Charlie had just said, “Did you m-m-mean what you said? Do you want to h-h-help?”
And Kat had answered simply, “Yes.”
She’d looked at Charlie with her bright-green eyes, and Charlie had known, deep down, that Kat could be trusted.
Caw!
The crow danced from one foot to the other on the branch above them.
“Hi, Hopfoot,” said Charlie.
He swooped down and circled low over Kat. Then, to Charlie’s surprise, he hovered lower until he landed on Kat’s shoulder.
“Hello!” she said happily. “Aren’t you lovely!” Her Welsh voice grew even softer and more sing-song.
Charlie smiled weakly; they looked like a natural pair: a witch with her pet crow. Hopfoot preened and nibbled Kat’s ear, then took flight, leading the way. Charlie sighed inwardly and held the branches open for Kat. Kat bounced through on her tiptoes, darting from side to side to avoid the prickly branches. Charlie crashed through after her. One by one they walked down the narrow path until it opened out on to the clearing.
“Wow!” breathed Kat as she gazed at Agatha’s little tilted cottage. “It’s like something from a fairy tale! And it’s glowing!”
Charlie tipped her head to the side, puzzled. She couldn’t see a glow at all. She still got that warm buzzing feeling, like a quickening in her blood, but nope, no glow. Kat must be really talented.
She knocked at the door. She’d have given anything to be Kat at this moment! She squeezed her hands tight to stop them trembling. Agatha would still let her come over, wouldn’t she? All the same, Charlie took care to fix everything in her mind. This might be the last time she walked down the path, the last time she knocked at the cottage door.
She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
“Well. Come in, come in! Don’t stand there all day!” Charlie had never heard Agatha sound so impatient. She swallowed hard and smiled at her friend. Together they stepped into the lounge.
“Whoah!” Kat shielded her eyes. “The glow! It’s so bright!” She blinked again and again. Charlie looked from Kat to Agatha, confused. Agatha looked normal to her, but Kat was squinting her eyes up tight.
“Do you see the glow often?” Agatha asked, her eyes sharp.
“No,” Kat admitted, “just sometimes. You have it. Suzy at school has it. Charlie has a little glow.”
Charlie shifted. “Do I?” She turned her hands over and over, trying to see what Kat was talking about.
“Only now and then. It’s very faint.”
Charlie frowned.
Agatha came closer. She cupped Kat’s face in her hands and stared at her. Kat blinked. “I thought so.” The witch stepped back. She smiled. “Haven’t seen one like you in a while.”
Charlie held her breath. This was it.
“Kat,” said Agatha, “have you heard of familiars?”
“Um … no,” Kat answered, puzzled.
Agatha nodded briskly. Charlie slumped into a chair, her legs weak. Kat perched on the armrest and Charlie felt the crackle of her closeness.
“Familiars help witches,” Agatha turned back to explain. “They can make a witch much stronger.”
Kat looked puzzled.
“Familiars have their own powers,” Agatha went on. “They can draw energy from the earth, from nature.” She looked from girl to girl. “Witch and familiar pairings are rare. Some witches never find their familiar. But, if they do, they can achieve great things. Together they are much stronger, much more powerful.”
Charlie waited to see what Agatha would say.
“Many familiars are animals. That’s why the old tales often feature witches with cats, or toads, or owls, or princes being trapped inside frogs.”
Ah. Agatha is talking about Hopfoot. Maybe he’ll be Kat’s familiar. That’s why he was so friendly. Charlie fixed her face so it was blank.
“But once in a while, a human is born a familiar,” Agatha continued, “and that’s even more special.”
Charlie looked up, puzzled. The witch leaned forward. There was a strange tension in the air.
“You, Kat, are a familiar.”
Kat jerked and nearly fell off the armrest. Charlie caught her and felt the strange thread of connection. Kat’s green eyes were narrowed and her brow was knitted tightly. There was a long silence. Then:
“I thought there was something wrong with me,” Kat said. “I mean … I can sense things sometimes.” Her voice was breathless with the relief of talking about it. “I can feel something under the ground, shifting.”
