Witch Twins

by Adele Griffin

  “Luna Bundkin, you sure got a case of cold feet out there,” said Mr. Rosenthal in the lobby after the show. He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Stage fright, hmm? I guess that’s one way to tell you from your sister.”

  “I guess.” Luna swallowed.

  Her parents and Steve and Fluffy all looked at her sympathetically. It was embarrassing.

  I will never do a single nice thing for any body, ever again, Luna thought as she lay in bed that night. No More Nice. That would be her new policy.

  The next morning, the sound of Angelica’s giggle-snort had not left Luna’s memory.

  “Crumbs, Loon, you’re still thinking about that? Who cares about snotty Angelica Antonio’s giggle-snort?” Claire scoffed. “But if it really gets to you, cast a little itching-pink-eye spell on her. I won’t tell Grandy.” She grinned and rubbed her hands together. “In fact, I cast one on Jemina Consolo after she stole my rainbow eraser.”

  “Mmm.” Luna pretended to agree, but it wasn’t a witching revenge that she felt. It was a sadder feeling.

  All week, whenever she saw Angelica, it was as if she was trapped in that same awful minute of the giggle-snort. It hurt the same amount.

  No More Nice, thought Luna.

  The next weekend, rain poured over the city. A tornado watch was on.

  “May is coming in like a lion!” squealed Claire.

  “No way I’m going to Bramblewine,” said Justin. “It’s even worse there when you’re stuck indoors. Tell Grandy I have a debate competition.”

  “Maybe you girls should take a rain check on Bramblewine, too,” joked their mother. (Most doctors tell pretty bad jokes.)

  “We’ll be fine!” Luna said. She was still upset about Angelica. At least at Bramblewine, she could cast a few grumpy spells in this witching weather. Grandy had promised to teach them how to shake branches down from the trees. Or, with Claire’s help, she could send a mini-clap of thunder across the sky.

  After layering them in raincoats and hats and preparing a thermos of hot cider, their mother dropped them at the station. The twins sat together in the train, passing the cider back and forth. The train creaked and swayed, and the lights flickered.

  “I never took the train in a rainstorm,” said Claire. “It’s scary cool!”

  To Luna, it was just scary. The trees bent in the wind. Rain hammered the top of the car. The conductor’s shoes squeaked as he walked down the aisle.

  “Maaay-rose!”

  “Siiilver-toad!”

  Men and women collected their umbrellas and blundered into the howling weather. The train chugged on.

  “Laaang-ham!” the conductor shouted.

  As always, the only person left was the man in the old-fashioned hat and the pea coat. As always, he was sleeping.

  “Poor thing, he doesn’t have an umbrella,” murmured Claire. “I wonder why he didn’t remember one? He might catch a cold. If I hadn’t lost my umbrella, I’d sure lend him mine.” She looked at her sister meaningfully.

  Luna clutched her own umbrella. She did not want to lend it. It would go against her new policy of No More Nice.

  Besides, it was never a good idea to talk to strangers.

  Yet after so many years spent riding the train with the old man, he did not seem exactly like a stranger to Luna. He seemed more like a very nice old gentleman who would be soaked the minute he got off the train.

  The train creaked around a narrow bend, and just as he always did, the man woke up with a start. Which, come to think of it, was pretty strange, Luna thought. How did he know to wake up at the same exact moment, every time?

  She decided to put her No More Nice policy on hold for now. She stood up and walked down the aisle.

  “Excuse me, would you like to borrow our umbrella?” she asked the old gentleman. “My sister and I already have hats and raincoats. Our mom is a doctor, and she’s strict about cold and flu protection.”

  The man looked at her. He had eyes the color of warm chocolate chips.

  “A doctor, hmm? She must be an intelligent woman,” he said. His hands closed around the offered umbrella. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, then I thank you kindly. Are you getting off at the next stop?”

  “No, we’re the last stop. Bramblewine.”

  “Ah, Bramblewine,” said the old man sadly. “That’s where I’d like to go. But for some reason I keep jumping off at Dillweed.”

  “Then what do you do?” asked Luna.

