Be Careful What You Witch For

by Hoobler, Thomas

  From the looks many of the students gave each other, Olivia could tell they didn’t agree. Ms. Noyes didn’t notice, though. She was looking over Olivia’s shoulder and frowning. “Yes, Alex?” she said.

  “Uh, Ms. Noyes, I memorized the poem,” Olivia heard him say. It was interesting to see the effect this had on Ms. Noyes. First she was pleased, but then, as ripples of barely subdued laughter spread around the room, she decided that somebody had persuaded Alex to say this just to make fun of the assignment.

  “Are you sure, Alex?” Ms. Noyes said.

  “Yes,” he said. “I studied with Olivia.”

  The laughter changed to woo-woos, along with some semi-humorous suggestions about what else Alex had been studying.

  “That’s enough!” Ms. Noyes said sharply. She looked at Olivia, who was sitting right in front of her. Olivia decided to risk it, and nodded slightly. He can do it, she thought, trying to send a message to Ms. Noyes.

  Ms. Noyes raised her eyebrows and said, “Very well, Alex. Please recite.”

  He started right away, ripping through the poem as if there was a prize for doing it the fastest. “I met a traveller from an antique land/Who said two vast and trunkless legs of stone/Stand...”

  By the time he finished, people were staring at him and clearly trying to figure out what the trick was. Did Olivia have the poem printed on the back of her shirt? Was Alex using tiny earphones? Special contact lenses?

  Ms. Noyes looked a little stunned herself, but said, “Thank you, Alex. Perhaps next time you should try for more emotion.” As his face fell, she added hastily, “But that was excellent.” She looked at Olivia. “I assume you must have memorized it too.”

  Olivia had, and recited it more slowly than Alex had. She was really on automatic pilot, however, because most of her mind was concentrating on the thought that Alex had actually done it—and the crystal ball trick had worked.

  After Olivia, Paul, and then Dulcimer demonstrated that they too had memorized the poem, along with a couple of nerdy boys who evidently felt that improving their grades was worth the risk of annoying Madison. Olivia caught the eye of Hannah, the girl who’d spoken to her after music class. Hannah looked like she might have memorized the poem too, but turned away. Madison was more important to her.

  Alex was late getting to the pizza place. Some of his guy friends stopped him after Ms. Noyes’s class to rag him about his newfound abilities. Olivia had slipped away, because she didn’t want to answer questions about her role in creating the new Alex, Mental Superhero.

  But Paul and Dulcimer wouldn’t let her off that easily. “All right, now the first thing we want to know is: What did you do with the real Alex?” Paul asked. “The one we’ve known all these years.”

  Olivia smiled. “That’s the same Alex,” she said. “You just didn’t know what he was capable of.”

  “Capable?” Paul repeated. “I’ve been in school with Alex since kindergarten. The one and only accomplishment he’s had in all that time has been creating the greatest collection of X-Men comic books in the world.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” suggested Dulcimer. “She persuaded him that Wolverine gets his superpowers from memorizing poetry.”

  “No, wait,” Paul said. “She told us her aunt was a witch, remember?”

  “Right, right,” laughed Dulcimer. “She put a spell on him.”

  Olivia was annoyed. “I did, if you want to know,” she told them. “I looked at him in a crystal ball and read him the poem. That’s why he remembered it.” There. I said it.

  Her words hung in the air as if the other two half-believed her. But only for a second. Then Paul snorted and Dulcimer leaned forward and said, “I’ve worked hard to become the weirdest person in this school, and now you just show up and think you’re going to be. You have to do better than that.”

  “Yes,” Paul said, waving his fingers in Olivia’s direction and talking in a spooky voice, “you must proooove yourself. You must—” He hesitated, thinking. Then his eyes lit up. “You must make Dulcimer into a great musician.”

  Surprisingly, Dulcimer burst out laughing. This surprised Olivia, who thought she ought to be insulted. “Yes!” Dulcimer said. “That would really be magic.” Olivia noticed, though, that her eyes were bright and she blinked a couple of times. Dulcimer didn’t want to show it, but she was hurt.

