by Debi Gliori
Fourteen:
The Chin chills out
To her surprise, the Chin was having a wonderful time being fussed over by Mr Harukashi and his daughter. From the moment the child had introduced herself from the back seat of the car as they sped away from Arkon House, the Chin had been stunned. She’d had no idea that human children were so inquisitive. Within seconds of meeting the Chin, Yoshito Harukashi had locked eyes with her in the car’s rear-view mirror, and begun the Inquisition. Did she like fish? Which fish was her favourite? Did she like swimming? Pool, river or sea? What was her favourite colour? Season? Word? Food? Book? Animal? And without pausing once for breath, the tiny eight-year-old girl began to worm her way into the heavily guarded fortress of the Chin’s affections.
Being grilled nonstop for answers made the Chin feel as if she’d been turned into a piece of furniture; like a chest of drawers through which someone was having a good rummage, hunting for a stray sock. It wasn’t in the least unpleasant, but the Chin realized that she had to be very careful not to give away anything too important. Like the fact she was a WITCH, for instance . . . So not a whisper about magic, broomstick or spells. Not so much as a squeak about Witch Baby. Fixing a pleasant smile across her face, the Chin tried her best to stay afloat in the flood of questions. Finally, when she was sure that Yoshito had asked her every possible question, and some impossible ones as well, Hare slowed down and swung the car into the driveway of his house. He leaped out and came round to open the door for his guest of honour.
In the few seconds when the Chin and Yoshito were alone, the little girl said urgently, ‘Excuse me, Miss Chin, for asking so many questions, but I must find out who you really are.’
The Chin’s eyes widened. What? In a panic, she began to scrabble at the catch on her seatbelt, but Yoshito continued, ‘I only wish for my papa to be happy. He thinks that you are a sweet and kind old lady, but you and I, well – we know differently, don’t we?’
‘Pardon?’ the Chin gasped, inwardly thinking, HELP. The child knows I’m a witch. Mayday, mayday, AOOoOGARGH, while managing to squeak, ‘Whatever do you take me for?’
Yoshito smiled happily and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, Miss Chin, you don’t have to pretend with me. I think you’re our fairy godmother!’
The Chin blinked rapidly. What on earth? Before she could reply, Hare Harukashi opened the passenger door and helped her clamber out.
‘I think my little Yoshi has really taken to you, Miss Chin.’
Are you kidding? the Chin thought. Your daughter just ate me alive. If I survive the evening, it’ll be a miracle worthy of a fairy godmother.
Hare Harukashi was beaming at the Chin, obviously delighted with how well the evening was progressing. ‘Come, my dear Miss Chin, welcome to our little home.’ And proudly, Hare ushered his guest inside.
Hare turned out to be not only a wonderful host but an excellent cook as well. After a delicious supper of fish cunningly carved into rectangles and covered with tiny orange crumbs (‘Delighted you like them, Miss Chin. Fish fingers are Yoshi’s favourite’) and potatoes he’d cleverly transformed into golden, crisp batons (‘I cannot believe you have never eaten a chip before, dear lady’), the Chin settled back into a comfy chair and sipped at a cup of tea. She could hardly remember an evening that she’d enjoyed as much as this. Despite Yoshito’s endless questions, she was so relaxed that she felt as if she were about to melt into a little puddle of contentment. All she’d had to do was be pleasant; in return, the Harukashis had treated her as if she were the funniest, cleverest, most beautiful and precious person ever to walk the earth. If this was what being a fairy godmother was all about, the Chin thought sleepily, then perhaps it was time for a career change. She was happily daydreaming about her new, improved self: the frothy petticoats, the sparkly tiaras, the gossamer wings— When abruptly the dream came to an end.
The doorbell rang, and excusing herself, Yoshito ran downstairs to answer it.
‘Ah, that will be Yoshi’s guests,’ Mr Harukashi said, refilling the Chin’s cup with tea.
‘Children?’ she asked, her voice emerging as a hoarse squawk. If she had her way as a fairy godmother, she’d turn all the children in Scotland except Yoshito into pumpkins.
‘From the school,’ Hare explained, adding, ‘Lovely children. Lily and Vivaldi. Yoshi talks about them all the time . . .’