Agatha listened.
“And … and animals. They like me. They come to me.”
“Yes,” Agatha encouraged her.
“I just thought I was weird or … or…” Kat’s voice drifted off, suddenly shy.
“Pah! Weird!” Agatha’s voice was sharp. “‘Weird’ is just another word for ‘special’.”
Kat nodded slowly. “Is that why I can see the glow?” she asked.
“People experience magic in different ways,” said Agatha. “Some see a glow.” She looked at Charlie. “Some feel a buzzing.”
Charlie nodded. She’d learned to recognize magic now. That weird electrical feeling, like a force was rushing through her. She’d felt it with Agatha and she’d felt it with Kat. And Suzy. And, strangely, the family cottage. She took a breath. Better get this over with.
“So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “will Kat be your f-f-f-familiar?”
Agatha burst out laughing.
Charlie looked at Kat. Kat shrugged back.
Agatha focused on Charlie’s face. “Charlie,” she said, “Kat will be your familiar.”
A sharp thrill gripped Charlie. It ran from her head down to her toes. She hardly dared hope…
“You have the gift,” Agatha said quickly. “You’re a witch.” She paused. “Well,” she said, waving her hand airily, “you could be, with training.”
Charlie’s mouth opened and closed. She felt a warmth move up from her belly. A smile washed over her face. She looked at Kat and Kat grinned. But all at once a thought struck her:
“My v-v-v-voice!” Charlie realized. “I can’t be a w-witch!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Agatha spat out. “How many times have I told you there’s nothing wrong with your voice! It’s perfect for spells.”
“Wh-what do you m-mean?”
“Tcha!” Agatha blew through her teeth. “People speak too quickly these days! They don’t focus.” She pointed her finger straight at Charlie. “For spells you have to feel every letter. Focus on every syllable. Your voice will help you. It’ll make you a better witch.”
Charlie fell back in the chair. Her voice would help.
She’d never, never thought of her stammer as a good thing. It was always a curse, an embarrassment, a shameful bit of her that had to be hidden away. But … to hear Agatha talk now, her voice might be useful! Happiness bubbled up inside her. She had the gift! Suddenly everything felt good, like her life had slotted into place. She couldn’t wait to learn more!
Agatha’s brisk voice broke in. “Now,” she said, “to business: Suzy.”
Charlie felt a rush of panic. Her heart was beating fast. Now she was a witch it really was her job to stop the curse.
“Together you’ll be much stronger,” Agatha was saying. “I know you are untrained, Charlie, but with Kat beside you, you can take on a harder spell. And I will help you.”
“Do you think I can take off the c-c-curse?”
“Maybe,” said Agatha. “The binding said:
‘No witch alive can break my spell.’
Charlie – you weren’t alive when the spell was cast. Eliza was so cynical about young people it probably never occurred to her that a new witch would come along before Suzy turned seventeen.”
“Wh-what do I need to d-d-do?”
“Tell me,” the old witch said, spreading her palms wide, “have you heard of a Witch Bottle?”
Charlie’s head was spinning. There was so
much to take in!
She and Kat had sat in Agatha’s cottage till it was dark, hearing all about Witch Bottles and magic and curses. Kat had had to run home to make it by dinnertime.
Now Charlie was in her room, buzzing with the excitement of it all. She was a witch! And she wasn’t on her own. Kat would help her. Kat and Agatha.
Witch Bottles were devices to remove curses, Agatha had told them. You put a bit of the victim’s hair in the bottle and chanted a spell to suck out the curse. But they could go wrong.
“Be careful,” Agatha had warned, waggling her little finger. “A Witch Bottle is powerful magic. If you don’t get the spell right then, instead of sucking out the curse, it can steal a bit of you.”
Charlie still felt a prickle of fear at that thought.
“It might not work,” Agatha had added. “The proof of the charm is in the spelling.”
“How will we get Suzy’s hair?” Kat had asked.
Charlie’s face fell. It was Saturday tomorrow. No school. No chance of bumping into Suzy and pulling off a stray hair.
