10:30 – 11:30Math & Arithmancy
11:30 – 12:30Lunch and Recess --
12:30 – 1:30Thaumaturgy
1:30 – 2:30Arts & Crafts
2:30 Dismissal
Endsday
No School
She shook her head in confusion. Headmistress Pteria noticed this. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Master Augustus will guide you through it. Now, allow me to escort you to your classes.”
Max looked up from his schedule, a silly grin on his face. “I can hardly wait!” Millie felt the same smile on her own face. She lifted her hands to cover her mouth, then stopped. It felt right, smiling here. And no one objected to Max’s dimples.
Headmistress Pteria led them first up the spiral staircase to a small class with about eighteen raucous younger students. Millie spotted Petunia in there, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she pored over a faintly glowing slate. Mistress Numina, a middle-aged wyvern of a delicate pink shade, hurried over and greeted Max, drawing him into the classroom.
“Come, Millie,” said Pteria. “Let’s take you to your class.”
They went further up the staircase to a higher branch. Millie was dismayed to see that most of the students in this rather large class were younger than her. Pixies and goblins chased each other around the room, while young brownies clustered around a map of the Enchanted Forest, placing pins in specific locations.
Master Augustus turned out to be a chestnut faun in a neatly tailored waistcoat and the green teachers’ cap with spectacles perched at the end of his pointed nose. “A new student! How exciting!” he exclaimed. “Welcome to our class, Millie.”
“A word, Augustus?” Pteria asked.
“Oh, certainly, Headmistress,” Master Augustus replied, bobbing a little bow. “Millie, you can leave your things in this empty cubby here. Then why don’t you head over to the book nook and make yourself comfortable until I call for you?”
“Yes, Master,” Millie said politely. She placed her cauldron and hat in the cubby alongside a bewildering array of outer clothing and lunch boxes and buckets, then headed to the corner she’d already spied, the one full of scrolls and books.
There were two other students seated in the book nook, a young fairy with fluttering orange wings and a leprechaun boy. Both children were completely absorbed in their books and ignored Millie, which was something of a relief.
Millie turned to the bookshelves. There were dozens — no, hundreds of books here that she’d never seen or heard of. Most of the books in her house were spellbooks, books of witch history and heritage, dictionaries, and her many cookbooks. The shelves here had nothing but books for children, written in good, familiar Canto, rather than English or Elvish or High Mystery. The Polite Sasquatch. The Dragon’s Handkerchief. Letitia’s Letters. Don’t Give an Ogre an Orange.
Millie liked the sound of that last one, so she pulled it out, sat on the floor, and began to read. The book was clearly intended for much younger children, but it was so whimsical and funny that Millie loved it. She read it right through and went looking for another. And another. And another. When Master Augustus called all the students to gather in a circle, Millie had a small pile of books around her.
“My twining ivy, Millie!” Master Augustus said. “Headmistress Pteria told me your reading skills were good, but I think she rather underestimated you. Please put these away and come join us.”
Hastily, Millie put the books back, more or less where she’d found them, and walked over to Master Augustus. Most of her classmates were sitting in a ring on a wide rug. A few latecomers ran up and scooted into place. Millie hesitated, wondering where she should sit.
“Remain standing, Millie,” Master Augustus said. “Class, we have a new student today. This is Ludmilla Noctmartis, but she likes to be called Millie.”
“Hello, Millie,” the students chorused.
“Now, would you please introduce yourselves, starting with Poppin?”
“Hi, I’m Poppin!” said a young brownie girl in a pretty pink frock. Next to her, a goblin boy cried, “Hi, I’m Snot-Nose!”
“Snorri, that’s inappropriate,” Augustus corrected.
“It’s what my mum calls me,” Snorri declared, and everyone giggled.
“Hi, Millie,” said the goblin sitting next to him. “I’m Grumpkin, but you already knew that.” He sneered at her.
Millie’s lunch turned to stone in her stomach. Grumpkin would make her life miserable, she just knew it. Two more names went by while she fought down her panic, and then Millie heard another familiar voice. She glanced up and met Sagara’s eyes.
