by Lexi Connor
B craned her neck around and lifted her arm to see that there were chocolate handprints all over her back. “How did that happen?” She snapped her fingers. “I know. Mr. Bishop and Mayor Cumberland helped me up when I tripped. One of them must have touched some chocolate by mistake when the lights went out.”
Jason cut to the head of the line of people eager to sample their first-ever Fabulous Fruits. And he’d already had some! Mr. Cicely picked up a candy with a pair of silver tongs and was just about to drop it into Jason’s outstretched hand, when Mr. Jameson pulled Jason aside.
“Time we were leaving, son,” he said.
“Awww, Dad,” Jason whined. “I just wanted to try one of the Fabulous Fruits. One little one.”
“Don’t try to kid me,” Jason’s dad said in a much lower, sterner voice. “It’s too late for you to try ‘just one.’ Wipe that chocolate off your mouth.”
Around the room, guests turned toward the source of the argument. They stared at Jason and his dad.
Mr. Jameson gave an unconvincing laugh. “Please excuse us both, we must be going now,” he said, leading Jason toward the door. “Jason’s tired after a long day at school. Hard work maintaining those honor roll grades, isn’t it, son?”
B glanced at George. Oh, brother. Like father, like son.
“But, Dad, everyone else gets to have chocolate.” Jason’s voice was much lower now, but B and George still heard him.
“Let them destroy their health, then,” his father replied. “Fruit is nature’s candy. You know better than to raise a fuss like this.” They left.
George and B reached the head of the line. When her father held out a Fabulous Fruit for her to try, B shook her head, but George popped a chocolate-covered apricot into his mouth and chewed slowly. B’s dad watched his face. He took a chocolate-covered cherry for himself and put it in his mouth.
“Well, George? What do you say?”
George seemed to be concentrating on chewing. He gulped down his candy.
“It’s, uh, it sure is fruity.”
“But is it fabulous?” B’s dad pressed him.
George nodded once. “Uh, yeah. Fabulous. Yeah, it’s good. Really.” He gave B’s dad a thumbs-up sign. Mr. Cicely, visibly delighted, moved on with his platter.
When he was out of earshot, George pulled B aside and whispered, “B, it’s awful!”
“Well, that’s no surprise. I told you chocolate and fruit don’t mix!”
George shook his head. “It’s not that. I like chocolate and fruit. Something’s wrong with this chocolate.”
“But you love Enchanted Chocolate. It’s the same stuff as all their other candies. Better, Dad said.”
“This tastes … strange. Bitter. Can chocolate go rotten?”
B shrugged. “I guess so. But this is fresh, new chocolate.” She watched her friend closely. “George, if it tastes so bad, how come you told Dad you liked it?”
George sighed. “Look at him. He’s so excited, with all these people here. Would you want to be the one to tell him that his big new product stinks?”
Chapter 4
“ ‘Fabulous Fruits, freshness with a triple dip,’ ” Mr. Cicely sang that evening as he drove B and George home after the last guests had left. “Catchy tune, eh? ‘Enchanted Chocolates Fruit. That’s Fabulicious!’ ”
Oh, great. Now the tune was going to be stuck in B’s head again.
“Today was a great day. Even though we had the problem with the lights. A really successful product launch. A week from now, we’ve got ads appearing in magazines and websites all over the country.” He snapped his fingers. “Do you think your friend in the rock band might sing the jingle for us in a TV ad?”
“Um, maybe,” B said, thinking of her friend Trina, the famous singer in the Black Cats, who just happened to be a sixth-grader in B’s class. Sure, Trina might agree to sing, but if this chocolate tasted as bad as George said, was that a good idea?
“Ah-ah-choo!” B’s dad sneezed and shook his head. “Phew! That was a big one. Off the Richter scale, eh?”
B blinked. She could have sworn she saw a trio of blue bubbles appear, then pop, right when her father sneezed. It must have been a trick of light from the setting sun coming through the windshield.
“We’re going to need to hire you at Enchanted Chocolates, George,” B’s dad said. “Chief Taster and Idea Generator.”
“Awesome!” George said, bouncing in his seat. “I could drop out of school and eat chocolate all day long!”
