Be Careful What You Witch For

by Hoobler, Thomas

  “Yes,” Olivia said. “He’s reading—oh!”

  Alex was actually looking at the Dr. Dee book, although he had a stack of comic books on the table next to it.

  “What’s he reading?” asked Eva.

  “Nothing. Just a book.”

  “Does it have the poem you want him to memorize? That would help.”

  “No.”

  “Well, then you must get his attention. Tell him hello just the way you did before.”

  Olivia did, and the figure of Alex looked up, not directly at her, but just as if he’d heard something.

  “Now read him the poem,” said Eva.

  Olivia started to look in her backpack until she realized that she already knew the poem by heart. “I met a traveller from an antique land,” she began. The Alex in the crystal seemed to be listening as she recited all fourteen lines.

  “Now let him go,” Eva said. “Let the thought of him leave your mind.”

  Olivia saw the smoke fill the ball again, and Alex gradually disappeared. She still wondered why he was trying to read the Dr. Dee book, however. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to leave it with him.

  “Dr. Dee? John Dee? Why is your friend reading about that old villain? A dangerous person with his Enochian magic. Chaos magic, if you ask me.”

  Olivia reminded herself to be careful with her thoughts. “It’s Johnny Dee, just a character in a comic book.”

  “A comic book? They’ve put John Dee in a comic book for children? What is the world coming to?” Abruptly Eva stood up and said, “I have something you should wear.” She disappeared into the other room and then returned, holding a small cloth bag suspended from a string.

  “This is a silk sachet,” she told Olivia. “Wear it every day for protection.”

  “Protection against what?” Olivia asked. She took the little bag and sniffed it. “What’s inside?”

  “Oh... holly leaves, mandrake root, thistle flower. Nothing special. I make them up and give them to friends. You don’t need to wear it in Tilda’s house, of course, but it will keep away the demons elsewhere.”

  “Are there really demons in New York?”

  Eva laughed. “Dear, they’re all over the place. Most of them are harmless, of course, but they might catch you at a weak moment. Or if you should try to cast a spell yourself... but you would never do that, would you?”

  Olivia slipped the cord over her head and tucked the sachet under her blouse. She sort of liked the scent it gave off and it felt a little warm against her skin. It really did make her feel secure. She wanted to ask more about Dr. Dee, but she was afraid Eva would discover where Olivia had gotten the book. “Are you sure Alex will remember the poem?” she asked.

  Eva waved her hand. “It’s a very simple charm,” she said. “Never failed, for me. And I must say you show great promise with the crystal. Is there any Irish blood in your family?”

  “Maybe on my father’s side.”

  “It shows. And with Matilda’s background, you could become a very great...” She trailed off and then added, “But you’d need lots of training.”

  “Well, I have to be going,” Olivia said. “Thanks for the sachet. And your help.”

  “Anytime, dear. I know you and I will be great friends,” Eva said. “Next time maybe you’ll trust me enough to finish your tea,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

  Olivia bit her lip. She had hoped Eva wouldn’t notice.

  As she let herself into the ground floor of Tilda’s house, Julius was waiting. He gave her a look not very different from the one the doorman of Alex’s building had. Only Julius circled around her as well, examining her as if he was looking for something.

  Olivia hung up her backpack and went into the kitchen, where Tilda was stirring a pot of soup. “How was your date with your boyfriend?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t a date,” Olivia said. “He needed help memorizing a poem.”

  “You must have made quite an impression. He called here a few minutes ago and wanted me to go looking for you when I told him you hadn’t arrived.”

  “He thinks he’s my keeper,” Olivia said.

  “Men can be possessive,” Tilda commented. “Which reminds me. I had another phone call. Do you know someone named Madison Lispenard?”

  “I don’t exactly know her. She’s in my class.”

  “Well, her father called to inform me that a teacher, Ms. Noyes, is using what he called outmoded and oppressive teaching methods.”

  “She’s only having us memorize a poem.”

