The Power of Poppy Pendle

by Natasha Lowe

  “I just want to help Poppy,” she said, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “Only I don’t know how.”

  “But you know where she is?” Ms. Roach questioned, leaning over the desk. “Because it’s important you tell us.”

  “I d-d-d-don’t want to get Poppy into trouble,” Charlie stammered. “I’m just scared because she seemed so, so . . .” She stopped and thought hard for a moment, trying to come up with the right word. “She seemed so lost.”

  “Lost!” Ms. Roach and Miss Weedle said at the same time.

  “Yes, her hair was a mess, and I don’t think she’d changed her clothes in quite a while. She didn’t seem to recognize me, and,” Charlie added with emphasis, “she was eating a Fudge Monkey.” Neither Ms. Roach nor Miss Weedle seemed to understand the full significance of this.

  Ms. Roach finally murmured, “Well, go on.”

  “I believe she’s turned her parents to stone,” Charlie whispered, wondering how much she should tell them. “She seems to have turned a lot of things to stone.”

  “We know,” Ms. Roach sighed, “and it’s becoming a bit of a problem. I’ve already had the police round here asking questions. Did you hear about the manager at the local Super Savers Market?”

  “My dad read about him in the newspaper this morning.”

  “Then you understand that this does not look good for Ruthersfield,” Ms. Roach continued. “We are a school with a superb reputation in witchcraft,” she said, speaking as if she had lockjaw. Her face was so tense Charlie could see a big blue vein throbbing at the side of her neck. “Most of our girls go on to have brilliant careers in magic, and we have many Noblet Prize winners among our alumnae.” She shook her head sadly. “In fact, Poppy Pendle was destined for great things.”

  “But she doesn’t like magic,” Charlie pointed out. “She doesn’t want to be a witch.”

  “Oh, that’s nonsense,” Ms. Roach said. “Utter nonsense. Poppy was one of our finest witches.”

  “But she doesn’t enjoy it,” Charlie stressed. “Magic makes her miserable. She wants to be a baker, only her parents won’t let her. She’s furious with them. That’s why she ran away. She never had tonsillitis at all.”

  “She ran away!” Ms. Roach looked shocked. “I must admit I thought it was odd when her mother told us Poppy had been sick, because she’s never missed a day of school before. We had no idea she ran away. Of course there was talk amongst the girls,” Ms. Roach admitted. “But we didn’t believe such rumors for a moment. Her parents never said a word.”

  “Well, that explains a lot,” Miss Weedle said, sinking down onto a chair beside Charlie. “It certainly explains why the Stop It Now Spell worked so well with her. All that pent-up fury and aggression.” She shuddered. “I thought she was just having a bad day. I would never have taught it if I’d realized quite how unhappy she was.”

  “Is that the spell that turns things into stone?” Charlie asked, and Miss Weedle looked vaguely embarrassed.

  “It’s basically a safety spell,” she said defensively. “We use it to halt things that are out of control. Most of our girls have a hard enough time actually getting an object to stop. It’s not an easy one to master,” she told them. “And you usually need years of experience to transform things into stone. Even I can’t do that.”

  “Except Poppy seemed to manage it without any trouble at all,” Ms. Roach said in a rather acid tone. “Which is why we find ourselves in this unfortunate situation.”

  “So how can we help her?” Charlie asked again. “There must be a way to stop her doing what she’s doing?”

  “Not really,” Miss Weedle sighed. “There’s no reversal charm for this type of spell.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.” Charlie said.

  Miss Weedle slipped a ring on and off her finger. “It’s complicated,” she said. “There is of course an antidote to the basic Stop It Now Spell. You can freeze something, and then unfreeze it again, a moving car, a mouse, a rolling ball. But once the object has been turned into stone, the antidote won’t work, I’m afraid. Too much emotion behind the spell.”

  “So what about her parents?” Charlie questioned. “What about the manager of Super Savers and all those animals and birds?”

  “Only Poppy has the power to change those things back.”

  “How?” Charlie cried. “How can she do that if there’s no reversal charm, or whatever you call it?”