“Whoa! Hold on, there. You’ll need to finish school to work for me. Ah-choo!”
No doubt about it. Dozens of blue bubbles appeared in the front seat. Her father waved them away quickly.
“You must be catching cold,” George said.
“Nope. He’s probably allergic to chocolate-covered fruit,” said B. “I know I am.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.” B’s dad pulled into their driveway, and they all climbed out of the car and went inside.
B’s mom was just pulling a steaming pan of manicotti out of the oven, stuffed with a special filling of goat cheese, minced thistles, roasted nettles, and wild mushrooms. She set it down next to a basket of freshly buttered garlic bread and a large wooden bowl of tossed salad. Mrs. Cicely was a championship finalist in the Witchin’ Kitchen competitions, and almost every meal at their home was a culinary adventure — although whenever nonwitch guests like George were around, she downplayed her witchy ingredients.
“Hi, guys, how was the launch?” Mrs. Cicely asked them. “Stay for dinner, George?”
Quick as a flash, George slipped into a chair and tucked his napkin into his collar. “Yes, please. That pasta dish smells incredible. What’s in it?”
“Oh, cheese. And stuff,” Mrs. Cicely said, pouring pomegranate vinaigrette over the salad.
“Fabulous Fruits for dessert,” B’s dad said, setting a box of the new candy on the kitchen counter. He sniffed loudly and rubbed his nose.
B’s mom got out a set of drippy red candles stuck into old green bottles and lit the candles. “For atmosphere,” she said. “Imagine we’re in Italy. Why don’t you fetch that box of tissues from upstairs, Felix?”
“Good idea,” said B’s dad. “I think I — ah-choo!”
The candles blew themselves out. B and her mom exchanged glances, and Mrs. Cicely’s eyebrows rose.
Mr. Cicely was already halfway up the stairs and unaware. “Ah-choo! Ah-choo!”
Two glasses of ice water tipped simultaneously. B and her mom both jumped up to grab towels. That’s weird, thought B as she mopped up the liquid.
“Aaaaaah-aaah-CHOO!” they heard from upstairs.
Salad ingredients rose up from their wooden bowl and started re-tossing themselves in the air, while the cruet of red dressing flung splashes of vinaigrette in every direction and croutons crunched in midair.
Holy cats! What on earth was going on?
“B, dear, don’t you and George have, er, things to do before dinner?” B’s mom said loudly, jumping in between George and the table and shooting B a panicked look. George wasn’t supposed to know about magic. B had never told her parents that she’d accidentally let the secret slip to her best friend. But right now, she needed to play along — and hoped George would, too.
“Hey, George,” B said. “Come see that, er, magazine I was telling you about. It’s in the living room.”
B barely heard her mother’s urgent whisper, “Candles light, evaporate spill; lettuce, tomatoes, and cukes, be still!”
George blinked. “What magazine? I don’t remember you mentioning a magazine.”
“You know,” B said, “the magazine?”
“Oh, right,” George said, catching on at last. “That magazine.” And he rose to follow B out of the room.
“Sorry, guys,” B’s mom said. “You’ll have to look at your magazine later on. Right now it’s time for George to get home. You don’t want to miss your dinner, do you?”
George’s face fell.
“But … pasta … cheese … didn’t you just ask me to eat dinner here?”
B’s mom turned toward the counter and pretended to wipe a spill. “Did I? Oh, I’m sorry, George, how thoughtless of me. I’m afraid there isn’t enough to go around.”
George stared at the gigantic pan of manicotti wafting its saucy scent over the kitchen.
“Dawn’s sure to be hungry when she gets home later. And you know B and her appetite,” Mrs. Cicely continued, still avoiding looking at George. “I saw your mother out in your yard today, and she mentioned that she was making stuffed cabbage leaves tonight. You won’t want to miss that!”
“Stuffed cabbage leaves!” George was in agony. He looked to B for help, but she grabbed him by the elbow and steered him toward the door.
“C’mon,” she said. “If I can suppress my monster appetite, maybe I can save you some. Walk you home?”
“Aaah-CHOOO!”
The sink faucets began turning on and off.
“And anyway,” B’s mom added apologetically, “you wouldn’t want to catch this cold that it appears B’s father has got.”