Inside the Chin’s brain, alarm bells were sounding. Lily and Vivaldi? The Blue Moon girls? This was bad. This was very, very bad indeed. In fact, this was a complete disaster.
What to do? If the Blue Moon girls saw her, especially tonight, with all that extra Halloween magic around, they might recognize that she was a WITCH; then they might find out where she lived and that would be the end of the Sisters of HiSS living in peace at Arkon House. The Chin’s eyes swivelled from side to side as she tried to think how she could avoid being found out. She could throw a memory-fog spell, but when you’re trying to disguise the fact that you’re a witch, throwing spells at Halloween was a Very Bad Idea. Halloween tended to magnify the effect if you didn’t pay attention to what you were doing. Besides, the Chin realized that she’d forgotten the exact words of the memory-fog spell. Was it a ram or a rom after the tiddly-pom?
She groaned out loud. What to do? She could simply vanish, but she suspected that Hare and Yoshito would be terribly upset, and might even come looking for her, all the way back to Arkon House – and who knew what mischief the Nose and the Toad might have got up to in her absence? The Chin shuddered. All of a sudden she wanted to go home. Just to check that everything was all right. To make sure that her Sisters weren’t hurling the best china at each other . . .
Talking of which . . . suddenly the Chin had an idea. Not the best idea she’d ever had, but it would have to do. She reached for her teacup, and waiting till Mr Harukashi’s attention was elsewhere, she deliberately dropped it in her lap.
‘AAAAarrrrggghhHHHH!’ she yelled; then, for good measure, ‘OoOOyeeeowwwwouch!’ And to make sure that Mr Harukashi got the message, she stood up, slipped on the wet floor, skidded across the living room and fell into the log basket with a despairing wail. There. That ought to do it.
Fifteen:
The pesky bat mobile
If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to have wings, I can tell you. It feels like wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhheeeeeeee. No sooner had I discovered that I was mysteriously covered in silky black fur and attached to a huge leathery cape than I began falling backwards down Yoshito’s stairs.
I put my hands out to save myself and . . . yyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaoooowwww!
I took off. Wow. WoW. How amazing is that? I’ve dreamed about being able to do this, but really flying is absolutely the best thing ever. With one effortless flap I soar up to the ceiling and circle round; then I take a deep breath, and holding my leathery wings close to my body, I dive down, faster and faster and faster till my eyes are streaming and everything is a blur; and then, at the last second, I unfurl my wings and swoop up, up, up again. Oh, YESSSSSSS. This is the best magic spell Daisy has ever done.
Fluttering and flapping around me are Daisy, Vivaldi and Yoshito; all four of us now turned into bats, thanks to my little sister and her witchy ways. Trust me, when people say that their wee sisters are driving them batty, they have no idea what they’re talking about. I hope Vivaldi and Yoshito aren’t too freaked out by what Daisy has done to them, but judging by the loop-the-loops and mid-air somersaults they’re doing, they can’t be too upset. After a while we all fly up to one of the lanterns and hang upside down from it to catch our breath.
Being a bat is brilliant. I’m just about to launch myself into the air again when I see Yoshito madly flapping to get my attention. What? What’s wrong? Yoshito points with a wing to where, far below, her dad is ushering an old lady into the bathroom. The door closes behind her and Mr Harukashi returns to the living room.
Fortunately he didn’t look up and see us. We’re all cli
nging to a lantern and trying to make ourselves as invisible as possible. This is because not everyone welcomes free-range bats in their houses, even for Halloween. Time to go, I think. Time to continue the search for WayWoof. I edge closer to Daisy and flap to get her attention.
‘Come on, Squirt. Time to change us back so that we can carry on looking for . . . um . . . carry on our search for . . . er . . . to find Things We Might Have Lost.’* This is what I meant to say, but what came out was a series of high-pitched squeaks: ‘Eeeek – – eee – ee-ee-eeEEEEe-e-e-e-e.’
Help. This isn’t fair. Daisy-as-a-bat can speak in normal Human, but apparently I can’t. I try again.
‘Come on, Daze. Not funny. Change us back, eh? We’ve got things to do, houses to check, er . . . chocolate to earn?’
It’s no good. I’m squeaking, not speaking.