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Miss Weedle admitted. “The spell is a deep one. This sort of magic is extremely powerful, and more so when it’s used for an evil cause.”

  “Turning her parents to stone wasn’t evil,” Charlie interrupted hotly. “They were awful to Poppy. They deserved it.”

  “That may be true,” Miss Weedle acknowledged, “but the answer is still the same. This particular spell can only be undone by Poppy.” Here she stopped and gave a troubled sigh. “And to do that she needs to identify where the force behind the spell came from and reverse it. Undo that energy.”

  “We know where it came from,” Charlie said. “She was working at Patisserie Marie Claire and her parents dragged her back home. She didn’t want to leave.” Charlie scowled at Ms. Roach as if she was partly responsible. “Poppy was really upset. That’s all she’s ever wanted to do, bake, and now she’ll never cook again.”

  “So to reverse the Stop It Now Spell,” Miss Weedle said somberly, “Poppy needs to get rid of her anger, that particular anger. The one that’s driving her fury.”

  “That’s the problem.” Charlie’s voice shook. “That’s why I came here. I don’t think Poppy wants to stop doing what she’s doing. I think she’s given up. I mean, she’s eating Fudge Monkeys and Twirlies.”

  “Well then, we have a serious crisis,” Miss Weedle said gravely. “Once witches go over to the dark side, it is almost impossible to help them get back again, unless they are willing to change. Most of them, I’m afraid, are not.”

  Reaching for Charlie’s hand, Ms. Roach gave it a gentle squeeze. “You must tell us where Poppy is, before she hurts anyone else. The police want her locked behind bars, and I must say I’m inclined to agree with them. Although,” she added wistfully, “it is a tragic waste of a beautiful mind. Right from the beginning I knew that girl had special talent.”

  “Yes, she does,” Charlie agreed. “She makes the most delicious cakes and cookies in the world. That’s what her talent is and that’s what she loves.” She looked imploringly over at the headmistress. “Please, Ms. Roach, don’t call the police yet. Now that I understand about the spell Poppy’s using, I honestly think I can help her. Please let me try. I’m sure if Poppy starts baking again, she’ll be happy. That’s all she wants. That’s why she’s so upset,” Charlie said, standing up and twisting a frizzy curl round her finger. “Once Poppy begins to cook, she won’t be angry anymore and the spell will reverse itself, and everything will be fine. She always said it was impossible to make a good cake if you’re in a bad mood.”

  “Did she now?” Ms. Roach muttered, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. “Very well, child, I will grant you a few more days, but only because I would like to contain this scandal. If anyone else gets turned to stone in the meantime”—she leveled her gaze at Charlie—“we call in the police and you tell them where Poppy is.”

  “Okay.” Charlie nodded, shaking Ms. Roach’s hand and trying not to think about PC Flower.

  Then, hurrying out of Ruthersfield Academy, Charlie sprinted straight for Marie Claire’s.

  Chapter Twenty

  ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

  An Idea

  THERE WERE LIGHTS ON IN THE SHOP, BUT CHARLIE couldn’t see any people. Usually at this time in the morning, Patisserie Marie Claire was jammed with customers. “Bonjour,” Marie Claire said, glancing up from behind t
he counter. “Ah, Charlie, hello. Should you not be in school?”

  “I’ve found Poppy,” Charlie panted. “Down by the canal in that empty cottage. She’s all by herself and her clothes are all dirty. She’s been eating Fudge Monkeys.”

  Marie Claire gasped. “Fudge Monkeys, Charlie. This is serious.”

  “It’s worse than that. She’s the one who’s been going around turning all the animals and birds in Potts Bottom to stone.” Charlie paused for breath. “She turned her parents to stone and a manager at the Super Savers Market. And you know that police officer who disappeared?” Charlie said.

  “I read about him this morning,” Marie Claire murmured.

  “Well, he’s hidden behind a bush by the cottage. She’s turned him to stone as well. Which means it probably won’t be long before the rest of the police force discovers her.”

  “Mon Dieu!” Marie Claire walked over to the door and flipped the closed sign around. “Now we can talk without being disturbed.”

