by Maeve Friel
“You can be hairy …” A very hairy mutt smiled at Jessica from under a blonde fringe and trundled off behind the counter.
“Or scary …” Jessica felt a tap on her shoulder. When she spun round, there, to her horror, was Shar Pintake, the scariest witch of all and Chief Examiner of Witches World Wide, sucking her teeth and making that awful breathy noise! Jessica clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream—
Just as Miss Strega Switched back to being Miss Strega again.
“Bravo!” said Jessica, clapping her hands. “Take a bow!”
“Nonsense,” said Miss Strega, “there’s nothing to it.”
“And I didn’t scream,” said Jessica proudly. “Not even when you Switched to that Shar Pintake lookalike.”
“Now it’s your turn,” said Miss Strega. “Go on, have a go!”
Jessica pondered. “Shall I be big, tiny, slippery, spiny, feathery, leathery, hairy or scary?”
“To start with, why don’t you become a cat? In an emergency, a witch’s best Switch is a cat. Most Ordinary People rarely notice cats padding about so become a cat and – Hey presto! – you’re free to go wherever you like. Most of the cats in the ordinary world are actually witches in disguise.”
Jessica thought very hard about the word “cat”.
Whiskers sprouted from her cheeks. Her nose twitched. She sniffed. She had never before noticed all the strong smells of the shop, the gingeriness of the rompedenti biscuits that made your teeth fall out, the dusty dryness of owl feathers or the lemony-clove smell of the Brewing cauldron.
Her ears slid up to the top of her head and flickered from side to side. She had never realised how noisy the world was for a cat. Zzzzzzz. A bumblebee trapped in the window buzzed like an electric drill. Click, click went the big shop clock.
Prroom, prrroom.. Something in her throat was making purring sounds.
Her skin became furry and sleek, as if she had been tucked up inside cosy all-in-one pyjamas.
Her hands became little pink cushiony paws with long sharp claws. She flicked them out and drew them back in.
She made a great yawn, the way Felicity did, showing Miss Strega a long pink tongue and two rows of formidably sharp teeth.
Most curious of all, she could feel a long tail unfurl behind her.
“Prrrrrooom,” she repeated, in a very pleased voice. “I’m a cat.”
“There’s no denying that,” agreed Miss Strega. “And as dandy a cat as ever I’ve seen. Well done.”
Jessica Switched back to being herself. She patted her face to check that everything was in its proper place and she hadn’t ended up with whiskers or pointy ears. She peeked under her cloak – phew! – no tail, either.
“That was good fun,” said Jessica, grinning, “but Switching into something scary seems to be asking for trouble.”
“Oh yes indeedy,” Miss Strega agreed. “Switching can be very dangerous if you’re with the kind of people who yell and hoot and scream at the least scary thing. Remember Great-aunt Delenda and never forget the Switchers’ Promise: No Screaming Allowed.”
Chapter Four
A loud crash made Jessica jump. She flew over to the door and peered around the curtain. Up and down the High Street, shops were closing for the night. Shopkeepers were rolling down their metal shutters with tremendous bangs. To her right, someone was heaving a wheelie bin to the edge of the pavement in front of the toy shop.
“It’s the FOP!” Jessica gasped. The First Ordinary Person!
The FOP turned to go back into her shop, but something made her stop. She looked up at Miss Strega’s creaking shop sign and frowned.
“Just look at that rusty old thing!” she declared. “It could fall down any minute and flatten a passer-by!”
“Absolutely!” said another voice.
Jessica squinted to see who was speaking. It was the SOP, the Second Ordinary Person, rolling her wheelie bin on to the pavement outside the estate agent’s.
“It’s a funny thing,” said the FOP to the SOP, “but I had never even noticed we had this shop in between us until this afternoon.”
“Me neither,” said the SOP, squinting at the lettering of the shop sign. “Miss Strega’s Hardware Shop,” she read aloud, “established – what does that say? Nine nineteen ninety-one?”