Daisy, the baggage, peers at me and says, ‘Not lissnin’, Lil. What say? Eee? Eeeeh?’ And she dissolves into giggles before flapping off downstairs and back up again, which is like a bat going Nya-nya-nee-nyaa-na. Aaaaaargh. Did I mention how stubborn Daisy can be? At this rate we could be stuck here all night until my WITCH of a sister decides she’s had enough of this spell.
Then, just when I think it can’t get any worse, from somewhere deep in Vivaldi’s fur, an alarm begins to ring. With a dismayed squeak she plucks something out from under her wing. It’s her mobile phone, shrunk to the right size for a bat to use, should a bat wish to make phone calls. However, mobile keypads aren’t designed for bats, and no matter what Vivaldi does, she can’t make the alarm shut up. To our horror, it’s one of those alarms that grows louder and louder, the longer they’re left to ring. AAAARRRRGH. It now sounds like a fire alarm, but even though all three of us poke and slap and even bite the phone, we aren’t able to silence the din. We flutter down to land on one of the glass stair treads and take turns jumping up and down on the keypad, but still the phone keeps ringing. This is rapidly turning into a total NIGHTMARE. If we don’t find a way to turn it off, Yoshito’s dad is going to come out of the living room to find out what on earth is going on. I feel like I’m in the middle of a very bad dream* that will end with Yoshito’s dad discovering that not only has he got four bats in his house, but they’ve brought their own shriek-alarm.
Fortunately, while I’ve been unable to think of a single thing to save us, Vivaldi’s brain has been working overtime. She takes her mobile, holds it out over the central stairwell, then deliberately drops it down all three flights, shrieking all the way (the phone, that is, not Vivaldi).
There’s a tiny crash . . . then blissful silence. I’m so impressed, I start clapping, which is when I realize I have hands, not wings. So do Daisy, Yoshito and Vivaldi. Spell over.
Then Daisy says, All gone. Poo phone. All boken.’
And it is. We run down to the bottom of the stairs to check, but the phone is in pieces. Vivaldi heaves a sigh as we help her gather up the bits, but then she manages to smile.
‘It was worth it. I loved being a bat.’
Yoshito looks bemused. ‘Did I just dream that I was flying?’ She rubs her eyes and stretches out her arms as wide as they can go. ‘So . . . weird. When we were running up and downstairs, I almost felt as if I had wings . . . as if I was a bat . . .’
I freeze. What can I say? Well, yes. You did have wings. Actually, Yoshito, you were turned into a bat by my little sister who, you may be surprised to learn, is a witch? No. I don’t think so. I stare at Vivaldi, willing her to say something – anything – to change the subject, but for once Vivaldi seems to have run out of words. In the end it’s Daisy who bridges the awkward silence.
‘Dunna poo, Lil-Lil,’ she mutters, then adds with unnecessary relish, ‘Wipe my bum-bum.’
AAAAARRRRGH. Time to go home. Time to hand my little sister back to her ever-loving, bottom-laundering parents. Time to hit the road.
It isn’t until the three of us are back outside in the darkness, our bag of Halloween loot enlarged by the addition of three fish-shaped chocolate bars and a box of After Eights, that Daisy demonstrates how terrifically useful magic can be.
‘Lookit, Lil-Lil,’ she says, digging her hands under the waistband of her nappy. ‘Notta poo now.’
I take several rapid steps backwards, just in case she’s wrong, or I misheard her, or—
Daisy is pulling handfuls of white fluff from her nappy. Heaps and heaps of it, as if she were a soft toy with its stuffing coming out. How weird is this? And what on earth—
‘Not dunna poo, Lil-Lil,’ Daisy squeals, obviously delighted at her own wit. ‘Dunna woo. Woo, woo. Baa baa back seep, havva bitta WOOOOOOOO,’ and then she laughs so hard she has to sit down.
Oh, sigh. Still, better a woo than a poo, any day.
Oh, double sigh. I cannot believe I just thought that.
* Clever, eh? Notice that I didn’t mention WayWoof by name.