“You’ll need some luck,” Agatha had said, and then she’d turned to Charlie. “Do you have any of that white heather left?”
Charlie had nodded. There were a few sprigs left in a jar of water on her window sill.
“Make a little bag out of something personal to you. Fill it with the heather and hang it from your bed. Say:
‘I call on you, oh blessed moon,
I call on you, oh rising sun.
Help me soon,
I cause harm to none.’
Charlie could hardly sleep from excitement. Her mind turned over and over. The little bag of heather hung from her bedstead. She’d made the bag out of a page of her notebook. It was the most precious thing to her. The page was filled with the table she’d made about witch powers and locations. It made Charlie giggle to think of it now!
She wriggled in bed. No. It was no use. She couldn’t sleep. She turned on her light and made a list of all the things she had to do:
Get Suzy’s hair. (How? It’s Saturday tomorrow, so no school. Go to her house?)
Make Witch Bottle
Agatha had told them they had to design a pattern on the bottle themselves. It had to be the right one to suit the problem.
Charlie chewed her pen and thought about Suzy. She added:
Musical notes?
Suzy had a cat. What was his name? Boots! That was it. What else? Something about the school show? And a witch symbol – a sigil? Soon she had:
Make Witch Bottle. (Musical notes?
Cat? A rainbow? Find right sigil.)
Charlie turned off the light and went to sleep.
Saturday was bright and sunny. Charlie had arranged to meet Kat at nine a.m., on the edge of town, to see if they could find a way to get Suzy’s hair.
“We could sssssearch her bin.” Charlie had been thinking about it.
“What if someone sees us?”
“We’ll be q-q-quick.”
They set off down Wood Street, towards Castle House.
“Eeek!” Kat grabbed Charlie and pulled her behind a tree.
“Whaaa?”
“She’s there,” Kat said urgently “Look!” She pointed. Suzy was standing on her doorstep, closing her front door.
“Where’s she going?” Kat whispered.
They watched as Suzy set off down the street.
“Can you sssneak up on her?” Charlie said in a low voice. “Steal a h-h-hair?”
“I’ll try,” said Kat. She rocked back and forth on her heels and set off. She was so light on her feet! Charlie watched as she daintily darted just behind Suzy. She was nearly there … nearly! Kat reached out her hand…
Suzy turned right sharply on to the high street and Kat fell back in disappointment.
They watched as Suzy pushed the door of the first shop. What was it? Charlie followed her to the door, and then spun on her heel and looked at Kat. It was a salon! Suzy had gone to the hairdressers to get a haircut! It was their lucky day! Charlie silently thanked the heather over her bed. Now what… ? Her mind made a quick list of possibilities:
Ask the hairdresser for cuttings?
Get a job at the hairdressers?
Walk in and take the hair from the floor?
Then the idea hit her.
“I’ll get m-my hair cut too!”
“Can you?” Kat fingered her own short red hair. “I don’t think there’s much left to come off mine!”
Charlie nodded. Mum would love it. She’d been on at Charlie to get her hair cut for ages. But Charlie worried that the salon looked very posh. She felt in her pocket for money. She had two pounds and Kat had three.
Kat squealed and pointed to a sign that read:
Student training day
Haircuts for £5
Yes!
“You go in!” Kat was practically pushing her. “I’ll go to the library and wait. There might be books there about Witch Bottles.”
“W-w-wait!” Charlie said in a panic. Going into the salon would mean talking: talking to the receptionist and the hairdresser.
“What’s wrong?”
“M-m-my v-voice.”
Kat squeezed her hand. “Remember what Agatha said,” she told her friend. “Your stutter is a good thing.”
Charlie nodded. She looked through the window at Suzy having her hair washed at the sinks. Her mind made a quick calculation of the number of people in the salon, the fewest words she could get away with using, and how loudly she would have to speak. Then she took a deep breath and pushed the salon door open.
“I-I-I’d like my haircut p-please,” she said as confidently as she could.
Charlie’s trainee hairdresser was called Fabier and he was very excitable. He bounced up and down as he combed through Charlie’s wet hair.
