by Sally Rippin
Contents
Title Page
What Came Before Now
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
What Happens Next
Acknowledgements
About Sally Rippin
Copyright Page
Polly Proggett and Buster Grewclaw are the very best of friends. But Polly is a witch and Buster is a monster, and in Blackmoon Coven witches and monsters just don’t mix.
Polly and Buster have managed to keep their friendship a secret so far – until one fateful day, on a school excursion to the gallery, when Polly accidentally unleashes a spell to protect Buster from his classmates, who are bullying him. Polly is terrified other witches will find out she is friendly with monsters and begs her teacher, Miss Spinnaker, to help keep her secret.
However, Deidre Halloway, head of the Committee, tells everyone that Polly did the spell to protect her daughter, Malorie, and that the monsters in the gallery are dangerous. Polly is celebrated as a hero, and so she goes along with the story. But Polly’s newfound popularity and this small untruth come with a terrible price.
A Witches Against Monsters movement begins to form, led by Mrs Halloway, and quickly spreads throughout the town. Polly and Buster manage to escape Mrs Halloway and her followers in the nick of time, and now they are hiding out in Miss Spinnaker’s little kitchen, too frightened to return home.
Polly knows it’s her fault that Buster has got caught up in Mrs Halloway’s horrible plan. She knows if Mrs Halloway can convince enough witches that Buster is dangerous, the Mayor may agree to banish all monsters from Blackmoon Coven, for good!
How can Polly fix the trouble she has created? All she has are some magic stones, the faith of her teacher, and her very best friend by her side …
Polly sits at her teacher’s kitchen table and thinks about what lies ahead. She knows she is going to have to be braver than she has ever been. And cleverer than she has ever been. But frankly, she would rather be home in bed.
‘Does it have to be me?’ she asks her teacher. She didn’t mean for her voice to come out quite so grumpy, but her head is hurting and her hand is hurting and it has been a very long day. Escaping a fury of crazed witches and being bitten on the hand by a frightened monster aren’t exactly the things that make you want to take on the world when you’re only nine years old.
Polly rests her sore hand on the table and closes her eyes. The potion Miss Spinnaker has dabbed onto the bite has calmed the throbbing, and the swelling is beginning to disappear. When she opens her eyes again she sees her teacher looking at her kindly.
‘I’m afraid so, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘It’s true it’s a little surprising the stones have chosen someone quite as –’ she pauses as she considers her words carefully, ‘well, inexperienced as you, but we must trust them. They will tell you what to do. Don’t worry. I am here and I will help you as best I can.’
‘Me too!’ says Buster eagerly. He wipes ju-ju fruit juice from his chin with his big, hairy paw. ‘I am brave and strong and I would absolutely love to be part of an adventure.’
Polly sighs. Only a few days ago her life was so predictably ordinary. Normally, at this time of night, she would be snuggled up next to her mother watching TV, their pet bortal snoring on the rug and her older sister, Winifred, picking at her black nail polish in the beanbag in front of them. Instead, she is hiding out in her teacher’s little cottage with her best friend, while a nasty gaggle of witches is out there looking for them.
That’s what you get for trying to be a hero, she grumbles to herself, and for a moment Polly regrets having stood up for her oldest and dearest friend when he was being bullied in the gallery for showing his feelings. But when she looks at Buster, who is smiling at her goofily with a purple smear of ju-ju juice across his chin, she knows she never really had a choice. Friends stand up for friends, no matter what. There’s no two ways about it.
‘All right,’ she says, taking a big, deep breath to fill her tummy with courage. She picks the stones up off the table and tucks them back into her pocket. ‘So, what’s our plan?’
Buster whoops with excitement.
Miss Spinnaker smiles. ‘Well, first of all, I think we should let your parents know you are safe.’ She stands up, gently easing her sleek black cat off her lap. It skulks into the corner, looking annoyed at being woken from its slumber. ‘They must be worried sick by now. I suggest we do a quick spin past on the broomstick to check in with them and maybe pick up some pyjamas and your toothbrushes. You can stay here tonight, if you’re allowed, until we figure out what to do next.’
