a group of young witches in black, wearing witch’s hats and carrying broomsticks.

  “Really, witch’s hats and broomsticks?” I say as I turn toward Alfie.

  He shrugs. “They have a school uniform policy. You wear a uniform according to your classification.”

  “Do trolls wear dwarf snacks around their necks?” Snowball askes in the most innocent of voices.

  “Look,” I say before Alfie can answer her. I point at a desk behind which is sitting an old witch. “A registration desk for the broomstick race. It says it right there on the banner.”

  The witch is cleaning her long fingernails with a paring knife. “Witches only, runt,” she says without even looking up. “And no civilians. Witches only.”

  “Runt!” Alfie declares.

  “Runt, dwarf, what the difference, little guy?”
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br />   I put my hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “I’m the librarian over at Nightshade.”

  This gets the old witch’s attention. She straightens up and drops the paring knife into her lap. “Sorry…uhh, you don’t look like a witch. You know you can’t go around pretending to be someone you are not.”

  “She’s the librarian, you old bag. I’m the assistant librarian from Nightshade,” Alfie says, puffing out his chest.

  The witch leans over to take a closer look. “Oh yeah, love, I remember you. You’re the dwarf that can’t read.” She took a deep breath. “Beats me why Nightshade would want you for a librarian.”

  “You…”

  I squeeze Alfie’s shoulder to silence him. “Where do I sign to enter the broomstick race?”

  “Got a broomstick?”

  I hold up Broom Hilda.

  The witch jerks back. “Where’d you get a Salem broomstick? They are extremely rare and only available on the other side.”

  “That’s where she came from!” Alfie says in a sarcastic tone.

  “The Red Witch isn’t going to like this. She always wins the broomstick race,” the old witch says. She lowers her voice. “It’s about time she has some real completion,” the witch adds as she points to a lined piece of paper with a list of names. “Sign and date it below the last name.”

  I do as she asks and she hands me a white banner to put over my shoulder and a pamphlet. The banner has the number 113. She holds on to the banner a moment to get my attention. “Watch your back; the Red Witch cheats,” she whispers.

  “What was all that about?” Alfie asks when we are out of hearing range of the witch.

  “She warned me that the Red Witch cheats. Who is she?”

  “She is head mistress of the broomstick classes. She can’t afford to allow one of her students or former students to win. It would be bad for her image.”

  “Tough. Broom Hilda will win,” Snowball says gleefully.

  “Where to now?” I ask.

  “The Witch’s Broom Inn,” Alfie says. “Kidney pie and ale.”

  “A couple of rooms first!” I say, remembering how quickly the dwarf got drunk on the Irish whiskey.

  “Whatever you say, whatever you say.” He starts to walk away. “Come on. It’s just a couple of blocks down the street,” Alfie says pumping his legs as he hurries ahead of us. “Come on, come on.”

  “Snowball, I think he wanted me to enter the witch’s broomstick race just so he could come to Hemlock for duck berry pie and drink at the Witch’s Broom Inn.”

  “Meow,” Snowball says in agreement.

  The entrance to the inn is down a long stairway.

  “Try this after a pint of Irish whiskey,” I turn and say to Alfie.

  “I assure you, going up isn’t as bad as coming down,” he replies. “I’ve only tripped twice,” he adds as he hurries along.

  The smell of kidney pie is like a slap in the face—a hard slap—as Alfie opens the door and we step inside the noisy room. No kidney pie for me! Smells like a urinal, I think but smile for Alfie’s benefit.

  “You go and get us two rooms and I’ll order kidney pie and ale,” Alfie say and starts to head for the bar. I grab hold of his shoulder.

  “Steak pie for me, please. And unicorn milk for Snowball.”

  “Okay! Okay!” the dwarf says so quickly I fear he wasn’t listening to a word I said.

  “Lush!” Snowball says as she follows me to the check-in desk.

  “Yeah?” A bored, fat man says glancing up at me.

  “Two rooms.”

  “Only witches can rent rooms,” he says and then glances back down at the newspaper he is reading.

  I lift Broom Hilda. “She has whacked werewolves into their next life. Should I show you how powerful she is?” I threaten. I am tired and I don’t want to have to fly back to Nightshade.

  “Salem broomstick! I heard there was a white witch in for the broomstick race with a Salem broomstick. Wow. Sign here. Two rooms you say?”

  “Yeah, one for me and my familiar and one for my traveling companion, the dwarf sitting at the table over there by himself.”

  He tells me how many silver coins it will cost and I count them out from the bag I’m carrying. After I pay him, he gives me two keys. “Upstairs and to the right. Side by side rooms.”

  I start to walk away.

  “Oh, and the rooms come with a litter box. See that your cat uses it.”

  “He’s rude,” Snowball says as we make our way through the crowd to the table where Alfie is sitting. I see that he’s already half-finished a tankard of ale.

  “Lush,” Snowball says.

  I tend to agree with her but don’t say anything. Instead, I take a sip of my ale. It’s surprisingly good.

