by Natasha Lowe
“Hi, Katrin,” Della said softly, uncomfortable that Katrin didn’t see her as a friend. Della swallowed, wanting to say something about Melanie, about how horrible she could be and that they were all scared of her. But she couldn’t think of the right words, and then it was too late and Katrin had walked up to the counter. So Della left without saying anything.
Eating on broomsticks was strictly forbidden since a year five girl had knocked out a pedestrian with an apple last year, so Della gobbled down her cupcake before flying home, saving the cookies for later. Remembering not to fly above the tree line, Della wobbled along Button Street, waving to Mrs. Cox, who was hanging out her washing.
“Looking good, Della!” Mrs. Cox called, grinning up at her.
“Thanks, Mrs. Cox. I’m finally getting the hang of it.”
The row of little brick houses were snuggled together, and Della could see her older brothers, Sam and Henry, kicking a soccer ball around their tiny front yard. They dived dramatically to one side, covering their heads as Della landed rather bumpily on the lawn.
“I’m not that bad,” Della said, checking to make sure Pickle was okay.
Sam grinned. “We’re just kidding, Sprite!” “Sprite” was Della’s nickname, given more for her tiny build than her magical powers. Not that she was particularly short for an eleven-year-old, but compared to thirteen-year-old Sam and fifteen-year-old Henry, who were both almost six feet tall, Della couldn’t help feeling slightly undersized. Like she wasn’t quite big enough to fill up her place in the family.
“When are you going to take us for a broomstick ride?” Henry asked, picking Della up and carrying her into the house. As he opened the front door, they were met with the lovely smell of lasagna baking.
“Can’t. You know it’s against the rules. If Ms. Cray found out, I’d be expelled.”
“You have so many rules at that school, it’s ridiculous,” Henry said, putting Della down on a chair in the kitchen.
Their mother stood at the stove, and hanging above her was a cobweb net filled with three abandoned baby bats that Della had found and brought home.
“Nice day?” Della’s mum said, smiling at Della as she jumped onto the floor. Immediately, Robbie, the youngest Dupree, came barreling over, holding a piece of bread and honey, and wrapped his hands around Della’s legs.
“Not the best,” Della admitted. “But better now I know we’ve got lasagna.”
“It’s all those rules,” Sam joked. “Of course school is no fun.”
“Well, being a witch is a big deal,” Della continued, brushing back Robbie’s long tangle of curls, which at three years old he stubbornly refused to have cut. “They don’t let you ever forget that. How we have to live up to our magic. It’s exhausting.”
Waving his arms about, Henry bowed and said, “Let us honor the incredible, the amazing, the extraordinary Della Dupree.”
“Oh, if only,” Della sighed, feeling far more ordinary than extraordinary.
“Well, we think you’re wonderful,” Mrs. Dupree said. “Wouldn’t change a thing.”
Except my name, Della couldn’t help thinking.
“Did Pickle like school?” Robbie asked in a muffled voice. He planted a kiss on Della’s kneecap. “I missed you, Della.”
“I missed you too, Lion,” Della said fondly, using the name they sometimes called him because of his shaggy mane of hair. “And I think Pickle is glad to be home, actually.” She lifted the duckling out of her pocket, and with Robbie’s help (which meant constantly stroking and kissing Pickle) she nestled the baby bird into a teapot filled with hay.
Mrs. Dupree glanced at the wall clock. “Goodness, boys, you’re late for soccer practice. And, Della,” she added pleadingly, “is there any way you can move this lot up to your bedroom?” She gestured at the bat net Della had strung up and the basket with Flutter in it floating about the room. Della had thought it would be nice for her turtledove to feel like he was flying while his wing healed, even if he couldn’t fly. “It’s supposed to be a kitchen,” Mrs. Dupree pointed out, “not an animal sanctuary.”
“Well, I can’t keep them at school, and they’d be lonely in my bedroom,” Della said, waving her wand at the net and murmuring, “Lulaballo.” The cobweb hammock started to swing gently. “They love being down here with you and Robbie, Mum.”