A sleepover! Polly’s heart soars. And another broomstick ride! The fizzy excitement of their last ride, when Miss Spinnaker rescued them from the clock tower, still buzzes through her. Now their adventure is beginning to seem more appealing.
But when Polly looks across at Buster, she sees her friend has turned a paler shade of green.
‘Oh,’ Buster says, his mouth curling into a worried little grimace. ‘I guess it’s not a real and proper adventure if we just walk there, right?’
Polly laughs. ‘What happened to big, brave Buster, not scared of anything?’
‘I’m not scared of anything,’ Buster frowns. ‘I just get a little airsick, that’s all.’
‘I’ll fly gently,’ Miss Spinnaker assures them, and she bustles about, sweeping things into a midnight blue velvet bag she has slung over her shoulder.
Polly watches her teacher stride over to a tall glass cabinet where a collection of various witch things are on display. Miss Spinnaker stands in front of it, hesitating for a moment, before unclipping a long brass wand from its hook and tucking it into her bag.
Polly’s stomach tightens. ‘You’re bringing a wand?’ she whispers, glancing about as though someone might hear her.
Miss Spinnaker turns to face Polly, and her eyes glitter. ‘Polly, this is not a game,’ she says in a low voice.
Polly reaches for Buster’s paw. She feels it shrink a little in her own as the seriousness of their adventure washes over them.
Buster clears his throat. ‘I’m not scared,’ he says, his voice cracking. ‘No, not me. Not one bit!’
‘Me neither,’ says Polly loudly, mainly to reassure Buster. She knows that until everything in their town is back to normal, it is up to her to keep him safe.
‘It’s OK to be scared,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘To be afraid of something and do it anyway is the mark of true courage. And that is something you both have in cauldron-loads. All right, my lovelies, let’s go!’
She swishes past them towards the front door, cape billowing and bracelets jangling.
The midnight sky is spattered with stars and the moon shines gently on the three figures huddled onto Miss Spinnaker’s broomstick as they glide through the velvety night.
Polly’s cheeks and hands sting with the cold but her back is warm against her teache
r’s chest and her mouth is dry from grinning. She wonders how Buster is doing at the back, holding on tightly, his eyes squeezed shut, but doesn’t dare turn around in case she loses her balance. Being on the front of a broomstick, so high in the sky, is the most thrilling feeling Polly has ever known.
Polly sees the lights of Blackmoon Coven twinkling beneath them and, for a moment, all her problems seem as small and far away as this tiny world. She wishes she could stay up here forever and never have to face the mess she has made.
But just as this thought passes through her mind, her tummy drops as they begin their descent.
‘Oh,’ Buster groans.
‘Sorry,’ Miss Spinnaker calls out, and tips up the front of the broomstick handle so they ease down more gently.
Polly recognises her street and soon her and Buster’s identical houses, side by side, one neat and one shabby, with the old morpett tree in her backyard stretching out its branches between them. This is the tree that hid their friendship for years until that unfortunate day in the gallery.
Ever since then, everything has gone from bad to worse. Polly wishes things were like they were before. She feels a sudden need to hug her mother and realises she can’t remember the last time she told her she loved her.
They cruise closer, almost near enough to touch the roof tiles, when Polly feels the broomstick lurch sideways. The houses spin away from them and Miss Spinnaker flattens against her as she picks up speed.
‘Hold on tight!’
she yells, and Polly feels the sharpness of her teacher’s voice cut deep into her chest.
‘What’s happening?’ Polly calls, her heart yammering.
Miss Spinnaker hisses into Polly’s hair. ‘Look behind you!’
Polly grips the wooden handle tightly and dares a peek over her shoulder.
