Witch Twins Series

by Adele Griffin

  And Miss Daphne Bly was looking very mischievous, indeed.

  What was that pesky lass up to?

  Once Mac left, Claire found out.

  “Oh, Claire! All morning, Daphne has been telling me such terrible things about the history of Glenn Bly!” Luna wailed. “So many wars and tortures. Tell her, Daphne. Tell Claire some of your stories.”

  “Just the usual rot,” said Daphne as she eyed Claire. “Battles, bloodshed, and beheadings.”

  Claire shrugged. She did not scare as easily as her twin. “All castles have gory ancient histories.-”

  “True enough, American Claire,” Daphne admitted, “but I’ve saved the worst for last.”

  “Daphne says Glenn Bly is haunted by a fierce and evil ogre,” Luna gasped. “I knew it! I knew there was a real baddie lurking.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard about the ogre yesterday. But what I want to know is, where is he now?” Claire asked.

  “Oh, everywhere and anywhere,” Daphne answered.

  “Ever seen him?”

  “Yes, but not recently.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Hunchback, slimy, bit of a purplish gash on his eyeball.”

  “What does he eat?”

  “Wild mushrooms and little dogs.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Bloatus.”

  “How’d you know his name?” Claire asked. “Did he tell you? Have you spoken to him?”

  At so many questions, Daphne clammed up.

  “Or maybe...your Bloatus is bogus,” Claire accused.

  “I’m not a liar!” Daphne retorted, her cheeks flaming pink. “Bloatus is real, and he’s dreadful! He watches over my grandfather and me, but he despises everyone else. I’m quite surprised he hasn’t tried to scare you by now!” She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you didn’t hear Bloatus last night, jangling and clinking his bloody spiked chain?”

  Claire exchanged a look with her twin. Yes, they had heard a jangling, all right. But it had turned out to be the not-at-all spooky jingle-jangling of puny Percival Quilty.

  “I’ve got an idea. Let’s go horseback riding and see if we can find Bloatus anywhere. Then Luna and I’ll decide if we’re scared of him or not,” challenged Claire.

  Daphne looked startled. Then firm. “Very well. I’ll go put on my riding clothes,” she said, and she flounced out of the kitchen.

  Once the twins were alone, Claire noticed that over her jeans, Luna was wearing a long, white, lacy something-or-other.

  “Loon! What nutty outfit have you got on now?”

  “Don’t tell Mom,” answered Luna, “but it’s her special holiday tablecloth. I thought it would be pretty as a skirt. Sort of romantic and olden days-ish.”

  Claire shook her head at her sister. “I won’t tell, if you lend me some of your clothes. I forgot to pack some stuff.”

  “I knew it!” Now it was Luna’s turn to shake her head at her sister.

  After a quick shower and a change back into her same clothes from yesterday (with fresh socks and underwear that she borrowed from Luna) Claire was ready for riding.

  Mac and Daphne were already at the stables waiting for them. Daphne was dressed in full riding gear, in special riding pants and long boots.

  Show-off, thought Claire.

  Mac had saddled up the horses.

  “Daphne has the most riding experience, so shell take T.J.,” Mac decided. “Claire, I think you ought to try Dooley. He’s frisky, but he responds well to your command. And for you Luna, here is Paloma. She’s gentle as a dove.”

  Claire hoisted herself up onto chestnut-brown, sturdy Dooley. Her witch-smarts clicked instantly with the horse. (Most witches have a pretty good understanding of animal moods.)

  T.J. was a black pony with white markings and a hot temper, but Daphne swung up as if she had been riding him for years.

  Claire glanced over at Luna. She seemed glad to be on sleepy Paloma, a mare that did not look as if she would be moving faster than a tricycle.

  Daphne high-stepped T.J. in a circle, showing off. She was the only Scottish lass Claire had ever met, but she certainly was irritating.

  But Claire knew how to irritate, too.

  “We’re off to see the ogre,” Claire sang under her breath, just loud enough for Daphne to hear. “The wonderful ogre of Bly.”

  “Don’t go too far or fast.” Mac gave his granddaughter a meaningful look. “Daphne, I’m trusting you to keep pace with Paloma.”

  “Shall do!” Daphne clicked the reins. She signaled for the twins to follow her.