“Oh do they,” Mrs. Dupree muttered, but Della could tell she was smiling. “Do you have homework, Della? I was hoping you could watch Lion for me so I don’t have to drag him along to soccer practice, since your dad’s working late.”
“A bit,” Della admitted, not wanting to tell her mother what it was about. Any mention of Witch Dupree always made her feel ridiculously inadequate. “I’ll do it after I’ve fed Pickle.” With Robbie breathing over her, she dripped a little unicorn milk into the baby duck’s mouth, tucked him back up in his teapot, then took Magic in the Middle Ages and a rather sticky Lion upstairs to her room.
Lying on her bed with Robbie nestled beside her, Della opened the book.
“I’m not talking, Della, so you can read.”
“Thank you, Lion.”
“I’m a quiet lion,” Robbie whispered. “Can you tell me a story?”
“When I’ve finished this, okay?”
“Hurry up,” Robbie said, pulling off his socks.
Della had to admit it would be nice to discover even one tiny thing that she shared with Witch Dupree. Maybe their founder loved animals? Or maybe, just maybe she wasn’t as courageous as everyone seemed to believe? She must have been scared of some stuff, Della reasoned, starting to read. There were several descriptions of life in the Middle Ages, a great deal about witches being feared and misunderstood, and a small mention of how Della Dupree, with her courage and determination, managed to start the first school for magic in the country. “Not much has been written about Witch Dupree after the founding of Ruthersfield,” Della read, “which, of course, has led many scholars to speculate what might have happened to her. We will never know the answer to this.”
Robbie started doing somersaults up and down the bed while Della flipped through a few more pages, scanning them for anything of interest. This was so frustrating. It was like reading about a superhero, not a real person. She stopped at the end of the chapter, the last paragraph catching her eye. “One source that best describes magic at this time is The Book of Spells, an original work from the thirteenth century, which is kept in the Ruthersfield Library. In it are rare conversations with Witch Dupree and some unusual descriptions of magic.”
That’s what I have to look at, Della thought, giving a little shiver of excitement. If she wanted to find out what Witch Dupree was really like, it would be in this book. People usually talked about themselves in conversations, how they truly felt about things, not just how courageous they were. Of course it would be in the restricted section, where all the really old books were kept, but it was worth a try. And being friends with the librarian couldn’t hurt.
Since Robbie was clearly getting restless, Della put down Magic in the Middle Ages and they read stories and played with her stuffed animals until she heard the boys clatter through the door from soccer practice, kicking their boots off in the hallway. They were arguing about something, and Robbie clamped his hands over his ears. He didn’t like arguments. Above the noise came her mother’s calm voice, “No fighting, boys. Use your words to sort it out.” In the same breath she called upstairs, “Supper, Della and Robbie. And please can you get Pickle off the table?”
“Coming,” Della yelled back down. Miss Barlow would be so impressed when she found out that Della had been doing some research on her own. Perhaps she’d come across one of Witch Dupree’s favorite spells and share it with the class. Or maybe, Della found herself hoping, she’d discover that their founder was actually terrified of dragons, or of flying in the dark, or of standing up to people, and didn’t always feel quite so confident on the inside.
Chapter Three
The Book of Spells
DELLA HAD PLANNED TO GET to school early the next day so she could go to the library before class. But by the time she had fed the bats, taken Flutter outside for a test flight (he made it halfway across the yard before heading right back to his box), and tried to get Pickle to drink more unicorn milk (which all took five times as long with Robbie helping), she was ten minutes late for her spells and charms lesson.
The second Della walked through the classroom door, music began playing and firework holograms shot into the air. The word “welcome” wrote itself across the room in purple and gold sparkles.
“How nice of you to join us,” Miss Dent said, ignoring Della’s surprise and gesturing for her to sit down.
“We’re learning about time-release spells,” Sophie whispered as Della slipped into her seat.
“Indeed we are,” Miss Dent said rather crisply. “And there will be a test on Monday, so pay attention, Miss Dupree.”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Della apologized, trying to figure out what had just happened.