  “Did you have any trouble with that?”

  “No. What did you tell Madison’s father?”

  “I said the school had an excellent reputation and I wanted to allow it to teach you the way it thought best, unless you started staying up all night studying and had dark bags under your eyes.”

  “No danger of that at this school,” said Olivia. “What did Madison’s father say then?”

  “Well, he implied that I didn’t know very much about education. He’s a lawyer. They think they know best about everything.”

  “Will he be able to get Ms. Noyes in trouble?”

  Tilda continued stirring the pot, thinking. “He may,” she said finally.

  “Could you do something to stop him?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “You told me you were a witch. Put a spell on him.”

  “Let’s have some soup,” Tilda said, taking two bowls from the cabinet. “Pumpkin, with cinnamon and nutmeg and a little fresh ginger.”

  They sat at the kitchen table and Olivia tried a spoonful, blowing to cool it before she tasted it. “Mmm,” she said. “You are the best cook.”

  “Not made with witchcraft, either,” said Tilda. “By the way, if you’re going to visit Eva, remember that she dislikes the word ‘witch.’“

  “She told me.”

  “She has seen friends and relatives burned or tortured to death because they were accused of being witches.”

  “She has?” Olivia almost stopped eating. “I didn’t think that happened anymore.”

  “The witch trials in Salem, Massachusetts, occurred in the 1690s. That was the last time anyone was executed in this country for being a witch. As far as we know. A pastor in Texas publicly called for the burning of witches in 1999, though he wasn’t able to catch any. But he certainly might have. There are quite a few in Texas.”

  “I thought you said Eva had seen witches executed.”

  “She has.”

  Olivia didn’t quite know how to respond, so she ladled some more soup from the pot into her bowl.

  “As you must know,” Tilda said, “it’s rude to ask a woman how old she is.”

  Olivia smiled. “That was one of the first things Mother told me when she took me places.”

  “So you mustn’t let on that I told you, but Eva is something over eight hundred years old.”

  Olivia laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “She’s in good shape,” she said. “For eight hundred.”

  Tilda ignored the joke, and continued. “When Eva was a young woman, she placed a curse on someone who had hurt her family. The curse was to last a thousand years and extend to all that person’s descendants. What Eva didn’t realize was that she had to remain alive for as long as the curse remained in place.”

  “You’re serious,” Olivia said after thinking this over. Skiing couldn’t have been this weird.

  “Completely,” said Tilda.

  “And you can do things too?” Olivia asked. “Like place a curse on Madison’s father?”

  “As I say, we avoid using words that create fear in others. When we speak about what we do, we call it Wicca, or the Craft. The form of Wicca that I practice has one rule above all: If it harm none, do as thou wilt.”

  Olivia heard the echo of the words that had been written on the last page of Dr. Dee’s book. But there was a difference: “If it harm none,” she repeated slowly. That part, Dr. Dee didn’t include.

 
; “That’s right,” said Tilda. “We don’t cause harm to people just because we don’t like them. Although we’re often accused of it.”

  “Well, then what good is it? Whatever you do.”

  “We can do beneficial things, for ourselves, and for others. Many powerful people have had witches helping them. You don’t think Warren G. Harding got to be president on his own, do you?”

  “Warren G. Harding? When was he president?”

  “In the 1920s. His wife was known as the Duchess.”

  “She was a witch?”

  “Between ourselves, we can use that term. When others are present, or to respect Eva’s feelings, we say ‘practitioner.’”

  “Practitioner,” Olivia said, trying out the word. “You practice.”

  “We practice Wicca.”

  Olivia thought about it. “Are there any more recent presidents whose wives were practitioners?”

  “It’s another part of our code not to reveal the names of living witches,” Tilda said.

  “Which means...”

  “Just what I said.”

  “Well, Queen Elizabeth, then. John Dee was her practitioner?” Tilda’s face showed her surprise, and Olivia almost choked on the soup. Don’t think about that, she told herself.