  In the morning cold, the fog was as thick as chowder, but the fields were open and flat, perfect for a leisurely ride.

  “Let’s head for the hills,” Claire suggested.

  “Let’s go around the orchard,” suggested Daphne.

  They both looked at Luna to be the tiebreaker.

  “Orchard,” said Luna.

  Daphne smirked.

  Claire scowled. Her twin’s politeness always got in the way of fun.

  “Before the Battle of Sodden Field destroyed them, wild strawberry patches grew all along these meadows,” explained Daphne with a sweep of her hand. “Glenn Bly was famous for its strawberries. People served them in everything. Strawberry salad, strawberry mashed potatoes, strawberry sauce on strawberry shepherd’s pie. In fact, the Bly coat of arms is a giant strawberry.”

  “Your family has its own coat of arms?” asked Luna.

  “Of course,” said Daphne airily. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  Claire gritted her teeth.

  They trotted through the orchard and over a low bridge that crossed a brook. “I’m fairly sure that this is where Bloatus lives,” said Daphne as she stopped T.J. on the bridge and peered down into the water’s dark depths. “He might not show himself this morning, but you soon will feel his presence. I just hope you don’t feel his awful, angry wrath! Let me try to summon him.”

  Her face pinched in concentration.

  Soon came the faint sound of jingle-clink.

  “Aha! Hear that? That is Bloatus’s war call!” said Daphne. She frowned as she looked at the twins. “Aren’t you even a wee bit scared?”

  “That depends on who’s scaring us.” Claire sniffed the telltale scent of strawberries. She had a hunch that whoever was on the other end of the jingle-clink was not too scary. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she sang.

  From behind a cypress tree, Sir Percival Quilty appeared on his silver steed. Although he seemed less scrawny now that he was saddled on his ghostly horse, Percival did not fit the description of an awful ogre. As he approached the bridge, Claire saw that he held his amulet between his fingers, and was jingling it so hard that his tongue was sticking out from the effort.

  Daphne was still looking down at the water. She could hear the jingle-clink, but she could not see Sir Percival. “Yes,” she said, pointing down, “the noise is coming from under the bridge.”

  Claire popped open her eyes and pretended to chatter her teeth, making a fake scared expression for Luna, who laughed. Percival saw Claire’s phony frightened face, too.

  “Do not insult me, ye doubting twins,” snapped Percival. “’Tis plenty scarier if ye cannot see me or hear my voice! Then ye have to use your imagination, like the damsel Daphne.”

  From the look on her face, Daphne seemed to be using a huge amount of imagination. And Claire could bet that Daphne had imagined something far worse than Sir Percival.

  When Percival reached up and snapped a few twigs off the tree, Daphne gasped.

  “Did you hear the crackle of breaking bones?” Her eyes rounded. “It’s said that the ogre Bloatus slaughtered fifty men in a single day. Aren’t you scared?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m scared,” said Luna politely.

  “You are?” asked Daphne.

  “No, ye are not! And I have had enough of you, you impertinent, identical witch twins!” grumbled Percival. “I am off. Heigh-ho, Duncan!” With that, Perciv
al tapped his horse’s flanks and, turning from the bridge, lightly spurred him off.

  “Wait!” Claire picked up her reins and clicked Dooley into a gallop. She clattered over the bridge in quick pursuit of the ghost.

  “Claire!” yelled Daphne. “Where are you going?” She started to give chase.

  “Daphne, n-o-o-o! Mac said you had to stay with me and Paloma!” cried Luna. “I don’t want to be all alone on the bridge at the mercy of this wild horse.”

  “Oh, brother!” exclaimed Daphne. “Paloma is about as wild as a bowl of soup.” But she turned her horse to stay with Luna.

  Good, thought Claire. She needed to speak to the ghost knight in private. “Wait up, Percival!” she cried as she caught up to his side.

  “Go away, thou witch,” said Percival.

  “I’m sorry,” said Claire. “I didn’t mean to laugh at your haunting.”

  “Contrary to what thou mightest think,” said Percival stiffly, “I have been rather good at haunting the castle till now. I even got a nice mention in the Spookiest Scottish Castles Tour Guide Book.” He shrugged. “Alas, witches must be harder to scare. Of which clan art thou?”

  “Bramblewine.”

  The knight crooked his eyebrow. “Art thou up to mischief? The Bramblewine witches are famous for their four-star pranks.”