Both the Ordinary People tut-tutted. Then they glared indignantly at the scruffy overcrowded window.
“What a mess. It’s a disgrace!”
“An eyesore!”
“And overrun with cats!”
“Have you come across the very rude girl in the fancy-dress costume? She almost swept me out of the shop today. She really is like a little witch.”
“There’s something creepy about the whole setup. I had the feeling I was being watched by three garden gnomes.”
“And there’s something fishy about those drawers behind the counter – I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Why don’t we have a word with this Miss Strega? We’ll tell her she’ll have to buck up her ideas, get rid of all those cats, fix that shop sign and sort out all the rubbish in that window … or else!”
“Good idea.”
Jessica turned away from the door. “It’s getting worse, Miss Strega,” Jessica hissed. “The shop is visible to the two Ordinary People at the same time. They are coming back together.”
She was talking to thin air. Miss Strega was nowhere to be seen, but there was a long-eared owl gazing down from the curtain pole, slowly moving its head from side to side.
The door latch clicked.
“Miss Strega!” shouted the FOP.
“Anyone here?” bawled the SOP.
At the sound of their voices, the owl swooped down on wide silent wings. “Too-whit, too-woooo,” it hooted.
The two Ordinary People shrieked. The owl dipped and dived and wheeled over their heads. Its long talons dangled above them as they rushed around in circles, flapping their arms. They tripped over cauldrons and knocked into garden forks. They howled at Jessica. The owl hooted nonstop. Felicity crashed noisily out through the cat flap.
“Do something about that owl, you silly little WITCH!” shouted the FOP.
Oh no! Had the FOP guessed she was not just in fancy dress?
Jessica screamed.
The two Ordinary People wrestled the door open, screeching like banshees.
When they had gone, a solitary white feather floated down from the ceiling and landed at Jessica’s feet.
Jessica’s heart stopped when she realised what she had done.
“Miss Strega, where are you? I didn’t mean to scream. Come back!”
But Miss Strega was nowhere to be seen.
Jessica sank to the floor and buried her head in her hands. She had made so many mistakes. She had not Switched. She should have turned into a cat as soon as she heard the strangers talking outside. But worst of all, she had broken the Witch Switch Promise, and now Miss Strega was gone, locked into being an owl. She must have flown out after the Ordinary Persons and was probably hooting around the roofs of the High Street. Poor Miss Strega. Jessica pictured her, all alone and sad, hunting for mice in the park instead of having a jolly tasty Muncheon up on the chimneypots.
Jessica sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Come on, Berkeley, let’s take to the sky and keep flying until we find her.”
She was just about to mount her broomstick and go up to the roof when she again heard voices on the High Street.
No! The two Ordinary People were outside.
“We’ve got a problem,” said one to the other. “It looks as if this so-called Miss Strega has abandoned her shop. It must be crawling with creatures.”
“It’s time to shut the whole place down,” said the other, “and do something about that wild child.”
Chapter Five
Jessica grabbed her broom and shot up through the attic trapdoor. She Zoomed out of the dormer window and landed on a chimneypot. From there, she peered into the d
arkness and called out in a low urgent whisper: “Miss Strega, are you there? Too-woo? Too-woo?”
No answer came.
All night long, Jessica flitted along the rooftops, searching under eaves and calling down chimneys. She peered into nest boxes and poked at the leaves in the gutters. It was no use.
Miss Strega, the best witch trainer ever, had vanished – and it was all Jessica’s fault. She tearfully turned her broom homeward.
To think that she would never again hear Miss Strega say “moonrays and marrowbones”. Never be able to have midnight feasts of Muncheon and Cold Smelly Vole Brew with her again. Never be able to hold her hand and Vault over the moon.
Suddenly Jessica froze in mid-flight. Her face turned as pale as an owl’s egg.