  “Why, I catch the next train and loop around again,” he said. “I’ve been doing this for a few hours. Let me tell you, it’s quite frustrating. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, young lady.” He stood, reached for her hand and shook it.

  Luna looked hard at the old gentleman. Something about him seemed familiar.

  “Diiill-weed,” hollered the conductor.

  “Unfortunately, that’s my stop,” said the old man with a sigh.

  “No, it’s not, remember?” Luna clutched the old man’s hand. He tried to shake free of Luna’s grip.

  “Is so,” he said.

  “Is not!” She held on. Her heart was pounding. Because she knew.

  Claire, who had been watching from her seat, jumped up and rushed over. “Luna, you loon, let go,” she ordered.

  “Clairsie, look into his eyes. Don’t you see who he is?”

  Claire looked closer. She gasped. Then she said, “Who?”

  “Our very own grandfather, Fred Bramblewine, that’s who,” whispered Luna in Claire’s ear. “It’s Grampy!”

  “Please let go of my hand, miss,” said Grampy. “The train is in the station!”

  “I think he’s stuck in some sort of repeat-mistake loop,” said Luna. “We’ve got to spring him. Take his other hand, Clairsie, and do a number three-five-oh!” (Just like doctor’s procedures, most witch spells have shorthand, in case of an emergency.)

  Claire took his other hand. Rapidly, they chanted:

  Time can fly when you’re having fun

  Or it can stutter and come undone

  A sudden slap might do the trick

  Fred Bramblewine, from time, unstick!

  And then Luna slapped her long-lost grandfather across the face.

  “Miss, that wasn’t very nice!” he sputtered. “And I missed my stop!”

  Sure enough, the train was creaking past Dillweed to its final destination.

  “No no no, I haven’t missed my stop,” said Grampy, squinting out the window. “I’m supposed to get off …”

  “With us,” finished Luna.

  “With you?” He looked startled.

  “Trust us,” said Claire.

  It would be hard to explain the look on Grandy’s face when the girls got off the train, each of them holding on to one of their grandfather’s hands.

  “Could that be … Is that my long-lost Fred, unstuck at last?” she asked. She came closer, then touched his face carefully, as if he might break. Then she gave a whoop and hugged him very hard. And in spite of Grampy doing his best to hold Luna’s umbrella over them all, everyone got very wet from rain and tears.

  As soon as they got to the house, Grandy phoned their mother, who immediately made plans to drive over with Justin.

  “Serves me right. It’s all my fault for trying to Change Destiny,” Grandy told the girls privately, after Grampy had gone upstairs to take a much-needed bubble bath. “You see, Fred was always falling asleep on his commute, nightclub singing being a rather late-night job. I thought I was helping him out when I cast a spell that would always wake him up at the last stop. But I forgot one important thing—that Dillweed is generally thought to be the last stop, not Bramblewine. Bramblewine is the secret last stop.”

  “And to think we saw him for years and years, and never suspected a thing,” said Luna.

  “I know.” Grandy shook her head ruefully. “But think how hard it was for me to know dear Fred was riding the train around and around for nearly a decade. I was powerless, though. It’s the standard punishment
for Destiny Changing—once it’s done, there’s no undoing a miscast spell. But now he’s home, thanks to you smart girls. I knew you’d unstick him one day!”

  “Ten years,” said Claire. “That’s a long time to be away.”

  “Luckily for Fred, the ride only seemed like a few hours.”

  The girls looked confused. Grandy explained. “When you are inside a repeat- mistake-loop, you’re also riding on top of a time current. It’s the same as not being able to tell how deep the ocean gets when you’re swimming in it. But. I’ll have to pop Fred full of some memory spells, just so he knows who won the World Series and how many grandchildren he has.” Grandy put her hand on her heart and sighed. “It would devastate Fred to know he’d been gone so long from the family. Meantime, hide any calendars if you see them.”

  They went out to the kitchen to cast a quick lunch before their mother and Justin arrived.

  “Mom, you must have been cooking for hours!” exclaimed Jill Bundkin when she and Justin walked into the kitchen. “You should teach a time-management class at my hospital!”