  Alex showed up just then. “Aha!” Paul said. “Have they accepted you on Teen Jeopardy yet?”

  “You always make fun of me,” Alex said. “But Olivia saw through me.”

  “I’m sure she did,” said Paul.

  “She’s my expiration.”

  “Inspiration,” Olivia said immediately.

  “And now I’m going to help her,” Alex said.

  All eyes turned to Olivia. She blushed.

  “See, I had a dream where I was a cat,” said Alex.

  “Stop it,” Olivia said.

  Alex seemed surprised. “Don’t you want me to tell them?”

  “Please,” said Paul. “Tell us.”

  “It isn’t anything dirty,” Alex reassured them.

  “Oh, well, then forget it,” Paul said.

  “Go ahead,” Olivia said, exasperated. “Now that you’ve got them all excited.”

  “Well, it was just that I was going to help her in—, insti—”

  “Investigate,” said Olivia.

  “Right,” Alex said. “In... ves... tigate the secret code.”

  “We’ll help too,” Paul offered. “If you’re a cat, can I be one too?”

  “No, you can’t,” Alex responded. “It’s in my dream. And I’ve got the book.”

  “What book is that?” asked Paul.

  “Ha. The one with the coded messages,” Alex said triumphantly.

  “Is this one of the X-Men comic books?” Paul asked.

  “That’s it!” said Dulcimer. “I knew she managed to connect the poem to the comic books.”

  “No, this is entirely different,” said Alex. “The poem just kind of stuck in my head. But the book with the secret code—”

  “Is just something I found,” interrupted Olivia. “And I want you to give it back to me, Alex. Today.”

  “Oh, I can’t,” he said. “Right after school, my family’s going out to our summer home in the Hamptons. But you can come along.” He gave her the sly look again. She shivered. It wasn’t fair to girls that anybody could be as sexy as Alex.

  “No, my aunt and I are going to do something this weekend,” she forced herself to say.

  “She could come too. We’ve got a big house.”

  “Maybe we could all go,” suggested Paul.

  “I didn’t invite you,” said Alex.

  Paul shrugged. “My family’s got a bigger country house than yours does. Nya nya.”

  “Stop, please,” said Olivia. “Alex, I just can’t go with you. But promise me, you’ll give me that book back on Monday.”

  “I promise,” he said, giving Olivia a sweet look that reminded her why she thought he was such a hottie in the first place. For a second, she was tempted to accept his invitation, but then fought back the impulse.

  On Fridays, the Knickerbocker actually let out an hour early, so that its students’ families could get a head start leaving New York for their country homes. As Olivia looked for René’s cab in the line of cars outside, Madison suddenly appeared in front of her.

  “That was so clever of you to help Alex memorize the poem,” Madison said.

  Olivia was wary. She hoped the story of the crystal ball hadn’t gotten to Madison. “He worked hard,” she said.

  “Alex only works hard on his comic books,” said Madison.

  “Maybe he’s changed.”

  “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that memorizing that poem won’t help you or him raise your grades.”

  Olivia knew that was supposed to make her curious, but she couldn’t help asking, “Why not?”

  “Because your favorite teacher, Ms. Noyes, won’t be here
long enough to give grades.”

  Olivia felt as if somebody had punched her in the stomach. “Is that so?” she asked. Weak reply.

  “My father will see to that,” said Madison smugly.

  Assume control. “He may not be such a big deal as you think.” Olivia could hardly believe she said it, even after she said it.

  Madison looked like lightning bolts were about to come out of her eyes. Olivia noticed that some of the other students were watching them.

  “Who do you think you are?” Madison said. “You just walk in here with corn growing out of your ears and think you can take my boyfriend away and insult my father? You’ll see what he can do when they tell you the Knickerbocker no longer wants you here either.”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” Olivia said. She’d heard somebody say that line in a movie, and always hoped she could use it. Now, the best thing to do is turn and walk calmly away, she told herself, and not show everybody that I’m trembling with rage.