Once they were outside, B patted her friend’s shoulder. “Sorry about that, George. Something odd’s going on with Dad’s magic, and Mom was just worried about you finding out. This kind of thing has never happened before.”
George stopped in his tracks and looked at B. “You mean, that wasn’t you making all those crazy things happen?”
B laughed out loud. “Of course not. Why would I?”
George shrugged. “I don’t know, but if it wasn’t you, then what’s going on?”
B remembered the panicked look on her mother’s face. “I wish I knew.”
Chapter 5
“B, what’s gotten into you?” B’s mother asked when she returned to their kitchen. “You can’t be careless like that with your magic when others are around!”
B shook her head. “It wasn’t me, Mom, I swear. I wasn’t spelling a thing.” To herself, she thought, Why does everyone blame me when magic gets messy?
“Hmmm.”
B felt hurt that her mother would suspect her of being so careless. It wasn’t like her mom to jump to conclusions like that. Just then, her dad slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, a box of tissues in one hand.
“Ugh,” he said, his voice sounding thick and congested. “Don’t know where this cold came from. Aah-choo!”
The freezer door flew open, and a container of pistachio gelato from the Magical Moo Creamery flew out and landed in his lap.
B’s mom looked at her husband as though she was seeing him for the first time. “Felix?”
He looked as groggy as a bear coming out of hibernation. “Hm? What? Aah-choo!”
The refrigerator door opened and out flew the bottle of Enchanted Chocolate Sundae Sauce, landing right next to the gelato.
“It’s you!” B’s mom said. “Your sneezing. That’s what’s causing this. But why?”
“I don’t know,” B’s dad said in a stuffy voice. “I guess it must be a witch cold.”
“I thought we were immunized against those,” B said.
“I thought so, too,” her mother said. “You need to see a doctor. And B? I’m sorry I blamed you.”
B smiled, feeling relieved. “That’s okay.”
“There’s no need to bother the doctor over a minor sniffle,” insisted Mr. Cicely. “Aah-ah-aaah-choooooo!”
They braced themselves, searching the room for the results of the sneeze. Then B saw her father’s face and gasped. Big, angry-looking purple warts were popping out, one by one, all over his face and hands!
He groped at his cheeks and winced whenever he touched a wart. Then he held out his hands and gazed at them in horror.
“Felix!” B’s mother cried. “That’s it. You’re seeing the doctor this instant!” She whipped out her Crystal Ballphone and dialed the witch doctor, Dr. Jellicoe. Within minutes a little tornado of wind swept into the kitchen, and when it stopped, there stood the short, round, jovial form of Marcellus K. Jellicoe, Doctor of Magical Medicine.
Dr. Jellicoe beamed and waved a big pink lollipop in the air. B knew, from the time she’d gone to see him herself, that he believed most any magical malady could be treated with a watermelon lollipop. But when the doctor saw her father’s purple warts, he gulped, and slipped the candy back into his lab coat pocket. “Well, well,” he said. “What have we here?”
B’s mom explained about the random magical mishaps that happened whenever her husband sneezed, and Dr. Jellicoe nodded gravely. He turned to his patient. “Let’s just see where we are, then, shall we? Why don’t you go ahead and perform a nice simple spell. Easy-peasy. See if you can fill that empty glass with, oh, I don’t know, a chocolate milkshake.”
B’s dad blew his nose, then tried:
“Fill the glass, don’t let it break.
Please pour me a ch … chicken sandwich.”
B giggled. Her dad could sure be a joker! But her mom shook her head, and Dr. Jellicoe pressed his lips together.
“Try again, shall we?” the doctor said. “You’ve got food on the mind, it seems. Are you hungry? Do any food spell you want. Load your plate up with dinner. Go on, give it a try.”
“Hot manicotti, if you please.
I like mine with Parmesan pudding.”
He pressed his fingers into his temples. “Parmesan pudding? What’s the matter with me, Doc? Is it serious?”
“I’m afraid it is,” Dr. Jellicoe said. “To lose one’s rhyming ability … well, that’s just not something we like to see.” He tapped his chin. “I’d like to consult with a colleague on this case. He’s a specialist, the head of health at the Magical Rhyming Society. Do you mind, Madame?”