A smile spread across Millie’s face. “Hi, Sagara!” she said. For just a second, Millie thought she saw Sagara smile back.
The rest of the names went by in a blur. Millie was so happy to have a friend in class that she spent most of the introductions beaming happily at Sagara. At the end, everyone chorused, “Welcome, Millie.”
“Millie, this period is usually when we discuss Enchanted Forest cultures,” Master Augustus said. “Since you are the first witch to attend this school, could you tell us a little about witches and what they do?”
Millie froze. “Um, sure, I g-guess. What do you want to know?”
Instantly, half a dozen students raised their hands. Master Augustus pointed to a pale green imp in a frilly blue dress. “Allie?”
“What kind of magic do witches do?” Allie asked.
Millie twisted her hands. “W-well, we do all kinds of magic but mostly enchantments, charms, and potions. My m-m-mother is a healer,” she said slowly, still getting used to the idea, “so she makes a lot of healing potions.”
“Snorri?” Master Augustus pointed at the young goblin.
Snorri grabbed his ankles, rocking back and forth. “I thought witches mostly did curses and hexes,” he said.
“Well, sometimes,” Millie said. “Curses and hexes are just types of enchantment.”
“What’s the difference between a curse and a hex?” Snorri asked.
Millie thought for a moment. “A curse affects you personally, like if you’re cursed with warts. A hex affects the world around you, like a bad luck hex.”
Sagara raised her hand, and Master Augustus pointed at her. “Witches work together to create larger enchantments, don’t they?”
“Yes,” Millie said, nodding. “Covens meet once every month at the full moon to renew enchantments that help the health and strength of the Forest.”
A shy brownie raised her hand. “Are all witches girls?”
This made Millie blush. “Y-yes, all witches are girls. If a w-witch has a boy child, he lives and studies with his father and becomes a wizard. Sometimes a witch and a wizard will m-marry and live together, but in general they live apart.”
Millie answered several other questions, like where she lived and why witches wore hats and had green skin, but most of her answers ended up being, “Well, it’s traditional.”
Finally, Master Augustus said, “All right, let’s not wear Millie out. Anyway, it’s time for Nature Studies. This week, we’re going to work on botany. Who knows what botany is?”
Three or four students raised their hands. “Izzy,” Augustus said, pointing to a young green-skinned dryad in a dress made of patchwork maple leaves.
“Botany is the study of plants, like me,” Izzy said proudly.
“That’s correct,” Master Augustus said. “So over this week, I’d like you to collect samples of plants from around your home. Please be certain not to collect samples from thinking plants, and to ask trees politely before plucking their leaves. And please do not bring in any poisonous plants, such as poison ivy, nightshade, or mandrake. If you don’t know what these look like, come see me after class.”
“Yes, Master,” the students said.
“We will also be growing our own plants in pots here in class. I have brought in some beans, pots, and soil, so we can try sprouting them using magic. Let’s all move over to the worktables, and we’ll begin. Ple
ase be gentle in your work and try not to make an excessive mess. In particular, no throwing soil, seeds, or pots. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master!”
Augustus smiled. “Then you may proceed.”
The students got up, the goblins, imps, fairies, and pixies dashing for the worktables at the rear of the classroom, followed closely by eager leprechauns, sprites, brownies, and the young dryad. Millie followed Sagara over. A large tub of soil lay in the center of each worktable, along with a small pile of beans and several trowels. Master Augustus passed out small clay pots.
Millie took hers, picked up a trowel and began filling the pot with soil. Sagara took a pot and used it to scoop up the soil from the pile. She poked a bean in the soil with one finger. Then Sagara closed her eyes and held her hands over the soil. Instantly, a bean plant sprouted out of it. Sagara sighed. “Boooooooring.”
“That was amazing,” Millie said. As she watched, the plant unfurled its stubby first leaves, then two more larger deep green leaves.
“Excellent job, Sagara,” Augustus told her, patting her shoulder. “And how are you getting on, Millie?”