  Fortunately, René had pulled up at just the right place and she only had to take a few steps to reach the cab. René was apparently a mind reader too, because he stepped out to open the door for Olivia. She slid in like a queen. Mother couldn’t have done it better. Well, of course Mother would have done it tall and thin, but it’s a start. She looked out the window to see Madison still giving her the fire-dragon stare. Olivia wiggled her fingers in a dainty bye-bye.

  “You looked like you were about to fight that girl,” René said when the cab was underway.

  “We were just exchanging compliments,” said Olivia.

  “She wears a lot of makeup,” he commented. “It’s not proper. Young girls don’t need all that paint.”

  “Maybe she’s insecure,” said Olivia, and then laughed. Who’s the most insecure person you know, Olivia?

  After René let her off, Olivia walked down the street to Eva’s again. This time, she hesitated before ringing the bell. But only for a moment. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.

  Eva was happy to see her. “We’re becoming good friends,” she commented as she motioned Olivia toward the sofa. Olivia noticed that Eva had cleared most of the junk off it, as if she had expected another visit. She slipped off her backpack and rested it on the floor.

  “Tea?”

  Olivia nodded. “After all, I have all weekend to sleep.”

  “None of that, now,” Eva called as she headed toward the kitchen. “I only served that once. This will give you lots of energy.”

  The cat wandered out from somewhere and looked Olivia over again. It made her wonder about Alex. And whether he took the book with him to the country house. She shook her head, telling herself to think of something else before Eva returned.

  Olivia concentrated on the tea when Eva brought it. Brownish-orange. Had a sharp smell. “Put a little lemon in it,” said Eva, holding out a small silver tray with lemon slices. Olivia took one and as she squeezed it, she noticed how the scent blended nicely with the spicy tea. It was lots better than the tea at Alex’s house.

  “Aunt Tilda told me about the... practitioners,” Olivia said abruptly, reminding herself not to say witch. “She said they shouldn’t hurt people. Is that true?”

  Eva took a sip of her own tea before responding. “I may not be the right person to ask,” she said.

  “Because you hurt somebody... a long time ago,” Olivia said.

  A smile briefly crossed Eva’s face. “Quite a long while it’s been.” She stared at something only she could see, and then said, “That kind of spell is called chaos magic, or black magic by some. You can hurt people, yes you certainly can. But it’s a very dangerous thing to try. It has... consequences. Things may happen that you don’t expect.”

  “But what if you were helping people? Could you make someone, for example, be good at music?”

  “That’s rather a tall order,” Eva said. “I take it your friend was able to remember the poem?”

  “Yes. Thank you. He did very well.”

  “So now you want him to be musical as well? I warned you about trying to build them to order.”

  “It’s not him. It’s this girl I know.”

  “I see. Want to help all your friends, eh? This kind of thing can be difficult, depending on the person. Is she Irish?”

  “My friend? No, she’s Jewish.”

  “Well, that won’t be too hard, then. Jews have a lot of music in them.”

  “Her parents are musicians.”

  “Fine, then it’s in her blood. Just needs to come out.”

  Olivia thought that sounded a lot like Mrs. Foley, and felt a little guilty. “Do you want me to get the crystal ball?” she asked.

  Eva shook her head. “The crystal won’t help. This requires a bit more trouble. First of all, we’d need something that came from her. A lock of hair would be best.”

  “Hair?” Olivia thought of Dulcimer’s bright pink hair. “Is it all right if it’s dyed?”

  “As long as it was honestly grown from the person’s head. No wigs.”

  Olivia thought about it, and Eva added, “Fingernail clippings would do. In the old days, when wars plagued the land, we would use a hand or a foot or even a finger. But those are seldom available anymore. I guess your friend wouldn’t want to give one up?”

  “No,” Olivia said. Then she added, “She wouldn’t actually have to know about this, would she?”

  “Not at all. You’re going to surprise her? But then she won’t be able to properly thank you.”

  “If it works, I’ll tell her.”

  Eva sniffed. “No ifs about it. If you don’t believe I can do it, you shouldn’t ask.”

  “Oh, I believe,” Olivia said quickly. “Really, I do. It’s just... I guess I won’t be able to get the hair until Monday.”