  “How did you know about John Dee?” Tilda asked.

  “The social studies teacher mentioned him,” Olivia said casually. “We learned about Queen Elizabeth today.”

  “Maybe I should look a little more closely into what’s going on at your school.”

  “No,” Olivia said. “It’s just Mr. Feldstein. He’s very... colorful.”

  “Would that be Bernard Feldstein?”

  “I can’t remember his first name,” Olivia said. “Why? Do you know him?”

  “If it’s the same person, I do,” said Tilda.

  A horrifying thought came over Olivia. “Don’t tell me he’s a witch.”

  “As I said, we don’t tell,” said Tilda.

  Olivia had lots more questions. As they ate the rest of the dinner, she asked how you learned to be a witch. Tilda explained that it was a long process and not something you just jumped into. “People think they can fix everything with a spell or a potion, and that’s not what Wicca is all about,” Tilda said. “It’s a way of belonging to the universe.”

  “But you can read minds,” Olivia pointed out. “That’s something I’d like to do.”

  Tilda smiled. “Often I try not to notice what people are thinking. And that’s really all it is: noticing. Paying attention. Body language. Facial expressions. What a person does with her eyes...”

  “Magic?” Olivia suggested.

  Shaking her head, Tilda said, “You have the idea that Wicca is like the fantasy world in the Harry Potter books. It’s not at all like that.”

  “No magic wands?” Olivia was disappointed.

  “Well...” Tilda said. “I do have a wand. But to call it a magic wand would be exaggerating.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “It’s not a toy,” Tilda said. “I usually use it for ceremonial occasions.”

  “Like the other night?” Olivia said, and then slapped her forehead.

  “You saw us?” Tilda said. She didn’t seem angry. “I probably shouldn’t have given you the bedroom facing the garden, but the view is so nice when the flowers are in bloom.”

  “Did you use magic then?”

  “We were celebrating. When the flowers bloom, isn’t that magic? Now the leaves are turning colors. Isn’t that magic? When the seasons change, so does the earth. We gather to celebrate that, to pay our respects to the Lady.”

  “The Lady, who... ?” Olivia wasn’t sure how to ask the question.

  “She who guides us,” Tilda replied. Which didn’t really answer the question either.

  “What about Eva’s crystal ball?” Olivia asked. “That seems like magic.”

  “It is,” said Tilda. “But remember, she’s had a very long time to practice.”

  “Eight hundred years.”

  “Give or take a few decades.”

  Olivia still couldn’t decide whether Tilda meant that as a joke or not. But Tilda continued to evade most of her other questions. In the end, she agreed to show Olivia some things that she’d have to do to become a practitioner.

  “But you’d have to make sure you’re really interested,” said Tilda.

  “I am,” said Olivia.

  “You see, we don’t share our beliefs with anyone who’s merely curious.”

  “Okay.”

  “Or who thinks it’s only magic.”

  “I don’t,” said Olivia, but she could see by the look on Tilda’s face that she didn’t quite believe her.

  Which was fair enough, since truthfully, Olivia couldn’t help thinking what she could do with magic.

  After dinner she went up to her room and looked up Wicca on her computer, but there were so many articles—and most of them confusing—that she gave up. She wished now that she’d kept the Dr. Dee book. But when she finally went to bed, at least she didn’t have any more dreams.

  Chapter Nine

  WHEN OLIVIA REACHED her locker at school the next morning, Alex was waiting. “I have to tell you something,” he said.

  “Did you memorize the poem?” she asked, wondering whether Eva’s spell had worked.

  “Oh, we don’t have to do that now,” he said. “I guess Madison didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Her father got Ms. Dolfinger to order Ms. Noyes to back off on that. We don’t have to memorize anything.”

  “Ms. Dolfinger?”

  “You know, the head of the school.”

  “She would do that? To a teacher?”

  Alex shrugged. “Yeah, well, Mr. Lispenard is a powerful guy.”