* One of those awful ones where you’re being chased by the slavering, terrifying Beast of Boggart Moor and you’re running flat out, gasping for breath, stumbling though deep puddles, wading through sticky swamps with brambles and thorns ripping at your legs, and you turn to check that the B of BM isn’t gaining on you. It is. And as it turns its awful stare upon you . . . you’re paralysed. Unable to move a muscle. Well and truly stuck. Standing there, frozen, with your mouth open for all time in an awful silent scream . . . because you are about to become breakfast, lunch and dinner for the B of BM, which will shudder to a stop in front of you, its wide slobbery mouth open in a grin of sheer delight, its ragged claws reaching out to – I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
Sixteen:
The fairly oddmother
The Chin waited until she was sure that Mr Harukashi had returned to the living room before she dared open the bathroom door as much as a whisker’s width. When the small bat fluttered past her line of vision, she shut the door at once. Being a witch herself, she immediately realized that the bat was a magically altered girl; and not just any girl, but a Blue Moon one. Hissing furiously to herself, she considered her options.
Escape via the door was now out of the question, thanks to those pestilential Blue Moon brats. Turning in a circle, the Chin saw that she couldn’t have chosen a worse room from which to plan her escape. The bathroom was tiny, and in place of where a window should be, there was only an extractor fan. Inwardly cursing the penny-pinching builder who had built this windowless witch-trap, the Chin sat on the toilet to work out what on earth to do next. Obviously she couldn’t remain in the bathroom for too much longer or Mr Harukashi would smell a rat . . .
A rat. That was it! Perfect. And, with a bit of clever tweaking, both Yoshito and her father would be charmed. Moments later, the Chin was ready. She’d written a thank-you letter on the bathroom mirror with soap: and placed one of her shoes in the sink underneath. Hoping that she’d remembered the spell correctly,* the Chin closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Two seconds later, a small brown rat scuttled across the bathroom floor, vaulted onto the toilet seat, clasped its front paws together and performed a perfect swan-dive straight down the U-bend.
*
‘Thank heavens Yoshito didn’t ask any more questions about wings, bats or whatever,’ Vivaldi said as we crossed the Harukashis’ garden. ‘I have no idea how we got away with Daisy turning all of us into bats.’
Phew. That was the closest Daisy has ever come to blowing her cover. The scary thing is that she couldn’t care less who finds out that she can do magic. She is quite happy to let the whole world know that she’s a WITCH. I look at her, but she’s not paying any attention to Vivaldi and me, because she’s fascinated by the Harukashis’ fish-shaped pool, which is flickering with tiny flames. As we draw closer, we can see that the flames belong to hundreds of tea-lights: little candles set on small flower-shaped rafts which float in a pool of darkness.
‘Ahhhhh,’ Daisy says, her eyes growing wide, and then, with no warning, she changes into a lit pumpkin lantern.
She turns out not to be too heavy, and she’s thoughtfully included her hairband as a kind of lantern handle, so Vivaldi and I take turns carrying her. Daisy glows merrily in our arms, lighting our way through the woods and across a boggy field which Vivaldi assures me is a brilliant short cut to the next houses.
It is neither brilliant nor short. It’s wet, cold and full of deep boggy bits. Even with the feeble light from Daisy the Pumpkin, it’s too dark to see where I’m putting my feet. Somebody way off in the distance is letting off fireworks, as if they can’t wait for Guy Fawkes in five days’ time. Every so often there’s a huge KABOOOM and the night sky is lit by a dazzling flash of light.
Vivaldi splashes on ahead, making enthusiastic noises to encourage me to keep going. ‘This is GREAT!’ she lies. ‘Every time I come here, I imagine a huge dinosaur is going to loom out of the mist or a monster rise up out of the bog or . . .’
Thanks, Vivaldi, for that happy thought. I’m now walking a lot faster to avoid being a late-night snack for the Beast of the Boggy Short Cut.
KABOOOM!
Squish, squelch, schloop, I go, slithering and staggering through thick mud and over tussocks which I can only see when there’s a flash from the fireworks.
KABOOOM!
Squish, squelch, schloop.
‘Is it much further?’ I wail as I sink up to my knees in cold mud. YEEEURCHHH.
Vivaldi doesn’t answer, just plods on determinedly, and I have no choice but to follow, Daisy growing heavier with each footstep.