What she sees makes her gasp. A flock of witches on broomsticks, maybe a dozen, are closing in on them. Even though Polly only catches a glimpse, she instantly recognises the snaky, silvery hair of Mrs Halloway, who is leading the pack.
‘Ohhhh …’ Buster groans weakly.
‘I’m sorry, Buster, you’ll just have to hold on!’ Miss Spinnaker yells, as she swerves suddenly upwards.
Even Polly has to close her eyes as the ground swirls far beneath them, and her stomach drops into her toes. When she opens them again, she is horrified to see Mrs Halloway drawing closer. Within moments, the furious witch is almost beside them. Her lips curl back into a sneer, and she reaches into her cape.
‘Go faster!’ Polly yells, but she can feel Miss Spinnaker’s old wooden broomstick straining under the weight of them.
There is no way they can outrace a mad mean witch on a Silver 500.
‘Deidre!’ Miss Spinnaker yells into the wind. ‘You know the rules. No wands in the presence of children!’
‘Those old rules no longer matter, Iris,’ Mrs Halloway snarls. ‘Now that monsters have become a threat to witches, we must do what we can to defend ourselves.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Miss Spinnaker yells. ‘Buster is an innocent monster. He poses no threat to anyone.’
She jerks the broomstick to the right, but Mrs Halloway has no trouble catching up to them.
‘You have to choose, Iris!’ Mrs Halloway says, coming in close enough for Polly to see her mean black eyes narrowing. Her hair whips wildly in the wind. ‘Don’t you know? It’s Witches Against Monsters now. Toss that dangerous monster off the back of your broomstick and prove your loyalty to witches. You can save yourself – or nobody.’
Buster whimpers.
‘No!’ Polly screeches. ‘Don’t do it, Miss Spinnaker.’
‘Oh, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker hisses. ‘Who do you think I am?’ She raises her voice. ‘Deidre Halloway, how dare you threaten me! I am the Head of Spells at your very own daughter’s school. You will never get away with this!’
Mrs Halloway cackles. ‘No one can see us up here,’ she says, gesturing to the flock of witches becoming lost in the swirl of silver clouds behind them. ‘Accidents on broomsticks happen all time. Especially at this height. And who is everyone going to believe anyway? A couple of pathetic monster-lovers? Or the head of the Committee? It’s over, Iris. The time of monsters freely roaming the streets is gone.’ And with that, she pulls out her wand from her flapping cape and
‘Miss Spinnaker!’ Polly yells, but her teacher already has her heavy brass wand in her hand.
A spark erupts from the tip of Mrs Halloway’s wand
but Miss Spinnaker deflects it with an electric green flash of her own. The broomstick wobbles dangerously and Buster groans again.
‘Polly! You’ll have to steer the stick,’ Miss Spinnaker yells.
‘What?’ Polly gasps. ‘But I’ve never …’
‘Just steer!’
Polly plants her hands firmly on the wooden handle and tries to remember what she knows about broomstick flying. Apparently it’s all in the weight of your body, she remembers her sister telling her, and she leans abruptly to the left. The broomstick swerves and Miss Spinnaker falls hard against her.
‘Gently!’ her teacher yells. ‘And don’t look down.’
Of course this last bit of advice only serves to make Polly look down, and she sees the ground spinning up to meet them. Her stomach lurches. Miss Spinnaker pulls Polly tightly against her and, as she leans backwards, the broomstick lifts skywards again.
‘I want to get off,’ Buster moans. But both Polly and Miss Spinnaker ignore him.
Polly leans to the right and they peel away towards a line of trees in the opposite direction, inky black against the navy sky.
‘Good thinking, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘Keep going straight. That’s the Amber Skull Forest up ahead.’
Polly feels her chest fill with pride. She thinks she might be beginning to get the hang of this broomstick-flying business.