“As I was saying, girls,” Miss Dent continued. “You can time a spell to start working at the exact moment of your choosing.” She pointed her wand at the door. “Like you just witnessed. I set my welcome spell to go off when the next person walked into the room. Which happened to be you, Miss Dupree.”
“Ahh.” Della nodded, suddenly understanding. She was still feeling rather fuzzy-headed and wished she’d had time to stop in at Poppy’s for a lemon poppy seed muffin.
“It’s very easy to do,” Miss Dent explained. “You just weave the time and date into your spell when you cast it.” The girls spent the rest of class setting up time-activated enchantments, so every few minutes someone turned invisible or a pencil case floated around the room, much to the amusement of year four.
“Practice for homework, please,” Miss Dent instructed over the bell.
As the girls trooped off to math, Della heard Melanie whisper to Cassie, “You know what I’m going to do? Send Katrin back to Iceland next Tuesday at midnight! She’d arrive in her woolly pajamas!” Some of the other girls laughed, and feeling uncomfortable, Della hurried away from Melanie, not wanting to be anywhere near her. She hoped Katrin hadn’t heard, but it was hard to tell, because Katrin was walking with her head down as usual.
Math was Della’s least-favorite subject, and, after being handed back a C-plus on a quiz and listening to Miss Heathcliff drone on about how to divide and multiply different amounts of potions, she was thrilled to be chosen as a messenger, missing the last few minutes of class.
“Please ask Mrs. Gibbons if she would kindly come up and fix this window as soon as possible,” Miss Heathcliff instructed, waving a hand in front of her face. “It’s like a furnace in here, and I cannot go another moment without air.”
Della nodded and leaped up, racing off before Miss Heathcliff could change her mind. After delivering the message to Mrs. Gibbons, the school caretaker, she went straight to the fortune-telling room to wait for the others to arrive. Thankfully, they were moving on from foot reading today (similar to palm reading but could tell you about your past). This was a huge relief to all the girls, because running your fingers over your partner’s sweaty feet was not exactly pleasant.
Walking into the room, Della noticed right away that the cabinet behind Ms. Randal’s desk stood open. This was where the time-travel amulets were kept, fossilized dragon’s eyes that hung from chains of moon gold and could take you wherever you wanted. None of the girls were allowed to go near the amulets without strict supervision from Ms. Randal, who once a year organized a prearranged field trip, often to Leonardo da Vinci’s study, because he had a strong fascination with time travel. But these excursions always took place at the end of the school year, so why was the cabinet open now?
A sudden movement caught her eye, and Della gave a startled gasp as the fortune-telling teacher appeared in front of her. She looked rather windswept with unusually pink cheeks and gray hair escaping from the two fat braids she always wore, giving her the appearance of a slightly haggard twelve-year-old. Ms. Randal’s eyes were glassy and unfocused, and when Della called her name, she didn’t seem to hear right away. Della stared at the fossilized dragon’s eye hanging around Ms. Randal’s neck, and she realized with a shock that their fortune-telling teacher had been time traveling.
“Della,” Ms. Randal murmured, her pink cheeks turning even pinker. She smoothed down her braids. “You’re—you’re early.”
“I had to take a message for Miss Heathcliff,” Della said, feeling uncomfortable.
“Oh dear, I—I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing?” Ms. Randal slipped off the necklace. Her voice wobbled a little, and her eyes were wet with tears. “Well, it’s my last time visiting. I told Tammy that, and he understands.”
“Your poodle Tammy?”
“I’ve been traveling back to his puppy days,” Ms. Randal confessed. “Mostly at night. Taking him for walks along the canal.”
“You have?”
“I have, and I know it has to stop.” Ms. Randal blew her nose. “So that’s where I was just now, telling Tammy good-bye.”
“Oh, Ms. Randal,” Della said, thinking that this was the most heartbreaking thing she’d ever heard.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Ms. Randal said stoically. She put the necklace back in the cupboard and shut the door with a firm click. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about this, Della.”
“Of course not,” Della said as the rest of the class burst in.