  A large, no-nonsense-type woman who seems ready to slap hands and bang drunks over the head if need be comes to the table carrying the two pies and the unicorn milk.

  Soon, we’re half-finished with our pies and Snowball’s whiskers are white from drinking her milk when suddenly, a tall thin witch walks up to our table. “We don’t like troll bait drinking with us,” she says, looking down at Alfie.

  “He’s my assistant,” I tell her. “He goes where I go.” I feel an instant dislike for the strange witch. “Now if you don’t mind, we’re busy with our dinners.”

  “I mind!” the witch says and glances back for support from the witches seated at the table where she’s been drinking ale.

  A cheer rises from them.

  Suddenly, the witch lifts her broomstick and starts to swing it at me. The blow never lands. Broom Hilda blocks the blow with such force that she snaps the witch’s broomstick in half.

  The witch shrieks in horror as she finds herself holding the handle of a broom without a straw brush.

  A hush descends upon the rowdy crowd as the witches and other patrons see the broken broomstick.

  “Sorry,” I say. “But you should not have threatened me. Broom Hilda is very protective.”

  “She’s the one Sumac told us about,” someone from the witch’s table yells.

  I glance at Alfie for an explanation.

  “Red Sumac, the head mistress of broomstick school.”

  “Rats,” I mumble as I realize that the trouble isn’t over.

  “Broomstick fight! Broomstick fight!” someone starts yelling, and soon the entire tavern is rocking with the chant.

  The witch’s companions grab their broomstick in answer to the chanting crowd as they rush toward me with raised broomsticks. I note that both Alfie and Snowball have dashed under our table, Alfie with his tankard of ale in his hand.

  “Thanks for the support, guys,” I say as I stand and cock Broom Hilda. I have to smile when Hilda knocks the first witch into a table of wizards, but my smile is short-lived as suddenly I am fighting for my life as I swing Broom Hilda as fast as I can. The broomstick fight is over as quickly as it starts. Seven witches lie stunned on the floor or on tables, and everyone in the tavern is staring at me.

  “It’s Suzy, the librarian from Nightshade. The white witch with the Salem broomstick,” someone shouts.

  “She’s going to hand Red Sumac her first defeat,” someone else shouts.

  All at once, most of the patrons in the tavern are shouting my name.

  “Come on, you two brave hearts, let’s get out of here while we’re still ahead. That is, if you can find your way out from under the table,” I say, putting what I think is enough silver coins on the table to pay for food and drink.

  But the server shakes her head. “It’s on the house, love. Anyone who has a chance of putting Red Sumac in her place drinks and eats free at my tables.”

  I start to leave the coins anyway, but little stubby fingers scoop them up. “For ale during the race,” Alfie says.

  When we get to our room, Snowball takes one look at the litter box. “Sand! Can you believe it? Haven’t they heard of kitty litter?”

  I shrug. “Alfie said Hemlock was old school.”

&nb
sp; “Meow!”

  For the last time before stuffing it into my pocket, I glance down at the map that shows the route I’m supposed to fly. We’re lined up to begin the race. I glance down the line of over a hundred witches, all of them astride broomsticks. The tall, beautiful witch with red hair stands out as special. And as I am looking at her, she seems to realize it because she turns her head and looks directly at me.

  Her eyes are dancing with hate.

  It eludes me completely why she would hate me. It doesn’t seem right for her to feel that way just because she’s afraid I might win. No, there’s another reason; I’m almost sure of it. But until I know more about her, I’m likely not to have an answer to that question.

  Realizing the Red Witch is staring at me, the entire line of black-clad witches looks my way. I feel self-conscious since I’m the only witch dressed in white. I even have a white witch’s hat.

  Hum, this race isn’t going to go well for me! I think.

  A man raises a pistol and fires a shot, catching me by surprise. The line of witches is suddenly airborne, and I’m still at the starting line. The huge crowd of spectators, mostly young witches from the Academy, are laughing at me. My face flushes red as Broom Hilda streaks off the starting line like a rocket. I hear a gasp from the crowd as I catch up with the main group of racers and whiz on past them.

  Laugh at me, will you!

  I make Broom Hilda go so fast I feel like I am facing category four hurricane wind as I leave the body of witches behind and race after Red Sumac, who turns her head and stares at me in disbelief.

  As we round the Academy and race out of sight of both the spectators and the other witches, I smile as Broom Hilda accelerates and we quickly gain on Red Sumac. We are within twenty broomstick lengths of her when she turns partway around and points her finger at me.

  A red fireball shoots from her finger. I dodge left, feeling the heat as the fireball passes too near me. The pamphlet I was given when I registered clearly said the use of magic was forbidden! “You…” I stop myself from saying the word that rhymes with witch! But, boy, do I ever think it.

  Then suddenly I am dodging fireball after fireball and don’t have time to think of anything but keeping from being a toasted treat for a troll as Broom Hilda swings right then left, up, and then down to avoid the rain of fire being thrown at me.