She had completely forgotten about the Witches World Wide association. What would they say when they heard the news that Jessica had broken the Witch Switch Promise? When they knew that their Number One Witch Shopkeeper had grown very long ear tufts and feathers, and that she was, in fact, a fine specimen of Asio otus, the long-eared owl?
Jessica wondered if she should go to Coven Garden and ask Shar Pintake for help? The very thought of it made her feel sick. No. She would have to find her sweet, lovely, funny Miss Strega before anyone else found out. But how?
“Chirrup,” whistled Berkeley, suddenly popping up out of her pocket and giving an encouraging trill. “Chirrup.”
Jessica wiped her nose.
“You’re quite right, Berkeley,” she sniffed. “I am training to be a witch, after all. I will find Miss Strega. I just need time to think.”
She stroked her chin wisely, the way that Miss Strega always did.
Then she flew home to read every Spell Book she could lay her hands on.
Early the next morning, Jessica flew back to the hardware shop. The two Ordinary People were already standing outside, looking cross as usual. One of them was banging on the door and clutching a brown envelope.
Jessica, wrapped up in her Super-duper Deluxe Guaranteed-Invisibility-When-You-Need-It cape, perched on the shop sign and watched them.
“I told you there would be no one here,” snapped the First Ordinary Person.
“Fine!” barked the Second Ordinary Person. “But we can still leave the letter.”
“There’s no letter box! Just throw it through the cat flap.” And they flounced off, fuming, to their own shops.
When they had gone, Jessica let herself in. At the click of the door latch, Felicity turned around from her overflowing bowl of Kattifer’s Krunchies and gave her an orange wink.
“How can you eat that horrid stuff? Don’t you even care that Miss Strega has vanished?” Jessica scolded.
When Felicity didn’t answer, Jessica locked the door, picked up the envelope, climbed on to the counter and read the letter.
Dear Miss Strega,
Your shop is a danger to public health; it is full of wild cats and birds. It is (to be frank) smelly.
Your creaky shop sign is hanging off the wall and could fall and take someone’s head off.
Your shop window display is a dusty, cobwebby, shabby disgrace to the High Street.
Unless you respond by midday, we intend to take matters into our own hands.
Your neighbours
“Moonrays and marrowbones!” exclaimed Jessica. “I had better get on with my Reappearing Miss Strega Spell on the double.”
She fetched a cauldron and set to work. She had already picked a spell called Brewing in the Round. Spelling Made Easy said it was “the perfect remedy when everything is wrong and nothing is right”. In that case, Jessica told Felicity and Berkeley, it could definitely bring Miss Strega home.
She began to fetch all the ingredients she needed from Miss Strega’s drawers and cupboards and set everything out in little saucers on the counter. Every single thing was round. There was the dried eye of a crocodile, a scrape of fish scales and a dragon’s egg. There were oodles of O’s, a cupful of cherry stones and a pint of fairy tears. There were three balloons, two pearl buttons and one gold ring. Finally, Jessica rummaged in her pocket for the lucky charm pebble that she had picked up on Pelagia’s beach, the one that had a perfect round hole in it, and placed that on the counter too.
The shop crackled with magic.
Jessica threw her cape over her shoulders, rolled up her sleeves and began to pour everything into a cauldron. As she Mingled it all up with her long-eared owl’s feather, she made up a song.
“Can you see what I’m Brewing?
Do you know what I’m doing?
Can you smell my round soup
As it wafts round the shop?
Can you see my round gloop
Bubble up to the top?”
She stirred and stirred – left and right, round and round – made figures of eight and smacked the rim of the cauldron three times.
Clouds of round bubbles floated around the shop.
Round things rose up through the fizzing mixture and winked as she sang.
“By the roundness of round things that go round and round,
You went away once but now you are found.”
She gave the cauldron a final smack.
There was a knock at the door. Jessica’s smile was wide enough to hook over her ears. She laid down her feather and ran to let Miss Strega in.