“Take your seats,” Ms. Randal called out, waiting for the girls to settle. When they were all at their desks, she pulled back her shoulders and announced, “Today we look forward. No more messing about in the past.” Della had a strong sense she was talking about herself here and not their foot gazing. “In single file, please come up, and I will hand you a crystal ball.”
“But no one uses them anymore,” Melanie said. “They’re so old-fashioned.”
“A Ruthersfield girl needs to know the basics,” Ms. Randal replied tartly, and for the next forty-five minutes Della learned how to hold, gaze into, and read a crystal ball.
“That was so boring and pointless,” Melanie complained after class as the girls poured into the corridor. “Most witches use mirror gazing or water predicting these days.”
“I bet they still use crystal balls in Iceland,” Cassie said.
“I bet they do.” Melanie giggled. “And knit nice little woolly covers for them.”
Katrin glanced over, and Della could see the hurt in her eyes. Some of the girls shuffled their feet uncomfortably, but no one spoke. You are so mean, Della yelled, although no one heard her, because the words never left her head.
“I’m going to the library,” Della murmured, hoping Katrin might follow her. Then she could say something nice to make up for Melanie’s meanness.
“Wait. Why?” Anna questioned. “It’s recess.”
“There’s a book I want to look at that might help me with the history homework.”
“You don’t know what you’re going to present yet?” Sophie said in astonishment.
“Well, I’m working on it.”
“But history is next,” Anna reminded her. “It’s right after recess.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve got to look at this book.”
“You mean The Book of Spells, I bet,” Melanie said, “because it has medieval enchantments and stuff on Witch Dupree in there.”
“I need some inspiration.” Della sighed, finding it hard to explain that she wanted to discover a special connection with Witch Dupree, something that would make her presentation stand out. “But I’ve no idea what I should do.”
“Well, I pretended I was writing a letter to one of my friends,” Sophie said. “Telling them how I go out at night to gather ingredients for my spells so no one sees me and gets suspicious.”
“Oh, that’s good. Mine’s a diary entry,” Samantha Perkins said. “I wrote about how I hav
e to do magic in secret, and how lonely I feel being a witch.”
“You don’t know Della Dupree was lonely,” Melanie butted in.
“I can imagine,” Samantha said. “Which is what Miss Barlow told us to do.”
“Anyway, Miss Dickenson won’t let you take that book out,” Cassie remarked. “We tried. Only year twelve girls can look at it.”
“Well, I’m still going to the library,” Della said. “Because either way I’ve got to present something, and at least I can concentrate there.”
The library was quiet, and a number of girls looked up in irritation as Della walked over to the checkout desk, her shoes squeaking noisily on the floor.
“Sorry,” she mouthed to the room.
“Della, how nice to see you,” Miss Dickenson the librarian said, leaning across the desk. “How’s Pickle doing?” They often discussed pets during library class.
“Still not eating much. I left him at home today.” Smiling at Miss Dickenson, Della inquired, “And how’s your cat doing? Has she had kittens yet?”
“Oh, aren’t you sweet to ask. Two days ago. Seven of them, and the most adorable bundles of fur you’ve ever seen.” Miss Dickenson whipped out her phone and started scrolling through it, holding it out so Della could see the pictures.
“They are adorable,” Della agreed, wondering how many photos there were. Recess was only twenty minutes. After about the seventy-fifth picture Della said, “Miss Dickenson, do you think I might have a quick look at The Book of Spells? I’m doing a project on Della Dupree for history, and I’m a bit stuck.” She put on her most beseeching face. “It’s so hard being named after the most famous witch in history, and I know Miss Barlow thinks my presentation should be brilliant.” Della gave a dramatic sigh.
Glancing around the room, Miss Dickenson murmured, “Well, I really shouldn’t. And you can’t take it out of the library, Della. But if it’s just a quick peek, and you’re very careful…”
“Oh, Miss Dickenson, you’re the best! I’m just looking for some inspiration. I really won’t be long.” Della glanced at the clock. “I can’t be long.” It was already 10:40. She only had ten minutes to spare.
