by Lexi Connor
“I’ll come with you,” Mr. Bishop said loudly, “because I’m happy to cooperate. I haven’t done anything wrong” — here two Dismantle Squad members each grabbed one of his wrists — “and no one should worry about me, or try to do anything to help me. I’m innocent, and everything will be fine in the end.”
Madame Mel’s forehead crinkled with puzzlement. “A moving speech, Doug,” she said, “but it will be up to the Magical Rhyming Society’s Council of Justice to determine innocence or guilt after the Dismantle Squad has completed its investigation. Let’s go.”
Mr. Bishop turned toward where B stood and winked at her. She looked down and saw her sneakers beginning to flicker into view and tried not to gasp.
“Something in your eye?” Madame Mel asked Mr. Bishop.
“Er, yes,” he said. Then he added:
“Make my last spell a little bit stronger.
Stretch its effects out a little bit longer!”
B looked down again. Her feet had vanished.
“What, exactly, was your last spell?” Madame Mel said, tapping the toe of her high-heeled boots.
“Oh, just something to make sure my hamster, Mozart, gets fed and watered every day, without me needing to worry. Who knows how long I’ll be gone?”
The chief Dismantler, or so he seemed to be, uttered a staccato spell, and the whole group whisked off to the M.R.S.
B blew out her breath. “V-I-S-I-B-L-E,” she spelled, thinking about her body, and she popped back into focus. Then she sank into Mr. Bishop’s desk chair.
Mr. Bishop! Arrested! She was sure that he was innocent. And Jason Jameson, she was even surer, was not. She had to solve this crime and prove who the real poisoner was. She set off running down the hall and out the door of the school, to the library and chess club, as fast as she could go.
Chapter 13
B found Trina and George perched in the lower branches of a tree in a park across the street from the library.
“Nice stakeout, you two,” B said. “Is Jason still in there?”
“Ssh!” Trina hissed. “Here he comes now! Hide, B!”
B crouched behind a monument until George gave her the signal. He and Trina jumped down from their tree, and B rose to follow. Jason headed toward Main Street.
“We can’t let him see us,” B said. “I have an idea. D-I-S-G-U-I-S-E.”
Trina’s long dark hair went short and blond, and her black jeans and jacket turned into a frilly purple dress.
“Yuck!” Trina yelped. “I can’t be seen in this!”
“Precisely,” B said. “You won’t be. He won’t recognize you.” She turned to George and began laughing. “Jumping jinxes! Look at you!”
Tall, athletic George had gotten at least six inches shorter, and his Wilmington Warlocks jersey had turned into a Montgomery Miracles sweatshirt. He plucked at it with his much smaller hands. “I can’t wear this thing!” he said. “I’ll die of embarrassment. Nobody backs the Montgomery Miracles. Nobody!”
B giggled.
“Look at yourself, B,” Trina said. B looked down to see cowboy boots where her sneakers had been and a rhinestone-studded vest over her shirt.
“Howdy, pardner,” George said. “C’mon, Jason’s getting away. Let’s go!”
They followed him, Trina on one side of the road, and B and George on the other. Once or twice Jason paused and looked over his shoulder, but Trina, B, and George were ready. They paid no attention to him, and just blended in with the other pedestrians. Apparently satisfied, Jason moved on.
He turned a corner and headed toward an industrial park. Trina jogged across the street to join B and George. They peered around the corner until they saw which factory building he was heading toward.
B’s jaw dropped. “Pluto Candies?!”
“Come on!” George said. “He’s going to the back of the building. Let’s run around the other way. We can hide in those shrubs.”
Trina and B were no match for George’s speed. They ran after him as best they could, out of breath.
“He tapped on a window,” George whispered. “Look! It’s opening!”
A stout woman with a very red nose and cheeks greeted Jason briefly.
B, George, and Trina looked at each other. “Mrs. Pluto?” they whispered.
Sure enough, the woman at the window had her smiling, rosy, much prettier-looking face printed on every Pluto box of chocolate sold. In real life, Mrs. Pluto’s “rosy” cheeks were lobster red, her stringy hair slipped out from her bun, and her eyes were small and piglike.
