Caution: Witch In Progress

by Lynne North

  Gertie gave herself to her studies with a new enthusiasm. She was doing a little better in other classes now, but plants, herbs and cures remained her firm favourite. Apart from the crystal ball, the blonde witch’s other successes were not great if truth be told. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but Gertie couldn’t see that a time would come when she would want to harm anyone. Why grimace and point at someone to hurt them? It didn’t make any sense to Gertie. She didn’t even want to hurt Fang, though she had to think about that one. He seemed to be doing a good enough job of hurting himself anyway with his silly and spiteful ways. Gertie didn’t think any of the teachers liked him, and he fooled around too much to be good at anything. No, Gertie believed Fang would turn out to be his own worst enemy.

  The young witch took Bat with her as she went to check on Wart. She also wanted to see if the moat monster needed any herbs for his upset tummy. Bat loved to go anywhere at all, so he burbled on happily even though Gertie was deep in her own thoughts. She truly believed she had learned everything she could now for her Presentation. Gertie was as ready as she would ever be. But did she know enough? It was a worry, because what Gertie was about to attempt could potentially have disastrous consequences if it went wrong.

  ‘Hiya, Moaty!’ called Bat from sideways under Gertie’s arm. He thankfully did not know the moat monster’s real name.

  ‘Hi, Woodhead,’ replied the scaly creature, who often said he didn’t understand how a bodiless wooden head could talk to him. ‘You’re an amazing witch, Pipsqueak,’ he called. ‘A talking umbrella and a cure for stomach gripe. You never fail to impress me.’

  Gertie had brought Mervin’s cure with her, because he always seemed to need it. This time however, she also carried some seeds and small pots of leafy growths. That was why Bat was under her arm.

  ‘What’s that, Pipsqueak?’ asked Mervin with interest. ‘Something else for me?’

  ‘Well, yes, in a way,’ Gertie replied. As a kind witch, she had been wondering what would happen when she was no longer at the Academy. How would Mervin get his cure? She had hit on what she thought to be the perfect solution.

  ‘I’m going to make you your own herb garden where you can reach it, Mer…Monster,’ said Gertie, glancing at Bat who she had placed on the ground.

  ‘My own herb garden?’ asked Mervin, completely agog now.

  As Gertie poked, and dug, and planted in a sheltered spot by the moat, she continued to talk. ‘Yes, and then you can pick what you need, when you need it. You know what the different leaves look like now, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied the monster, ‘but, why can’t you just bring it?’

  Gertie believed he looked sad. Mervin seemed to know something was wrong. She didn’t know what to say. The young witch took a little time saying a few magical words over the tiny garden she had created, to give herself time to think. She cast a spell said to make plants grow quickly, and thrive. She hoped it would work.

  Finally, she turned to Mervin; who gave off a rude noise and made the moat bubble. He stared at her with sad, green, googly eyes. ‘Not that anyone would want to visit me, if they didn’t have to…’ said the moat monster, shrugging as if he didn’t care. ‘I only like my own company,’ he added in a defensive way.

  ‘I love to come to see you!’ Gertie replied with a smile.

  ‘You do?’ asked Mervin.

  ‘Yes, of course. You’re my friend,’ said the young witch.

  ‘But I’m her better friend,’ interrupted a wooden head from the ground.

  Gertie picked Bat up again, so he could look around. That quietened him down for a while.

  Gertie went on to tell Mervin about her home, and the Academy term coming to an end. She also told him she wasn’t sure if she would be coming back for another term. ‘But I’ll come back to visit!’ she promised.

  ‘You will?’ asked the slimy monster.

  ‘As often as I can,’ Gertie said. ‘Especially when I can fly my own broomstick.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the moat monster after a while, still looking down. He turned to examine his garden.

  ‘I’m off to check on Wart now,’ Gertie called.

  ‘Uhm,’ said Mervin, without turning around.

  ‘Are you sulking?’ Gertie asked.

  ‘No,’ replied the monster.

  ‘He is,’ Bat said.