But no! It was not Miss Strega. It was the FOP and the SOP who were banging on the door. The wrong people had reappeared! So much for the Brewing in the Round Spell!
Just in the nick of time, Jessica Switched to a cat.
Chapter Six
The FOP and the SOP thumped loudly on the door. They peered through the window and called Miss Strega’s name.
Jessica sat beside Felicity on the counter and paid no attention. It was quite pleasant being a cat again, thought Jessica (even the Kattifer’s Krunchies smelled quite tasty). While she waited for her horrible neighbours to go away, she carefully cleaned behind her ears and had A Good Think.
Her Good Think went like this. Somehow, she thought, I am going to have to make the pesky FOP and SOP forget all about the shop. They must forget they have seen it. They must forget they have been in it. They must forget about the owl on the loose and the cats, the shabby windows and the creaking sign, the flea collars and where they bought the pot to put petunias on their patio. They must forget all thoughts about broomsticks and witches and garden gnomes with swivelling eyes. Then, when I have got rid of them once and for all, I will be able to concentrate on getting Miss Strega safely back home and she can put the For Witches’ Eyes Only Spell back on the shop.
“So,” she told Berkeley and Felicity when the banging had stopped and the Ordinary People had gone away, “I am going to have a tea party. I am going to invite the Ordinary People to pop in for tea and a chat.”
Felicity waggled her long eyebrows. Berkeley whistled nervously.
“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” said Jessica, “but I will need your help. Felicity, I want you to sit on the windowsill of the toy shop. Berkeley, I want you to perch on our shop sign. If the FOP or the SOP come anywhere near, you must both start meowing and whistling as loudly as you can. I don’t want them barging in before I’m ready.”
“Hu-eeet,” agreed Berkeley.
Felicity waved a ragged ear.
“Right,” said Jessica, Switching back into herself, “off you go. I have got to prepare a very special tea and get changed.”
The plan swung into action.
Jessica wrote two notes and popped one under the door of both the estate agent’s and the toy shop.
* * *
Miss Bella Strega requests your company for tea at shop closing time.
* * *
Berkeley and Felicity took up their posts.
Jessica reached for her cauldron and The Little Book of Teatime Treats by Delia Catessen.
“I hope this works better than that useless Brewing in the Round. Toes and fingers crossed.”
At seven o’clock preci
sely, the FOP appeared at the doorway of her shop. Felicity set up a deafening mewing. The SOP appeared at the doorway of the estate agent’s. Berkeley trilled at the top of her voice.
The FOP and the SOP met under Miss Strega’s shop sign. Together, they banged on Miss Strega’s door.
Inside the shop, Jessica checked her appearance in the cloak cupboard mirror and straightened her hat.
“Quite a good lookalike,” she said, peering over her half-moon glasses.
There was another bang at the door.
She threw it wide open.
The two Ordinary People stood there, hands on their hips, ready to give Miss Strega a piece of their minds.
“Is that your cat on my windowsill?” said the FOP.
“Has this odd bird got anything to do with you?” demanded the SOP.
“Do come in,” said Jessica.
The two Ordinary People looked doubtfully at their hostess, for of course they had never seen Miss Strega before. She was awfully strange, no taller than a ten-year-old child, and all wrapped up from head to toe in a strange black dress. Her glasses were perched on the end of her nose and she was wearing a kind of bonnet that had gone out of fashion a hundred years ago.
The FOP turned to the SOP.
“Witch?” she mouthed silently.
But the SOP had wandered off to the drawers at the back of the shop. The letters of the spidery handwritten labels swam around. Teenage Slugs. Snail’s Antennae. She squinted again. Ten-amp Plugs. Ten-inch Nails.
“Look here,” she began, “these letters—”
But before she could say another word, the strange Miss Strega had grabbed her by the elbow. She ushered her and the FOP towards a low table set with Miss Strega’s best china teacups and saucers.