She and Jason spoke for a moment, then Jason handed her a small baggie. She took it and disappeared.
“Those are the Fabulous Fruits I saw in his locker,” George whispered. “So that’s why he swiped them. Why, that dirty little traitor!”
Mrs. Pluto reappeared at the window and handed Jason two huge boxes of Pluto Candies. He stuffed them into his backpack and left — but not before he’d taken a double handful of chocolates from one of the boxes and stuffed them in his mouth.
“Just like that! The formula for Fabulous Fruits, sold for a few boxes of crummy Pluto Candies,” B said. “Wait till I tell my dad!”
“Look at it this way,” George said. “In a week or so, they’ll be in the stores, so she could have copied the recipe then. Jason’s actually done you a favor. He’s given them the bad candy. If their scientists try to analyze what they find in those chocolates, they’ll end up very confused.”
“Excellent point, George,” B said. “Still, I want to know what’s going on in there. Maybe Pluto Candies gave Jason a poison to drop into the chocolate mixer at the Fabulous Fruits launch, and that caused … something.”
“I agree,” George said. “We’ve got to find a way to get inside.”
“Don’t you just want more chocolate?” Trina said, poking George.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t eat Pluto Candies if they were the last chocolates on earth. I’m no Jason Jameson.”
“Anyway, I don’t see how any of us can get in,” Trina said. “I saw guards just inside the front door. We’ll never make it past Mrs. Pluto’s security. Even Jason had to be all sneaky and tap on her window.”
“If I were a witch like you two, it would be easy,” George said. He kicked at a weed in the bushes.
“Magic doesn’t make everything easy, you know,” Trina said. “And anyway, you’ve eaten so much Fabulous Fruit that if you were a witch, you sure wouldn’t be one now. You’d be covered in purple spots!”
B felt sick to her stomach, watching her best friends arguing.
“Hey, guys,” B said. “Let’s not get upset. I worked with Mr. Bishop today on invisibility spells. It’s not easy, but maybe I can make us all invisible for a few minutes. Then we can all sneak inside. But we’ll have to be quick! The spell doesn’t last long.”
This silenced George and Trina. Then B had to work on silencing herself. Without Mr. Bishop’s help she had barely made herself flicker, and now she proposed to turn three people invisible? What was she thinking? On the other hand, anything was better than listening to George and Trina argue.
Quiet body. Quiet mind.
“You sure you can do this, B?” Trina said.
“Yes.” B wished she was as certain as she sounded.
“I-N-V—”
“I thought you said yesterday that invisibility was super-advanced magic,” George said. “Remember? When I suggested it?”
“Yes, I remember,” B said. “Guys! I really need to focus on this one. Give me a minute with no interruptions, okay?”
Can I do this? Can I pull it off? She thought of her family, sneezing, covered in spots, and unable to form spells. This is important. We’ve got to get in there to find out what’s going on.
B grabbed George’s and Trina’s hands. “I-N-V-I-S-I-B-L-E,” she said.
Poof! All three of them disappeared!
“Whoa,” George said, laughing. “This is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“No time! Run!” B said. A delivery man was just approaching the back door to Pluto Candies. B and her friends hurried to get right behind him, bumping into each other’s invisible arms and legs a little on the way.
A security guard opened the door. “Afternoon, Al,” he said. And while he signed for the package, B, Trina, and George hunkered down low and tiptoed past him.
They sprinted down the corridor and entered the first production room they came to. “This way, this way,” B kept whispering, trying to keep her friends together. B recognized candy-making equipment like the kinds at Enchanted Chocolates, only these machines looked old and rusty. They creaked as they moved. Cobwebs hung thickly from the corners of the rooms, and the floors looked like they hadn’t seen a mop in a long time.
A worker came into the room in dirty overalls, carrying a crate of peanuts. “I don’t know, Boss, these peanuts don’t look so good. You sure we can still use ‘em?”
“Covered in chocolate, no one’ll know the difference,” the boss said. Neither of them, B noted with a frown, wore a hairnet. By law, they should. “Dump ‘em in the hopper, and we’ll use these for the premium bridge mix.”