  “I’m not up to four stars yet,” Claire admitted. Then she quickly changed the subject. “Percival, why are you haunting Glenn Bly?” she asked. “I mean, a ghost can’t be good for a bed-and-breakfast. There’s even a sign posted out front that says ‘Glenn Bly Welcomes You.’ How can guests feel welcome if they’re also being haunted?”

  Sir Percival seemed to think about that. “My knightly duty is to protect Glenn Bly as best I can,” he said. “The castle is in danger. That is all I know. Now I must be off. Next time, witch girl, thou ought to act more scared, even if it is only pretend. ’Tis rude to laugh at a ghost.”

  With that, he vanished into the mist.

  Claire watched him with envy. In her Little Book of Shadows, Vanishing into Mist was a four-star-level spell.

  She trotted back to the others.

  “American Claire, do you always run off to have conversations with yourself?” asked Daphne as they wound the horses back toward the castle.

  “Not always. But sometimes,” Claire answered honestly.

  “Well, it’s very rude,” said Daphne.

  Claire did not answer. She was getting used to people telling her she was rude.

  As they came closer to the castle, Daphne slowed T.J. to a stop. The reins went slack in her hands.

  “Oh, no,” she breathed.

  “Oh, no, who?” asked Luna.

  “Oh, no, where?” asked Claire.

  “Oh, no, that.” Daphne pointed. “That big, silver car in the middle of the front lawn. The notorious Rolls-Royce.”

  Now both twins caught sight of the large luxury car parked smack in the middle of the castle’s front lawn.

  “Whose notorious silver Rolls-Royce?” asked Claire.

  Claire saw that Daphne’s face had become rather pale. “The notorious silver Rolls-Royce of Lord and Lady Shrillingbird,” said Daphne. “The dreadful owners of Glenn Bly.”

  5

  The Shrillingbirds

  ACCORDING TO DAPHNE, LORD and Lady Shrillingbird were the pickiest, grouchiest, complaining-est couple in all of Scotland. Flowers sagged and soufflés flopped in their presence. Cats growled. Dogs hid. Nothing was ever good enough for the Shrillingbirds. They hated everything.

  Especially things that matched or came in pairs.

  “That’s why I expect they’ll hate twins most of all. So when they’re mean to you, don’t pay them any mind,” Daphne warned after she, Luna, and Claire had unsaddled, watered, and brushed down the horses before heading from the stables toward the castle.

  “Okay, but why are they here in the first place?” asked Luna. She was already nervous about meeting the Shrillingbirds. Her tablecloth skirt had become a little bit muddy during the riding, and her face was slightly sweaty.

  “Because they know my grandfather will serve them a free lunch,” Daphne explained. “Even though they’ve got heaps of pounds, they’re too cheap to go to a restaurant.”

  Luna nodded knowledgeably. She knew that a Scottish pound meant money. It was similar to an American dollar. What Daphne meant by heaps of pounds was not that the Shrillingbirds were super-fatties, but super-rich.

  “Chin up,” said Daphne as they marched through the castle doors.

  But poor Daphne seemed less like her normal self, Luna thought. From the moment she’d caught sight of the silver Rolls-Royce, her sly good humor had disappeared. Now her chin was up and her eyes looked bright and blinky as if she might even cry.

  The Shrillingbirds were seated in the grand dining hall, at a table that could have served twenty people on one side and twenty people on the other. Lord Shrillingbird sat at the foot, carefully eating a steak with a fork and knife. Lady Shrillingbird sat at the head, sloppily drinking broth from a bowl. Some of the broth was running down her chin.

  Mac was serving them lunch. His face was rosy from so many trips up and down, up and down, from one end of the table and back again. The Shrillingbirds did not seem to notice.

  “More lemonade,” shrilled Lady Shrillingbird.

  “Pass the salt,” shrilled Lord Shrillingbird.

  “Right-o,” wheezed Mac. “Hullo, girls. Daphne, would you be a love and help me serve the toffee cake for Lady S, and the plum pudding for Lord S?”

  “Certainly, Grandpop,” said Daphne, and she followed Mac into the kitchen, leaving the twins alone with the Shrillingbirds.

  Luna looked the Shrillingbirds up and down, then down and up.