  Olivia slammed her locker door shut. She felt like slamming it a few more times.

  Alex paid no attention. “Hey, that’s not what I want to tell you about, though,” he said.

  “Not now. Don’t tell me anything now,” she replied, taking her books and starting off down the hall. “I’m too angry.”

  “This is really important,” Alex said, following close behind. “I had a dream last night.”

  “Sure, great,” Olivia muttered. “About Wolverine?”

  Then she stopped and turned around. “You had a dream?”

  “I’m trying to tell you.”

  “You didn’t sleep with that book under your pillow, did you?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I was reading it in bed, trying to figure it out before I fell asleep. And then in this dream...”

  “What were you doing that for? I told you to keep it with the comic books.”

  “You did? I guess I forgot. Anyway, I know part of it was written in a code, and I wanted to figure it out for you.”

  “Sure.” As if.

  “But in the dream,” Alex continued, “first of all I thought I was Wolverine, but then I looked at my claws and they weren’t as long as his. I had turned into a cat.”

  “You had.” Olivia wasn’t sure she liked where this was going.

  “I know, weird, but it was a dream. Anyway, the reason I turned into a cat was so I could help you.”

  “Listen, really, Alex, I don’t think I need that kind of help.”

  “You want to know what’s in that book, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but if you’re a cat... you don’t recall if your name was Julius, do you?”

  He gave her an odd look. “You know my name is Alex.”

  “Right, right, I just thought in the dream...”

  “I might have taken on a secret identity,” he said, nodding. “It didn’t really come up, because I was supposed to instigate.”

  Olivia thought about it. “You mean investigate,” she said.

  They had continued walking down the hallway, and now the door to Mr. Feldstein’s classroom opened. A red-bearded man wearing heavy boots and pleated balloon shorts came out.

&
nbsp; It was, of course, Mr. Feldstein. “Hurry up, you two,” he said. “We’re going to learn about Jamestown today. Guess who I am?” he said, looking at Olivia. Evidently she was supposed to be the best guesser in the class now. She decided to do something to destroy that impression.

  “Wolverine?” she asked.

  Both Alex and Mr. Feldstein looked at her strangely. “That’s not something you joke about,” said Alex.

  “Come in, come in,” said Mr. Feldstein and Olivia was happy to do so. She preferred history to the madness in the corridor.

  Between social studies and math class, Olivia managed to avoid being alone with Alex. Somehow she feared learning what Very Important Thing he had learned while he was investigating. As a cat. What worried her even more was that Aunt Tilda had a cat, Eva had a cat, and now... so did Olivia.

  The last class of the morning, however, was language arts. And today was Friday, the day Ms. Noyes would find out who had memorized the poem.

  Or not. After everyone found their desks, Ms. Noyes said, “I have an announcement.” Olivia caught a triumphant look from Madison, aimed at her many followers.

  “I have been informed,” Ms. Noyes went on, “that some of you are not capable of memorizing works of literature, however brief. I find that sad and incidentally I think it underestimates your ability.” She paused. “Most of you,” she added.

  “At any rate,” she said, “a decision has been made that the memorization assignment should be voluntary.” She looked around. “You don’t have to do it, but you may if you choose.” She paused to let that sink in, then added, “Did anyone go ahead and memorize the poem?”

  Madison’s hand shot up. Olivia was surprised. After all the fuss Madison had made, she couldn’t have done the assignment.

  She hadn’t. “Ms. Noyes,” Madison asked, “if anyone does do the memorization, will that raise their grade?”

  “Well,” Ms. Noyes said, “I think it’s only fair that any kind of work students do would have an influence on their grade. Don’t you?”

  Madison shook her head. “Not if others in the class don’t do it.”

  “It’s up to them if they do it or not,” Ms. Noyes said mildly.

  Madison was about to say something else, but Ms. Noyes put up her hand to stop her. “We can discuss that later. Grades are not the most important thing in school.”