“Eet will be beeeaauuuutiful!” he crooned. He spread a pile of open magazines in front of Charlie and enthusiastically pointed from one picture to another.
To cut down on conversation Charlie just waved her hand over her hair and spluttered out that Fabier could do whatever he wanted. He gave a huge grin, scooped up the magazines and plonked them back on the salon coffee table.
Charlie didn’t even look in the mirror. She was far too focused on watching Suzy to care what was happening to her own hair.
Suzy was being snipped just three chairs along. She gave Charlie a little wave and Charlie blushed and glanced down. She could see a nicely trimmed pile of honey-coloured tresses accumulating on the floor under Suzy. One grab and she’d have them. She turned her head sideways to work out the best approach, but was immediately yanked back again by Fabier.
“Don’t move!” he snapped “Eet will be completement ruined.”
Charlie was stuck.
“So you leeeve here in the village?” Fabier asked.
“Um, y-yes. Up by the w-w-woods.”
“Ah, oui. Little house, like this?” Fabier tipped his palms to the side to mimic the lean of the cottage.
“Yes!” Charlie laughed.
“Ah, that house is old,” said Fabier.
“My d-d-dad is rest … restoring it,” said Charlie.
“Oh, but that is good!” said Fabier. “He is builder?”
“I guess so.” Dad kind of was a builder these days.
“My friend Daniel, he is starting a beeeeg project on the hill.” Fabier picked up the hairdryer and twirled her hair this way and that with a huge round black brush. “He is restoring all the old cottages there.”
Charlie’s heart picked up. Broom Hill! That’s where the witches used to live. They were doing up the old witch cottages! How exciting.
“Daniel, he needs lots of help. There is much work for your dad there, no?”
“Maybe! I’ll ask him,” Charlie said. He might want another project when their house was done.
Charlie caught a movement from the side. Oh no! Suzy’s stylist was nearly finished snipping! In a panic, Charlie suddenly cried out:
>
“Fabier!”
“What?” He turned off the hairdryer.
“… um … c-c-could I see the sssstyle again? The one in the m-m-m-magazine?”
“Oh yes!” He rushed off all excited to find and show Charlie his source of inspiration.
As soon as he had gone, Charlie crept slowly towards Suzy’s chair, keeping low so she didn’t notice. She grabbed a handful of hair and shoved it into her pocket.
“Can I help you?” Suzy’s stylist asked.
Charlie shook her head, smiled and quickly scurried back to her seat just as Fabier came running up holding the magazine open.
“You will look très, très belle!” he cried, resuming his twirling and snipping.
Charlie looked at the page. She had been so busy worrying about Suzy’s hair that she’d forgotten about her own. As she looked at the short trendy style in the magazine she gulped. It was all a bit drastic. Her long curly hair was falling to the floor in huge piles. She shut her eyes. Suzy’s voice had better be worth all this.
In fact, when it was finished her hair didn’t look too bad. The curls were tamed and organized now. They fell to her shoulders, with little wisps framing her face. Charlie stared at it in the mirror. She looked good.
“You like?” Fabier asked, spreading his hands wide. “No more Raiponce … er … Rapunzel?”
Charlie smiled at him. “I like!” she said.
She paid her five pounds and rushed to the library, grinning.
“Whoa!” Kat pretended to fall off her seat with shock.
“Very funny,” said Charlie.
“It suits you!” said Kat.
Charlie blushed.
“Look what I found!” Kat was holding a page open. “This village is full of witchy stuff!”
Charlie looked around the table. It was covered in books about local history.
Witches of Broomwood.
The Broomwood Witch Trials.
The Sussex Witches.
Kat pointed to a page. There was a photo of a wonky brown bottle. It was made of clay and had marking on its rim. The caption read: BROOMWOOD WITCH BOTTLE, CIRCA 1602.
“That’s a W-W-Witch Bottle?”
“Yes. A really old one. I was thinking we could make ours out of an old glass bottle and paint on some markings. I’ve copied down the ones on the Broomwood bottle so we can use them for ideas.”
How to Catch a Witch Page 8