  “I just hope it tastes good!” Grandy smiled (because of course it all would taste delicious).

  After lunch, everyone gathered in the living room. Grandy played piano and Grampy sang for them. He had a wonderful voice, too, Luna thought. Different from Angelica Antonio’s, but it had the same amount of perfect. And Grampy made a far better choice to sing at her wedding.

  She was glad she had broken her No More Nice rule.

  “This is like old times,” said their mother happily. “Oh, Dad, I’m just overjoyed that you decided to come home from wherever you were.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Grampy. “I was only in Philadelphia.”

  “Remind me to toss some memory spells into your mother and brother, too,” Grandy whispered to the girls.

  Outside, the wind howled as the storm raged.

  “Wolf weather,” said Justin. And he let out his usual howl that made the girls cover their ears.

  “I can do that, too,” said Grampy, and let out a howl of his own.

  Justin did a louder howl.

  Then Grampy and Justin howled together.

  “I suppose we’ll be seeing more of you out here in the future, young man,” said Grandy, looking pleased, even as she covered her ears.

  8

  Edith and Hortense

  CLAIRE KNEW IT WAS going to happen anyway.

  In spite of the boycotting.

  In spite of the bumblebee dresses.

  Their father and Fluffy were getting married on June fifth. Nothing was going to stop him.

  “And of course, Fluffy had to get married over our Bramblewine weekend,” said Luna.

  “And of course, Fluffy had to pick First Presbyterian, which we walk past on the way to school, so we have to be reminded about her dumb wedding every single day!” Claire rolled her eyes.

  “And of course, Fluffy has to hold her reception at The Aubergine, so even Steve thinks she’s a real princess.” Luna sneered. “Fluffy should have got married in Texas after all, instead of ruining Philadelphia for the rest of us.”

  “Well, we’re going to do some ruining ourselves,” said Claire, rubbing her hands together.

  Because something very nasty and ugly had dragged itself out of the brewing vats. The twins had decided that if they couldn’t Destiny Change the fact that this wedding was going to happen, the next best thing was to make it the worst day possible.

  With spells, of course.

  “Good, Smart, Tricky spells,” said Claire. “The kind of spells that will help us pass the GSTs and give us our stars and kittens.” She was breathless at the meanness of it.

  Late at night, they pored over their Little Book of Shadows and made their plans. They cackled and snickered. They plotted and fumed. They worked and schemed very hard.

  On the morning of June fifth, the twins were up with the sun to perform their first spell.

  They stood outside on the front steps facing each other, each of them holding a daisy, and softly chanted:

  Of flowered church

  And flowered table

  Fluff’s done the best that she is able

  All’s decorated to the hilt.

  Too bad the flowers have to wilt.

  Then they used their thumbs to pop off the daisy heads.

  This was a harder spell than it seems, because witches love-love-love gardens and flowers, and to wilt any plant deliberately goes against all witch-intuition.

  (In fact, the spell made Claire feel a little sick.)

  The next spell had to be performed in front of the refrigerator. While Luna held out her palm, Claire poured and stirred a teaspoon of sugar and a teaspoon of salt into it.

  A tasty cake

  With but one fault.

  When sugar turns

  Itself to salt.

  “I didn’t even know there was a wedding cake spell,” said Claire.

  “It’s nothing compared to some of those spells in the ‘Love’s Revenge’ chapter.” Luna grimaced. “Brokenhearted witches can get pretty vicious.”

  The next and final spell needed to be performed at First Presbyterian Church, so it would have to wait until they all arrived. The girls quickly ate their Lucky Oats, then changed into their bumblebee bridesmaid dresses before they walked over with Steve and their mother (Justin, in his best man suit, ran a few blocks ahead).

  “Frankly, I’m surprised Fluffy okayed those dreadful dresses,” their mother commented as she studied her daughters. “Being that she’s in the fashion industry and all.”

  “We told you. She loves them,” said Luna.

  Claire grinned behind her hand. That’s when she noticed the fat pink wart that had sprung up on her palm.

  “Ew! Look.” She showed her sister.