B’s mother shook her head and offered Dr. Jellicoe the use of her Crystal Ballphone. In minutes another traveling spell blew into the kitchen, and B was surprised to see Mayor Wallace Cumberland standing there in his slick black suit, leather gloves, and a shiny leather briefcase in one hand.
“You’re the head of health?” B said.
Mayor Cumberland looked down at B. “I am,” he said with a sniff.
“But you’re the mayor. Which is your real job?”
B’s mom placed a hand on her shoulder. “Many witches have jobs in both the outside world and the witching community, B,” she said. She added a little squeeze, which B understood to mean, “Be polite!”
“We’ve got a bad case, here, Wally,” Dr. Jellicoe said. “This gentlewitch has lost his rhyming ability completely. Can’t form a spell to save his supper. First accidents, then warts, and now Spellulus Interruptus. What do you suggest?”
Mayor Cumberland looked B’s father up and down. He pulled a pair of glasses from his inner jacket pocket and polished the lenses on his sleeve. Finally he reached into his briefcase, pulled out a magnifying glass, and held it up in front of B’s dad’s eyeball. When B’s dad blinked, the head of health straightened up. He lifted a section of his patient’s hair and frowned at his scalp. Then he poked his finger into B’s dad’s tummy.
“Mayor Cumberland, what could it be?” B’s mom said. “You’re our health specialist. Surely you’ve come across such cases before?”
Mayor Cumberland frowned and slipped his glasses back into his pocket. “Looks to me like his Vitamin R supply is dangerously deficient — a common side effect of eating too many sweets and chocolate.”
“Vitamin R?” B repeated. “Never heard of that.”
“Short for ‘Vitamin Rhyme,’ ” the mayor said. “Only thing for it, in cases like this, is to chew on pages of a rhyming dictionary. That will boost the R reserves. And stay away from the sweet stuff, of course.”
B’s mom took a long look at Mayor Cumberland. “Did you just say eat pages?” She shook her head. “Well, you are the specialist. B, run to the bookshelf and bring back that old rhyming dictionary that we hardly ever use anymore.”
B returned with the book and tore out a few sheets, which she handed to he
r father.
The scowl on his face spoke volumes. “You want me to eat that?”
“A glass of water will help,” Mayor Cumberland said. “Have a bite.”
Looking like he’d rather be getting a cavity drilled without anesthesia, B’s dad took a tentative nibble from the dictionary pages.
“More,” the mayor instructed. B’s dad took another bite.
“Look!” B said. “The spots. They’re fading.”
Her father took bigger bites, and one by one the purple warts receded and vanished.
“See?” Mayor Cumberland said. “What did I tell you?”
“I knew you could solve the mystery,” Dr. Jellicoe said, clapping the mayor on the back, which took the head of health by surprise.
“Try a spell, Felix,” B’s mom said.
B’s dad tried a rhyme:
“This malady has made me droop.
I’d love a bowl of chicken stroganoff.”
He shook his head. “No good.”
B could see the worry written all over his face. His tongue was stained black from the ink, and he looked miserable. B’s mom placed a comforting hand on his arm.
B thought for a moment that Mayor Cumberland looked worried, too, but then Dr. Jellicoe stepped in. “Give it time; give it time,” Dr. Jellicoe said. “Get plenty of rest, and drown that cold with dictionary pages and fluids. You’ll get your magic back in no time.”
“Are you sure?” B’s dad said, eyeing a page of rhyming “D” words with disgust.
“As sure as Enchanted Chocolates makes scrumptious chocolates time after time!” Mayor Cumberland said with full confidence.
B bit her lip. According to George, that wasn’t as sure as it once was, either.
Chapter 6
The next morning, as B hurried from homeroom to art class, she pulled a shiny box out of her backpack to show the other kids before the teacher, Miss Willow, arrived. Her father had given her Fabulous Fruits to share with her friends. It was part of his strategy to spread the word about the new candy.
“Chocolate, anyone?”
In seconds she was mobbed. Everyone jostled for their chance to snag the candy of their choice — everyone, that is, except Jason Jameson, who stood at a distance, a frown plastered on his freckled face. He wants one, B thought, but he’s too stuck-up to take anything I’m sharing.