  Mervin didn’t respond, so Gertie turned to walk away.

  ‘Gertie!’ Mervin called after her, using her name for the first time.

  Gertie turned back in surprise.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ he continued, obviously while he still had the courage to say it.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Gertie. ‘Look, you’re making me all sad now. I’m not going yet, we still have ages.’

  ‘Okay, Pipsqueak,’ said the moat monster, dismissing her with a flap of his hand. ‘Off you go. I need a swim.’ With that, he gave a weak but toothy smile, and disappeared under the stagnant water.

  Continuing on her way to see Wart, Gertie made herself a mental note to talk to Miss Fiendish about making friends with Mervin, very soon. Life could be so complicated.

  All talk amongst the pupils was now of the Fire class. It was getting ever nearer. The Fire Spell was really meant for older pupils on their second term. This made it all the more exciting to most of the young witches and warlocks. Gertie began to wonder if she was the only one who was a bit worried about it. Bertha couldn’t care less, one way or the other.

  The blasted heath was a very barren place, situated away from the Academy and any woods, for obvious reasons. Inexperienced hands, and fire, were not a very safe combination. It was quite a large area and had a hill in its centre. They had been told that older pupils held supervised bonfires on the hill at special times of the year, like Halloween, and the Winter Solstice, which Gertie remembered was the shortest day of the year. This naturally also made it the longest night of the year, which was a good time for witchery.

  There was even talk of dancing around the bonfire and chanting spells, but Gertie had never seen any of this from the windows of the Academy. She had heard exaggerated tales about it, and couldn’t decide which parts were true or not.

  Standing out on the blasted heath at last, Gertie felt strangely cold. The whole area was dead and deserted, with blackened earth and a permanent burnt smell in the air. Gertie wasn’t keen on it at all, though the others were whispering in awe at the blackness of it all. She would have much preferred to be in the woods, full of life and colour.

  Mr Morbid had led all the pupils out from the Academy, and on the walk to the heath. He now stood facing them and began to speak.

  ‘Right, class,’ he began, staring under his dark, thin brows. ‘You can all light your wall torches, yes?’

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  He nodded. ‘Well, what you are about to learn today won’t be much different. It relies heavily on the same principle of belief, as does much of witchcraft. I’m sure you’re beginning to find that out for yourselves as you near the end of your first term here. This class will be very basic, but those of you who return for another term will have further classes with me to learn much more. All we will learn today is to form small flickers of fire, and to control them. I will begin by telling you the general principles.’

  Mr Morbid looked around at everyone. Gertie did too. They were all paying close attention, apart from Bertha who looked rather weary.

  He continued, ‘Firstly, to produce fire, you will need to centre your body’s electrical energy at your fingertips. Once you feel the tingling announce its arrival, you need to evoke a flicker. Witches don’t usually find this difficult with practice, though I’ve never known a normal able to do it. Once you see the flickering flame at your fingertips, you can then begin to learn how to form balls of fire under your control. Some witches can in fact produce fire simply by the right look or stare, but most prefer to produce the fire on their fingertips.’

  Gertie paid even more attenti
on. Had she done something clever when she set fire to Grothilde’s barn with a stare? Not that she was proud of what she had done. They were still building it back.

  Mr Morbid continued. ‘The fingertip method is also the safest way to produce fire, as you will learn to hold it, and produce a controlled cast. In this way, you can see the size of the flame before you cast it. You don’t want to be trying to light a fire in the hearth, and send a ball large enough to set the whole room on fire, do you?’

  Some of the witches giggled. Fang seemed to think it sounded like a great idea. What power! His usually slitty eyes were now wide with interest.

  ‘A point is the safest way to direct your fire,’ Mr Morbid said. ‘In this way, you can specify more easily where you want your fire to go. If you are using the “Look” method, and become distracted, anything could happen,’ he stated, looking one to the other.

  Gertie felt herself blush. Oops, she thought.

  Mr Morbid’s gaze rested on her a moment, turning Gertie an even brighter shade of red. She wondered if he could possible know what she had done. Of course, he couldn’t.