  Luna checked and saw she had a wart on her palm, as well.

  “What do you think it means?” Claire asked. She inspected it carefully. “That we’re getting closer to our stars?”

  “I don’t think so. Grandy doesn’t have any warts,” Luna answered. “To tell you the truth, I’m worried about our next and final spell. Isn’t it awfully close to Destiny Changing?”

  “Don’t be such a worrywart. I’m sure we have a technical loophole,” said Claire. She wasn’t certain how, but she had heard the phrase on Galaxy Murk the other night and it seemed to apply nicely to this situation.

  The church was empty. Quickly, the girls dashed up to the altar to cast their final spell, before they lost their nerve:

  Forget you not.

  Forget me, too.

  Forget to say those words,

  “I do.”

  “Well, methinks it’s done,” said Luna faintly.

  “Hounds and hunchbacks, look, Loon!” Claire lifted her hands, palms up. Half a dozen little pink warts had sprouted. There was even one on her wrist.

  “I’ve got ’em, too.” Luna’s lip curled. “Yuck.”

  “And look, the flower wilt spell’s in full force!”

  They glanced around the church. It was true. Shabby roses were bent over the pews. Brown-edged hydrangeas and bunches of brittle baby’s breath drooped in their altar vases.

  Everything looked awful.

  “This’ll teach Fluff to steal other people’s dads!” said Luna weakly.

  They hurried back down the aisle and took their places in the church vestibule along with their father, who had asked them to help greet the guests.

  “You look nice, Dad,” said Claire.

  “Thanks,” he said. He fidgeted with his cuff link. “I hope everything goes smoothly. For some reason, the flowers are losing more steam every minute.” He snapped his fingers. “Maybe it would help if the air conditioning were turned up. Yes, that’s it!” He hurried away.

  The church began to fill. Even Grandy and Grampy had come, Grampy in his velvet smoking jacket and Grandy with her silver dragon cane. A row of ladies all looking somewhat like Fluffy filed into one of the pews.


  “Her four sisters, I guess,” said Luna.

  Then a very grand, proud couple walked in, smiling and waving.

  “Fluff’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Demarkle,” whispered Claire. They looked nice, she thought, remembering that Fluffy’s parents already had invited the girls to come visit them.

  Mr. Demarkle sat Mrs. Demarkle in the pew, and then took his place by the door, waiting to escort Fluffy down the aisle. He tipped his hat to the girls.

  “Shame that Edith Hortense’s flower arrangements are doing so poorly,” he said. “Let’s cross our fingers that she won’t notice.”

  But now other people were pointing to the dying flowers and whispering. Claire looked at Luna, who frowned and glanced away.

  Claire knew what she was thinking. The flower-wilt spell was not quite as funny as they had hoped.

  In fact, it wasn’t very funny at all.

  A sleek silver limousine pulled up in front of the church. In a bounce of white satin, Fluffy jumped out. She looked absolutely perfect. Her dress was swoopy, her hair was in ringlets, and her face shone with excitement.

  Claire heard Luna gasp in delight. Her sister loved-loved -loved wedding dresses. Even Claire had to admit Fluffy looked pretty good.

  The organist stuck up the opening chords of the wedding march.

  Fluffy swept up the stairs and took Mr. Demarkle’s arm. The smile on her face froze.

  “What happened here?” she asked. “What happened to my flowers?”

  “How about let’s just get this wedding over with?” suggested Luna brightly.

  “I’m not stepping a foot down this aisle until I know what happened to my wedding flowers!” Fluffy stamped her foot.

  Heads turned around in the pews.

  The music stopped.

  Their father hurried from the altar up the aisle. His face was red.

  “There seems to be a small problem with the flowers, Fluff,” he said quietly. “It’s the air-conditioning, I think.”

  “But this isn’t at all how I pictured my special day.” Fluffy’s eyes were beginning to tear. She looked as wilted as the bouquets.

  Claire felt terrible. She pressed a warty hand to her hot forehead. Maybe she could ask Grandy to cast a flower-fixer spell. (But that would be admitting a mistake, and that was no way to get a star!)