“Just getting started, Master,” Millie said, reaching for a bean.
Carefully, Millie evened out the soil in her pot. Then she made a small hole in the soil, placed her bean in it, and covered it up. Taking up a watering can, she gave it a bit of water.
Millie glanced around. The pixies had gotten into a soil sculpting contest, ignoring the beans, while the goblins were all busily stuffing the beans up their noses and snorting them out, which was technically not throwing them. One of the fairies had sprouted a bean, but it instantly withered, turned brown, and died. The leprechauns, brownies, and dryads had all done as Millie had, and now they were variously chanting and waving their hands over the pots. One by one, small sprouts began to emerge. Millie sighed enviously. “I wish I could do that.”
“You don’t know how?” Sagara asked. “But it’s so easy. What kind of witch can’t sprout a bean?” She touched a leaf, and the vine shot up, sprouting more leaves and bursting into flower. “In elvish schools, we do this in kindergarten.”
“My mother never taught me any nature magic,” Millie said. “I would have liked that. Maybe I could grow my own vegetables and herbs.”
“Want me to help?” Sagara said, reaching for Millie’s pot.
“No, d-don’t,” Millie said hastily. “I appreciate it, but I want to learn to do it myself. How do you do it?”
Sagara shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. I just sort of do it.”
“Think about it,” Millie urged. “How did you feel when you made the bean sprout?”
Sagara closed her eyes. “It’s like... deep inside me, I can feel my life. How I’m breathing and growing all the time. I sort of share that feeling with the bean.” She opened her eyes, frowning. “It’s not very precise.”
“Hmm,” Millie said. “M-mother never described magic that way. She always talks about power and channeling and bending things to your will.”
Sagara snorted. “Maybe that’s how it feels to her.”
Millie closed her eyes and felt inside herself. She could feel her heart beating, the air moving in and out of her chest. She tried to feel how she was alive, but she just felt like the same old Millie, who never gets anything right. Millie the dud. Millie the mistake.
Cautiously, Millie opened one eye and peeked at the pot. It looked exactly the same. Nothing had sprouted. Nothing at all.
“Oh, no,” Millie whispered. She had known deep down that it would never work.
Sagara snorted. “See what I mean. So imprecise. Try this,” she said, taking a second pot. She filled it with soil, poked a bean into it, and frowned at it, concentrating. Then she said, “Let g be the rate of growth. Set g to one inch per three seconds. Produce a figure, two-pi-r, where r is a radius of three inches, proceed an additional pi-r, and then follow the z-axis for a total of one minute. Go.”
Instantly, the bean sprouted, the vine curving slowly and beautifully into a perfect circle, then curving halfway around again and growing straight up. It stopped after exactly one minute. Several of the students burst into applause.
“There,” Sagara said with satisfaction. “Precise.”
Millie’s head spun. She had no idea what pi-r meant or how that could make the bean grow in a circle. “I don’t think I could do that.”
“Not to worry, Millie,” Master Augustus said. “Sagara has a rather, um, unique perspective on magic. Would you rather try reciting a common brownie sprouting spell?”
“Oh, y-yes,” Millie said.
“Repeat after me,” Master Augustus told her.
* * *
Little seed, time to wake,
Roots to grow and soil to break.
Leaves unfurl and flowers make.
Little seed, time to wake.
* * *
Hesitantly, Millie repeated his words, but the pot remained stubbornly bare.
“How about some gestures?” suggested a leprechaun. “Watch how I wave my hands.”
Millie imitated him as best she could. No sprout. She tried a fairy’s wand. No sprout. She tried singing a dryad song. No sprout. Before long, half the class was trying to help Millie sprout her bean, but none of their suggestions worked. Grumpkin snickered and whispered to the other goblins. Millie bit back tears.
Master Augustus saw this. “That’s enough, class. Remember, we needed a control for our experiment. Thank you, Millie, for providing one. Now everyone mark your pots and line them up on the windowsill.”
Millie picked up her pot and got in line for the windowsill. If only this had been a baking lesson, she thought. Something with chocolate. I know what to do with chocolate.