  “But what about your customers?” Charlie said in concern.

  “What customers?” Marie Claire looked around the shop. “Since Poppy left, my baking has not been the same.”

  “That’s because you miss her,” Charlie pointed out.

  “Perhaps,” Marie Claire agreed. “Certainly my heart isn’t in it. Did you not read the sign out front?” She gestured at the window. “I have to close next month. My landlord won’t renew the lease. He wants to put a MockTurdles Burger Palace in here.”

  “That’s horrible.” Charlie grimaced. “Poppy would be so upset if she knew.”

  “Have you talked with her?” Marie Claire asked. “Would she accept a visit from me, do you think?”

  “She won’t talk at all,” Charlie said. “That’s the problem. She’s so unhappy, Marie Claire. This spell Poppy’s been putting on everything is incredibly powerful. I think it’s taken her over in some way, and there doesn’t seem to be anything anyone can do about it.” Charlie helped herself to a chocolate croissant from the display case and took a bite. It was dry and rather bland. Not like the croissants Marie Claire used to make.

  “How do you know this, Charlie?” Marie Claire said.

  “Because I’ve just been to Ruthersfield. I thought they might have a way to help. At least to change back all the animals and birds Poppy turned to stone. Not that I care about those parents of hers,” Charlie muttered. “If it were up to me, I’d keep them stone forever.”

  “And what did they tell you, Charlie? There must be something we can do to help her.”

  “She’s gone over to the dark side,” Charlie said soberly, “and it’s almost impossible to get her back, according to Ms. Roach, the headmistress. All the things she’s turned to stone will have to stay that way.”

  “Forever?” Marie Claire looked flabbergasted.

  “Unless Poppy can take the energy she used to create that spell in the first place and turn it around. Make it positive.”

  “And how is she supposed to do that when she won’t talk and she’s eating Fudge Monkeys?” Marie Claire asked.

  “Well, I think we might be able to help her,” Charlie said. “Right now Poppy is miserable because her parents dragged her away from here. They took the oven out of their house.”

  “Ohhh-la-la!” Marie Claire shook her head.

  “That’s where Poppy’s anger has come from,” Charlie continued. “And it’s why she’s turning things to stone.”

  “So what can we do?”

  “Okay, this is my idea,” Charlie told her, perching on a stool behind the counter. “We have to make Poppy want to cook again. She’s lost all her passion, and that’s the problem. If she starts to care, to want to bake cookies and cakes like before, then her anger will disappear and the stone spell should reverse itself. Poppy will be happy, and, and . . .” Charlie shrugged.

  “And we’ll all live happily ever after?” Marie Claire finished for her, but she was only half teasing, and she reached down to give Charlie a hug.

  “I don’t know about that,” Charlie said sheepishly. “But we have to try, Marie Claire. If we don’t help Poppy, no one else will, and she’ll end up in prison.”

  “D’accord! All right!” Marie Claire clapped her hands in a show of efficiency. “Let’s head to the kitchen and make her something extra delicious. The way to melt Poppy’s anger is clearly through her stomach, and that won’t be easy if she’s eating Fudge Monkeys.”

  “And Twirlies,” Charlie added with a shudder. “There were Twirlie wrappers everywhere.”

  They spent the rest of the morning making rich buttery brioche dough filled with chunks of dark chocolate. When the loaves came out of the oven, Marie Claire smiled. She broke one in half to let the steam out and put a hot chunk in her mouth. “Oh my, that’s good,” she groaned, taking another bite. “I seem to have my touch back again!”

  Taking down an old wicker basket from one of the shelves, Marie Claire packed the brioche loaves inside, covered them with a clean cloth, and handed the basket to Charlie. “Would you like me to come with you, chérie?”

  “I think I should go alone,” Charlie said. “We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

  “Well, come back and tell me what happens. This brioche is bound to make Poppy smile when she tastes it.”