  Lady Shrillingbird was very, very red and square as a small brick.

  Lord Shrillingbird was very, very gray and round as a large stone.

  Both of them had been preoccupied with their lunches, but as soon as both Shrillingbirds caught sight of Luna and Claire, they let out identical screams.

  “Ew! Disgusting! Twins!” they cried in unison. Then they glared across the table at each other.

  “My lord, don’t copy what I say,” said Lady Shrillingbird.

  “In this instance, my lady, you copied what I said,” said Lord Shrillingbird.

  Lady Shrillingbird sniffed. “We hate anything that comes in pairs or matched sets,” she told Luna. “Especially matching bedside table lamps, or matched socks, or matched earrings. Get it? No match.” She shook her head, so that Luna could see she wore a diamond stud earring in one ear, and a swinging plastic yellow daisy earring in the other ear.

  “Get it? No match.” Lord Shrillingbird flutter-kicked his feet out from under the table. He was wearing one red polka-dotted sock, and one flowered sock with a ruffle.

  “We also hate rhymes,” continued Lady Shrillingbird. “Because a rhyme is a word match. But matching people are worst of all. Do your names rhyme, you repulsive twins?”

  “I’m Luna,” said Luna.

  “And I’m Tuna,” said Claire.

  The Shrillingbirds gaped in horror. Luna cut a look at her sister, who wrinkled her nose witchishly.

  Daphne and Mac swung out of the kitchen. Daphne shoved a plate of toffee cake in front of Lady Shrillingbird, while Mac served Lord Shrillingbird his plum pudding.

  “Overall, my lunch was too tough and bitter,” announced Lady Shrillingbird.

  “Specifically, my steak was mushy, had too many hot spices, and left an aftertaste that coated my tongue as if I’d been licking mold,” said Lord Shrillingbird.

  “I’m sorry about your lunches,” stammered Mac.

  “Luckily, we’re staying through the weekend,” said Lady Shrillingbird. “So we shall allow you to prepare more meals. Perhaps you’ll have better luck next time.”

  “Through the weekend?” repeated Daphne faintly.

  Lord and Lady Shrillingbird ignored her. Lady Shrillingbird turned to her
husband. “Now then, my lord, let’s walk around our castle. I’ve got some divine decorating suggestions for when we move in. And after our walk, well have a nap in the Peacock Chamber.”

  “Isn’t that our grandparents’ room?” asked Claire.

  Lord and Lady Shrillingbird ignored her.

  “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like our second home!” sang Lord Shrillingbird.

  The Shrillingbirds gulped their desserts in a couple of bites, then pranced out of the dining room arm in arm, leaving a messy trail of crumbs behind.

  “Are the Shrillingbirds planning to move into your castle?” exclaimed Luna.

  Mac nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so. I had to sell Glenn Bly to the Shrillingbirds a few years ago because I couldn’t afford the steep castle taxes. Now we run the bed-and-breakfast business and pay them rent. For a while, the situation worked fine. That is, until the Shrillingbirds decided to sell their bungalow in Baja, their salon in Singapore, and their manor in Monte Carlo. Recently, they’ve decided this place would make a nice holiday castle.”

  Mac glanced sidelong at his granddaughter. “I never imagined the Shrillingbirds would want to live in a crumbling castle. But they are such unpleasant company, I’m afraid that they would be terribly difficult to share this space with. Daphne and I would most likely have to move.”

  Daphne, her chin up, did not answer. Instead, she stacked the Shrillingbirds’ dirty plates and cups and swept out of the dining room without a word. Then came the sound of a giant clattering and bashing as Daphne dumped the dishes in the sink.

  “Poor lass,” said Mac. “She has lived through her ups and downs, but Glenn Bly is the only home she’s ever known. Now, girls, leave the cleanup to us. I need to go cheer my granddaughter.”

  “Sure, Mac,” said the twins.

  Quietly, they stole upstairs to Elderberry Chamber.

  “I feel sorry for Daphne,” said Luna. “We’ve lived through our ups and downs, too. But we’ve only lived them in one place, good old Twenty-two Locust Street. And no awful people are looking to crowd us out.”

  “It not a crumbling castle with a goofy ghost,” said Claire, “but I love-love-love our home.”

  “Even if you can hear Justin practice Hacky Sack through the wall,” Luna mentioned.