Mrs Halloway jerks her broomstick around
and sends another jolt
in their direction,
but this time Miss Spinnaker is prepared. She spins her wrist in circles and throws out a twisting bolt of light just as Mrs Halloway’s spark nearly hits them. The spark bounces off Miss Spinnaker’s well-timed bolt and spirals into the night. The dark forest looms ahead.
‘What should I do?’ Polly yells.
‘Just keep going,’ Miss Spinnaker yells back.
They enter the forest, crashing through branches and leaves, then Polly hears a roar of flames rise up behind her. She feels a searing heat against her back.
‘Don’t stop,’ Miss Spinnaker shouts. ‘And whatever you do, don’t look behind you.’
This time, Polly does what she is told, and they zigzag through the trees while the forest is devoured by flames.
Polly feels her heart sink. She knows the wall of fire will protect them from Mrs Halloway and her cronies, but she feels deeply saddened that a whole forest needed to die just to save them.
‘Don’t worry,’ Miss Spinnaker murmurs into her ear, as if she’s read Polly’s mind. ‘An illusion spell can look and feel so much like the real thing even grown witches have been known to be fooled.’
Polly gasps. An illusion spell! Her teacher never ceases to impress her, but she had no idea she was this powerful.
Miss Spinnaker takes over directing the handle and slows the broomstick down to its former speed. They chug through the forest a few metres above the leafy floor. All around them forest animals screech, swing and flutter through the trees in fear of the burning wall of fire. Even though the flames are no longer rolling towards them, it still belches out clouds of black smoke. Polly takes in a deep lungful and discovers it tastes of fresh air.
‘It will dissolve soon,’ Miss Spinnaker reassures her. ‘The animals will be OK.’ She pats Polly’s arm. ‘Good work with the broomstick flying. If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d done it all your life.’
‘Thanks Miss Spinnaker,’ Polly grins, her heart pounding and her hands clammy on the broomstick handle.
Polly hears Buster moan. ‘Are we there yet?’ he groans weakly. ‘My tummy hurts.’
‘Just a little longer,’ Miss Spinnaker soothes.
‘Are we still going back to your place?’ Polly asks Miss Spinnaker. She twists around to see Buster leaning his whole weight against her teacher. His eyes are shut, his long arms are draped around her neck, and he has shrunk into a tight, furry ball. Dear old Buster, she thinks. He’s the bravest monster I know and he’s afraid of heights!
‘No, not now,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘Now that Deidre Halloway knows you are with me she will likely be heading straight to my house. We can’t go there.’
Polly feels a worm of worry in her belly. ‘Where will we go then?’
‘I’m taking you somewhere safe,’ says Miss Spinnaker. ‘It’s not far off now. See that little light through the trees?’
Polly squints and, sure enough, sees a pale yellow glow in the distance. ‘Who in blinking bats would live there?’ she asks.
‘That, Polly, my dear,’ says Miss Spinnaker, sighing deeply, ‘is my mother’s house.’
Miss Spinnaker pulls up in front of a small stone hut, built into the mound of a grassy hill and completely hidden by trees.
Polly feels her heart butterfly with curiosity. Miss Spinnaker’s mother! She knows that teachers have homes and parents and all those sorts of things, but it still feels very strange to think of Miss Spinnaker having a life outside of school. When Polly was little she even thought her teachers lived at school!
Buster tumbles off his end of the broomstick and curls into a ball. ‘Oh, my tummy,’ he wails. ‘I don’t feel good.’
Polly giggles. ‘But you are always floating up into the sky, Buster! You shouldn’t be afraid of heights.’
Buster frowns. ‘It’s not the height, Polly, it’s the speed. And anyway, I told you, I’m not scared. Just airsick.’
‘Come along, Buster,’ Miss Spinnaker says, smiling kindly. ‘We’ll find something inside to fix you up.’
Polly skips along a stepping-stone path with her teacher, patting her pocket to check the stones are still there. It winds through the dark and shadowy suggestion of a vegetable garden.