  ‘We prefer therefore to teach fire by the point method at the Academy,’ the teacher continued. ‘You will find your own preferred ways once you are adept. You will learn, with practice, to use the amount of electrical energy necessary for the size of fire you wish to create. As you see the fire on the tips of your fingers, you will know how much power you need. If it looks too large, decrease your fire power. If it is too small, increase it. It will not burn your fingers, because it is your fire. Beware how you use it however, as it could burn someone else if you are careless with it.’

  Mr Morbid paused again to make sure his last remark had sunk in. ‘The key, as I’m sure you are beginning to realise, is concentration. I want you all to space out now to give yourselves enough room, and concentrate on bringing fire to your fingertips. NO throwing unless I tell you to do so, and only SMALL flames at this stage. You can use words of power if you like, to get yourselves in the right mood. This isn’t necessary, but some witches and warlocks find that repetitive words aid concentration and prevent the mind from wandering. It is VITAL you do not let your mind wander when dealing with fire!’

  Gertie was sure Mr Morbid was looking at her again! It was probably just her feelings of guilt. She might feel better if she told Grothilde the truth one day. Maybe not yet though.

  The pupils spaced out, and a lot of concentrating on fingertips began.

  Gertie made sure she was well distanced from anyone else, and stared at her fingers. She stared at them more in awe than in anticipation. Did she really want to see fire on the ends of them? What if she couldn’t control it? What if she set fire to…to what? Gertie looked around herself carefully to see what she might set fire to. Bertha! What if she set fire to Bertha! The big girl had loomed into Gertie’s line of vision. She was staring at her own fingertips with a bored expression. Well, maybe Gertie couldn’t really set fire to Bertha, but the very thought put her off trying too hard. Owl was near too. The other birds were keeping their distance. They didn’t seem to like the burnt smell one bit.

  Bertha didn’t appear to share Gertie’s worries. She was staring at her hands as if she hoped they would do something clever, without any effort on her part. They didn’t. Jasper dozed unconcernedly at her feet. The big girl looked up suddenly to see what was happening as they all heard an excited squeal coming from Malicia.

  Gertie turned her attention to Malicia too. Small flickering flames were playing around her fingertips!

  ‘Good, very good!’ exclaimed Mr Morbid, hurrying over. ‘Look class, this is what you are all aiming for.’

  Fang looked envious, but tried to be as pleasant as he could (which wasn’t very pleasant), since Malicia was his friend. It was still obvious to Gertie that he had wanted to be the first to produce fire.

  Malicia was now forming small balls of fire under Mr Morbid’s careful instruction. Once they were controlled on the ends of her fingers, the teacher told her to throw them at a rock a few paces away. Malicia did it!

  Seeing the small fires, the bird familiars began to react. They didn’t like it at all. Most of them flew off to a safer distance. Owl couldn’t really see what was going on, but his actions made it clear he could sense danger.

  Gertie felt his anxiety at once. ‘It’s alright, Owl,’ she consoled him. ‘You fly off somewhere nice. I can manage without you in this class.’ Owl blinked at her. He had no idea what she was saying, but Gertie saw him pick up on the idea of what she meant.

  ‘Off you go, Owl, really!’ Gertie encouraged.

  Owl didn’t wait to be told again. He must have believed his witch was in no danger, because he flew off in the direction of the woods.

  All the familiars seemed at least a little panicky, but some more than others. More pupils were having minor successes now, and the faint smell of burning was all around.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ called Mr Morbid, ‘No throwing until I see what you’re doing, and tell you what to aim at.’

  Gertie didn’t think Nastassia’s praying mantis was happy at all. He was staring through one side of his jar where he could see his witch producing flickers of fire, and on the other side was Fang’s vampire bat eyeballing him. How much stress could he take?

  Fang had finally managed to produce a ball of fire, which he proceeded to throw as high as he could skywards. Victor the vulture was flying overhead at the time, but flew off even quicker with a singed feather.