  “Monday’s time enough. I’ll be right here Monday unless James Sheelin finds me before then.” Eva chuckled.

  “Who is he?”

  “One of the descendants of Desmond of Sheelin.”

  “Um... what would happen if he found you?”

  “Why, he’d come to kill me, dear. That would lift the curse I placed on their family.”

  Olivia felt a little chill. The way Eva spoke, it sounded true. Olivia glanced at the apartment door, trying to remember if Eva locked it. Of course, she must have. “Is that... likely to happen?” Olivia asked.

  “He’s here in New York,” Eva said. She pointed to the crystal ball. “I keep an eye on him. But no, I don’t think he’s on to me yet. The city’s a big place. He thinks I’m in Sunnyside.”

  Seeing Olivia’s baffled expression, Eva added, “An Irish neighborhood in Queens, dear. A lovely place, but too obvious for me to hide in. The Sheelins are fierce, but not clever.”

  Olivia finished her tea and went home, promising to bring a lock of hair from Dulcimer’s head on Monday. She looked around nervously as she made the brief journey to her aunt’s house. But of course James Sheelin might look like anyone, even the homeless man Aunt Tilda regularly spoke to.

  Tilda was in the kitchen as usual, but the butcher-block table in the center of the room was covered with white dust. Flour, as it turned out. “Here you are,” said Tilda. “Wash your hands and dry them thoroughly. We’re going to make bread.”

  Olivia was intrigued, but a little disappointed. “I thought you were going to teach me how to be a... practitioner.”

  “I am, I am. Nothing more magical than making bread. Now get ready and pay attention.”

  After Olivia washed her hands, Tilda brought out a large knife with a shiny black handle that had carved designs on it. “This is my athame,” Tilda said “All practitioners have one and use it to control spirits.”

  “Have you got one for me?”

  “Not yet,” said Tilda. Then she took a large ceramic bowl and sprinkled some flour into the bottom of it. “Watch,” she told Olivia, and used the athame to draw a five-pointed star in the flour. “That’s a pentacle,” she said. “It’s the symbol
of the Lady of Earth, who blesses our work.”

  She then measured out five cups of flour and put them in the bowl, adding a teaspoon of salt, a crumbled cake of yeast, and a half cup of brown sugar. “Eva says sugar is poison,” Olivia said timidly.

  “It is for the Irish,” Tilda replied. “Bad teeth. If I were making bread for her, I wouldn’t add it. Now pay attention to how I use the athame.” She cut through the dry mixture several times, mixing it in the process.

  “That is our earth,” Tilda said. “Now for the water.” She filled a large ceramic cup with tap water and stirred it with the athame. “The cup,” she told Olivia, “is a chalice, also used in rituals and ceremonies.”

  “Why do you have to mix the water?” Olivia asked.

  “I’m not mixing it, I’m driving out any spirits that might be hiding in it.”

  “Couldn’t you see them if there were?”

  “Obviously not. And don’t think there aren’t any. This water has flowed through miles of pipes under the New York City streets. It’s almost surely infested with spirits. They’re all around us, waiting for a chance to get loose.” Olivia fingered the sachet Eva had given her, glad that she had it.

  After clearing the water, Tilda started pouring it a little at a time into the flour mixture, using the athame. When she was satisfied with the consistency, she put the bowl aside, sprinkled flour on the table, and again drew a pentacle in it.

  “Now comes the hard part,” she announced. She dumped the flour mixture onto the table and sliced it neatly into two portions. “Did you ever knead bread?” she asked.

  Olivia misunderstood. “Well, Mother’s cook ran out of it during a party and got fired,” she replied.

  “I don’t mean did you ever require or want bread,” said Tilda. “I meant this.” She put both her hands on one of the portions and began squeezing, pounding, folding, and rolling it. “The dough has to wake up,” she told Olivia. “This is how you do it. Go ahead, give it a try.”

  Olivia followed her example. It was fun at first, like molding clay or Play-Doh. But after about five minutes, it started to become a chore. “My hands are getting tired,” she told Tilda.