  Filled with a sense of hope, Charlie walked down to the canal and climbed over the stone wall. There was a rusty iron gate leading up to the cottage, but thick clumps of nettles grew around it, so going through the gate was not a smart idea. Just as before, no sound came from the cottage, but Charlie did see a new addition to Poppy’s stone collection. Standing in the overgrown yard was a beautiful stone fox, holding his bushy stone tail aloft. “Poor old thing,” Charlie whispered, stroking the fox’s head. Carefully picking her way over to the window, Charlie edged around the holly bush, averting her gaze from PC Flower. At least he was well hidden. She stretched up and balanced the basket on the ledge. It wobbled a little, being rather too wide for the narrow sill. She could glimpse Poppy, still sitting on the packing crate. Only this time she had her back to the window and was slurping stew right from a can. As Charlie turned away, she heard a soft thud, and when she looked round, she realized that the basket had tipped over, falling inside the cottage. Then there was a scraping sound as if the packing crate had been kicked across the floor. This was followed by handfuls of brioche flying out of the window as Poppy chucked them into the yard. “Consticrabihaltus,” a gruff voice screamed, and the pastries were chased through the air by the Stop It Now Spell. Gray, sparking thunderbolts blazed across the sky. Cowering in the grass, Charlie covered her head with her hands while heavy stone brioche rained down around her.

  “Not very successful,” Marie Claire sighed when Charlie reported back what had happened.

  “I think it scared her when the basket tipped over, but I’ve had another idea,” Charlie said. “Let’s make some cakes that look like Twirlies but taste delicious. We’ll fool her into eating them because they’re Twirlies, but one mouthful and she’ll remember how good food can be.”

  “Mmmmmm.” Marie Claire mulled over the suggestion. “It won’t be easy because she doesn’t want to remember, Charlie. That would hurt too much and bring back all her lost dreams. So our Twirlies will have to be spectacular if we are going to make her feel happiness again.”

  Marie Claire made a golden sponge cake batter, piped it into log shapes, baked them, and filled the little cakes with sweet vanilla cream. They looked remarkably similar to Twirlie bars. “Leave them outside the door this time,” Marie Claire advised. “Poppy will be bound to find them. I must say I’m rather proud of these,” she said, taking a bite of cake. “If anything will bring Poppy back from the dark side, a taste of my Twirlie bars should.”

  Charlie carefully positioned a plastic shopping bag full of Marie Claire’s Twirlie bars right outside the cottage door.
By this time the light had begun to fade, and she knew she would have to get home before her mother began to worry. There was no sign of Poppy, and Charlie didn’t want to look through the window again. So instead she knocked on the door and quickly ran away, planning to return the following morning to check if the Twirlies had been taken.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

  An Oven to Cook With

  WHEN CHARLIE ARRIVED HOME, HER MOTHER MET HER at the front door, looking worried. “Where were you?” Mrs. Monroe burst out. “Your teacher just called.” She gave Charlie a penetrating look. “Apparently, you weren’t in school today, which is odd considering how early you left the house.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie apologized. “I missed the bus because I had to go and see Poppy. I was worried about her. She’s, well, she’s been having trouble lately.” Charlie found that her eyes had filled with tears. “And I forgot my lunch and I hate walking into class late.”

  “So you took the whole day off?” Mrs. Monroe said more gently.

  “I’m really sorry, Mum. It won’t happen again, I promise. I was just trying to help Poppy.”

  Mrs. Monroe gave her daughter a tight hug. “Is everything all right with her?”

  “I don’t think so,” Charlie said. “Which is why I’m trying to help.”

  After supper that night Charlie left a piece of buttered soda bread by her goose. In the morning the bread was gone, and he had waddled around to the other side of the apple tree. She didn’t understand why he should move about at night, but Marie Claire said it was probably because Charlie and Poppy had been such good friends. “You girls have a special connection,” she told Charlie, who had gone straight to Marie Claire’s after breakfast. “The goose can sense that. Besides, if it’s food and love that will melt away Poppy’s anger, and that’s what you’re giving your goose, well, it makes sense, n’est-ce pas? You soften his heart enough so that he can walk a little at night. And let us not forget that those dark hours are a time when magic is at its most powerful.”