At that moment, Millie felt a tingle go through her, from the top of her head right down to her fingertips. She glanced down at the pot, half expecting to see a neat green sprout rising up from the soil. But no, the pot remained bare. Sadly, she placed her pot beside the others and tried to take comfort from the fact that her pot wasn’t the only empty one.
The gong rang. Millie’s first day of school had ended, and she’d accomplished nothing. She trudged back to her cubby to retrieve her cauldron and her hat and followed the other children down the stairs and out to the glade. As they stepped off the staircase, they returned to their normal sizes.
Sagara grew several inches taller than Millie. As Millie spotted Petunia and started off to walk home with her, Sagara put a hand on Millie’s shoulder and said, “Tomorrow will probably be better.” And she hurried off.
But it wasn’t.
Snickerdoodles and Sunchokes
On Twosday, Millie woke up with her ears still ringing from her mother’s screaming fit over the damage done to the new hat. Bogdana had confiscated the hat and made Millie dust the entire house, covering every surface in a thick layer and adding plenty of dust bunnies under the furniture.
Bogdana slept late, as she usually did, so Millie put the mud in her hair and slime mold on her skin again, dressed in a blood-red gown, and made a huge frittata with scrambled eggs, onions, potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, and spinach, topped with a good hard cheese, grated fine so that it would melt into the eggs. She packed half of the frittata for lunch and left the rest for her mother’s breakfast and lunch. To her own lunch, she added a mixed green salad and some leftover snickerdoodles from dinner, plus some extra plates and forks.
No one saw her off or told her to have a good day, so she told herself and walked out to the Path to greet the elm tree and meet up with Petunia.
Grumpkin was delighted at her lack of hat and managed to trip Millie twice before school started. In class, he glued her dress to her chair so that when she tried to stand up, the chair came with her. Master Augustus dispelled the glue and sent Grumpkin off to see the Headmistress, which gave Millie a little peace during Arithmancy. She rather liked the math but couldn’t manage even a simple addition spell.
&
nbsp; When the lunch gong sounded, Millie breathed a deep sigh of relief and ran for her cubby to retrieve her cauldron. Sagara, who hadn’t said so much as a word to her all morning, popped up behind her and asked, “Did you bring more scones today?”
“Snickerdoodles,” Millie told her.
Sagara considered. “Okay, I suppose I can allow you to sit at my table again.”
Max and Petunia were already there, waiting for them. Petunia had brought a meat pie and apple slices. Sagara had elegant little bundles of raw vegetables wrapped in mint leaves and chard. Max pulled out a pile of ham sandwiches made with the strangest bread Millie had ever seen. She picked up a sandwich and studied it.
“Your bread has no holes,” she said, poking it with a finger. “It’s just a solid slab of white.”
Max nodded. “That’s what I was telling you. It’s wizard bread, made out of my father’s vague idea of what bread should be. Go on, try it.”
Millie bit into it and nearly spat it out. The bread had no taste at all, though the ham was quite good. She recognized the flavor. “Baragad’s ham?” she asked.
“Of course,” Max said. “We get all our meat from him.”
Millie sniffed. “Well, the ham’s good, but the bread is pretty awful. Have some of my frittata.”
Max grinned. “Thanks! And, um, could I have some cookies?”
“They’re snickerdoodles, and I brought them to share,” Millie told him.
“I’ll give you some melthas if you give me some frittata,” Sagara offered.
“Sure,” Millie said. She put a slice of frittata onto a plate and took the mint bundle in exchange. Millie bit into it and gasped in surprise. “Ginger? Mmm, jicama and honeydew and... and straw mushrooms? And what’s that other flavor?”
“Sunchoke,” Sagara told her.
Millie studied the layers in the melthas. “I’ve never had sunchokes before. Y’know, these are really very good.”
Sagara lifted a fork full of eggs in response. “So are these.”
“No, I mean, I’ve never eaten Elvish food before. It’s yummy.” Millie cocked her head. “Could I borrow a cookbook from you?”
A Witch’s Kitchen Page 6