  ‘FANG!’ called Mr Morbid, and hurried over to sort him out.

  Yet another teacher not happy with Fang, thought Gertie. She looked over to see how Bertha was getting on. Strangely enough, her friend seemed to be staring at her fingertips with more interest, and muttering something. Gertie decided that if even Bertha was getting involved, she must try harder. She asked Bertha what she was doing.

  Bertha looked away from her fingertips and explained. ‘I’m getting hungry. I wondered if anyone would notice if I ate some of the marshmallows I’ve brought in my pockets. I prefer them toasted though, so it made me think...’

  There was a definite glint in Bertha’s eye, and she began staring at her fingertips again with real effort. She mumbled a little ditty under her breath about toasting marshmallows. If wasn’t long before she jumped, and smiled. Soon, she was holding a marshmallow in one hand, and toasting it with the other. Jasper watched with one weary eye, just in case he should move, or better still should any marshmallow fall.

  ‘Good control,’ said Mr Morbid, who had come up behind Bertha, ‘but not exactly what I had in mind.’

  Bertha quickly ate her marshmallow before the teacher could confiscate it.

  He moved on towards Gertie who saw Bertha sigh with relief then, pleased the teacher’s attention was distracted, reach out another marshmallow to toast.

  ‘How’s it going, Gertie?’ the teacher asked.

  ‘Uhm, not very well I’m afraid, sir,’ she replied, a bit downcast.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ replied Mr Morbid. ‘I’m sure it will come to you. Greta speaks…er, sorry, Miss Fiendish, speaks very highly of you.’

  Gertie stared at him in surprise. ‘She does?’

  ‘Yes, of course she does,’ he replied. ‘Are you frightened of fire, Gertie?’ he asked in a low voice.

  Gertie thought about it for a moment, and then replied. ‘Well, not frightened of fire as such, but of what I might do with it.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ reassured the teacher. ‘Believe me, Gertie, I can put out fires as easily as I can make them. Do you think I’d be allowed up here with all you little fire devils if I couldn’t?’

  ‘Well, I guess not,’ replied Gertie, feeling a little better.

  ‘Okay then, off you go, make fire!’ he encouraged. His eyes crinkled up at the corners in an amused way, and his dark eyes sparkled.

  Gertie smiled. She decided that he looked a lot younger than she had originally thought, and looked quite kind, for a warlock.


  She tried again in a more relaxed, but determined way.

  Mr Morbid suddenly said ‘Ooops,’ and hurried off towards Ghoul. The boy had managed to set fire to his own notepad. It should have been put safely out of the way. With a brief movement of his slim hands and a few words, Mr Morbid soon had the fire out. He then looked over at Gertie and winked in an ‘I told you so’ sort of way.

  Gertie liked him. She wondered if Miss Fiendish knew his first name like he did hers. Secretly, she hoped so.

  With a smile on her face, she watched the first flickers of flame beginning on her fingertips.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gertie felt she could burst with things to tell Ma and Gran on their next visit. This would be the last time she saw them before her Presentation. So far, Gertie hadn’t even told Ma or Gran what she was about to attempt. As the time grew closer, she decided she should confide in someone, just to make sure she was doing the right thing. Who better to talk it over with than the two people she loved most in the whole world.

  She knew Gran could tell there was something on her mind the minute they arrived. The hugs and smiles and kisses were all the same, but there was something lurking under the surface. It was a sort of anticipation, or even confusion. Whatever it was, Gran didn’t ask. Gertie knew she was waiting for her to get to the point sooner or later, in her own way.

  Ma listened appreciatively to Gertie’s girlish chatter about her classes, and even about seeing flickers of fire at her fingertips. Eventually, Gertie fell silent, and looked down at her feet.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ asked Ma in concern.

  Gran looked at Ma, in a knowing way. ‘I think our Gertie has something to tell us,’ she said at last, quietly (for Gran).

  Gertie looked at her Gran and smiled. She then felt a bit troubled again.

  Both of the older witches waited patiently for Gertie to begin.