“Uggh.” B heard George groaning.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s try another room.”
Next was a chocolate-mixing room. Boxes of cocoa were being dumped into the gigantic vat along with buckets of cream and sugar. But there was a problem.
“This sugar’s hard as a rock,” a worker was saying as she whacked at it with a crowbar. “Fifty pounds of sugar brick.”
“Must’ve gotten wet,” another worker said. “The roof leaks back in the warehouse. I’ll bet it got rained on. Here, I’ll help you dump it in. The mixer blades will chop it up.”
But they didn’t chop it up. The mixing machine groaned to a halt.
“I can’t watch this,” George said.
“No wonder Enchanted Chocolates sells so much better,” B said. Then she heard footsteps coming down the corridor. “Quick! Against the wall!”
She pressed herself flat against it and held her breath while Mrs. Pluto herself passed by. Could she be a witch? Of course there was no real way to know by looking, but the greasy apron, the angry-looking red face, and the mean glint in her eye seemed about as unmagical as you could get.
Just as Mrs. Pluto passed by, B caught sight of a glimmer of George, right next to her. They were fading into view already!
Mrs. Pluto paused, and turned to look back at where they stood. Faster than she’d ever spelled anything, B whispered, “I-N-V-I-S-I-B-L-E.” George vanished once more.
Mrs. Pluto blinked, and rubbed her eyes. She stared at the spot where George had been. B held her breath, but Mrs. Pluto carried on walking.
As soon as she was out of sight, B turned toward where her friends were and gasped, “Come on, we’ve got to go.”
“We haven’t learned anything yet,” George said. “I want to check out this room.”
“No. Come on, now!”
B repeated her invisibility spell, and they ran back to the front lobby. Only the sound of their footsteps assured B that her friends were really following her. While the security guard watched his television screen, she took a chance, opened the door, and slipped out. Then she retreated back to the bushes where they’d started.
“We made it,” she said to Trina, who was now fully visible. “Whew!” Then she froze. “Wait! Where’s George?”
“He must still be inside,” Trina said. “What do we do?”
“I’ll go back for him,” B said. “Maybe I can create a distraction to help him get out.”
B marched to the front door. There, just behind the glass, sat the security guard, and behind him, making goofy faces, was a fully visible George. Oh, no.
B opened the door. The guard looked up. “Yeah? What do you want?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m doing a project for school on how my favorite candies are made,” she said, “and I was wondering if I could have a tour of the factory.” She tried to make eye contact with George, but he was too busy acting like an ape.
“No tours,” the huge guard growled. He looked like he spent most of his extra time bodybuilding. George held up a pair of rabbit-ear fingers behind his head.
B caught George’s eye and gave a tiny shake of her head.
He stopped. His face went pale as he looked down at himself and realized he was visible.
Chapter 14
The guard was still glowering at B.
“What’s your problem, kid? Cat got your tongue? I said, no tours!”
B’s heart thumped as George tried to edge around the guard’s office. He bumped into a stack of film canisters marked SECURITY TAPE and sent them rolling across the floor.
The guard spun around in his chair. “Hey, how’d you get back there?” He leaped up and grabbed George by the collar. “Outta here!”
He shoved George and B out the door. “Nosy kids! Stay out. If you want to bother someone, go to Enchanted Chocolates. We’re busy.”
On the way back home, B told Trina and George about the Dismantle Squad capturing Mr. Bishop. They stopped in their tracks.
“Our English teacher’s been arrested?” George said.
“I’m not sure,” B said. “But it was pretty serious and official, all the same.” She kicked at an acorn on the sidewalk. “I wish we’d figured out something at Pluto Candies, but we don’t know any more now than we did before. I was so sure Jason Jameson was the poisoner! But what if he’s nothing but a sneak?”
“You should never give Jason Jameson too much credit,” George said. “He’s not smart enough to find a way to poison witches. Even by accident.”
Trina snapped her fingers. “Didn’t you guys say that Jason was there with his dad at the dipping debut?” she said. “What if his dad’s the poisoner?”
George and B exchanged glances. “Jason does seem like a chip off the old block,” George said.
B nodded. “Good hunch, Trina. I’ll mention it to my dad.”
B found her parents both curled up under blankets on the couch. B’s mom had a cup of eel broth and a box of tissues on her end table. Everyone had told her the sickness wasn’t contagious, but she still hesitated before giving each of them a kiss.
“Dad. Mom. Mr. Bishop taught me an invisibility spell today at magic tutoring, and just when I was invisible, Madame Mel and the Dismantle Squad came and took Mr. Bishop away. They think he’s the chocolate poisoner.”
“You learned an invisibility spell, B?” her mother said. “That’s nice.”
“But, Mom!” B said. “Aren’t you shocked by the news? It can’t be Mr. Bishop!”
“We’re not shocked, because we already knew,” B’s dad said, sipping his elm bark soda. “Madame Mel called to tell me. She’s keeping me posted on the investigation, including their progress with suspects.”
B’s backpack fell to the floor. “Don’t tell me you think Mr. Bishop actually did this!”
“Don’t shout,” her father said, wincing. “We both have whopping headaches.”
B’s mom opened her eyes wearily. “We certainly hope it’s not Mr. Bishop who poisoned the chocolate. But we don’t know anything for sure.”
B sank into an easy chair. Her black cat, Nightshade, leaped into her lap, and B stroked him absentmindedly. All of this was beyond horrible. “What about that Mr. Jameson, the fruit guy?” she said. “His son Jason is the nastiest kid in school.”
“He’s a suspect, definitely,” B’s dad said, rubbing his temples. “But why would he want to sabotage one of his own accounts?”
“Guess what I discovered his son was doing today,” B began, but she was interrupted by her dad’s Crystal Ballphone ringing. He reached into his pocket with difficulty to pull it out.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Felix?” Madame Mel’s distinct voice boomed through the speaker, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’re making some progress in our investigation.”
<
br /> “Oh?”
“Yes. Listen, can I stop by to fill you in?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
And before B’s dad could snap his phone shut and slide it back into his pocket, there she stood, in their living room. Even B, who was used to magical exits and entrances, was startled.
“Afternoon, folks,” Madame Mel said, nodding to B and her parents. She handed B’s dad a scroll of yellow parchment. “Official lab results are back. No question about it. The chocolate” — she peered ominously through her spectacles — “was poisoned by a potion.”
B let this news sink in. It couldn’t be Jason Jameson, then. Or his dad. They were both off the list. “That means …” she began.
“That means,” Madame Mel took over, “that the poisoner is definitely one of us.”
“But who would do that?” B said. “Why would a witch want to make other witches lose their magic?”
Madame Mel’s face was grim. “I don’t know,” she said, “but when I find out …” She stopped herself, then patted B’s mom on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry,” she said, “the medical lab is working night and day to find a remedy. Don’t lose hope yet.”
The next day at school B saw a smudge of chocolate on Jason Jameson’s mouth in homeroom. After art class, she caught him pulling a fistful of chocolates out of his locker and stuffing them into his mouth. Even if he wasn’t the Fabulous Fruits poisoner, he was still a rotten snitch.
“Thought you weren’t allowed to eat chocolate, Jason,” she said. “Fruit is nature’s candy, remember?”
“Mind your beeswax, Bumblebee,” Jason sneered, reaching for another handful.
B was so angry, she practically saw spots. “I know what you did with the Fabulous Fruits you stole from me yesterday,” she hissed. “You will never, ever be allowed into the Enchanted Chocolates factory again.”
“What do I care?” Jason sneered. “Who needs your pathetic chocolate, when I’ve been promised a lifetime supply of Pluto Candies?”
“Serves you right, then,” B said, “since apparently you love chocolate-covered dog food.”
By the time they reached English class, Jason was looking sickly green, and walking stiffly with a stooped back. Mr. Bishop, as B had feared, wasn’t there. A substitute teacher took his place, a scowly older woman who really needed to tweeze the whiskers on her chin.
