by Alane Adams
Before she could think better of it, Abigail grabbed the glass of milk off Endera’s tray and dumped it over the girl’s head. White liquid dripped down Endera’s hair and onto her face, soaking her dress.
“I’m going to destroy you,” Endera swore.
Abigail did the only smart thing. She ran.
She flung open the door to the courtyard and dashed down the first garden path she found. Her feet flew so fast, her pigtails stuck out straight behind her.
This was breaking one of Madame Vex’s big rules—no running ever—but Abigail didn’t dare slow down. She rounded the curved path that led to the back of the gardens and skidded to a stop.
Endera stood blocking her way. Damp clumps of hair hung over her eyes as she glared at Abigail. Her two cronies stood by her side. Glorian cracked her knuckles loudly, while Nelly waggled her sharpened nails.
Abigail took a step back. “We’re even now, Endera. So just leave me alone.”
“Who’s going to make me? You?” Endera laughed, and Nelly and Glorian joined in, snorting like a pair of sneevils.
Before Abigail could flee, Nelly grabbed her, wresting her arms behind her back. “Give her a blast of your witchfire,” she urged.
“Yeah, singe off one of those braids she’s so fond of,” Glorian added, lifting one of Abigail’s braids.
“What did I ever do to you?” Abigail cried, struggling to free herself. “We used to be friends.”
Endera curled her lip. “Friends? I took pity on a motherless witchling with no one to visit her.” She drew her hands in a circle, preparing to zap Abigail, when a strange voice called out.
“Stop!”
The witchlings froze.
The voice came from one of the towering jookberry trees that grew over the wall separating the Tarkana Fortress from the swamps. Red clumps of fruit hung down from the thick limbs.
Abigail shielded her eyes to see who it was. A boy clung to one of the branches. He was slender, with a sheaf of sandy brown hair that fell over a pair of glasses.
Endera threw her hands forward, waggling her fingers. A tiny trickle of green fire shot into the tree. The boy yelped and then lost his hold on the branch, arms flailing as he landed in a heap at Abigail’s feet.
Chapter 3
This was bad.
Hugo picked himself up, spitting out bits of grass.
If only he’d kept his big mouth shut, he wouldn’t be stuck in the middle of a witch battle.
“Who are you?” the lead bully asked.
He brushed off his palms and pushed his glasses firmly into place. “My name is Hugo Suppermill. I order you to leave this girl alone or face the consequences.”
The witchling sneered. “You’re just a Balfin boy from town. You don’t belong on Tarkana property, so get lost before I zap your ears off.”
“Go on,” the witchling next to him urged in a low voice. “I can handle them.”
Hugo was fond of his ears, but he refused to be seen as a coward. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out the medallion he’d taken from his brother Emenor’s coat pocket that morning.
The polished flint disc hung on a silver chain and was carved with strange symbols. Emenor claimed a witch-ling had given it to him and filled it with magic.
As a scientist-in-training, Hugo had been skeptical magic was real. He’d heard stories about the witches, of course, but he’d never actually seen magic up close. But ever since Hugo had scoffed at Emenor’s claims, strange things had happened.
Like when Hugo had gone to turn in his Maths homework the next day, and the neatly penciled columns of numbers had vanished, as if an invisible eraser had wiped them clean. Hugo had tried writing his answers in ink, but the same thing had happened.
Now, Hugo was failing Maths, thanks to Emenor’s trickery. But instead of being mad, Hugo was fascinated.
He had taken to hiding in the jookberry tree, listening in on witchlings practicing spells and writing everything down in his pocket journal. Someday he would understand the secret to how magic worked.
Gripping the chain, he swung the disc side to side. Emenor hadn’t said how it worked exactly. Was it going to shoot out magic?
The trio of bullies stepped back, looking unsure. But when nothing happened, a smile came over their faces.
“Blast him,” their leader said. The three witchlings raised their hands, drawing them in a circle, and muttered some words.
Words. That was it! He must need to say a spell. But which one? Hugo tried to recall his notes.
“Anytime,” the witchling by his side muttered.
He said the first thing that came to him. “Fein kinter, ventimus!”
A jolt ran up his arm as a sharp wind came out of nowhere, and the trio of witches yelped as stinging gravel sprayed their faces.
Hugo stared, shocked that it had worked.
The witchling at his side grabbed his hand, crying, “Come on!”
She dragged him through the gate that led to the swamps. Behind them, shouts rang out as the other three gave chase. Stuffing the medallion in his pocket, Hugo broke into run, trying to keep up with the witchling. She ran like a Shun Kara wolf was nipping at her heels.
After a few minutes, the shouts of their pursuers faded, and the witchling drew to a halt.
“Enough,” she panted. “I can’t run anymore.”
Hugo put his hands on his knees, chest heaving as he caught his breath.
The jookberry trees were long gone, replaced by a canopy of gnarled branches and boggy ground. Black-winged shreeks flew overhead, diving and twisting as they hunted mice.
“Are you crazy?” the witchling said, turning to yell at him. “You used magic on a witch. She could have blasted you to bits!”
Hugo calmly wiped his glasses and put them back in place. “You have a point. My brother, Emenor, says curiosity can kill a cat, and I’m beginning to see how.”
She gaped at him a moment and then folded her arms. “Are you always so honest?”
He nodded. “I can’t help it. I’m a scientist—at least, I want to be one someday.”
“Well, Hugo Suppermill, I’m Abigail Tarkana, and we’re lost. I hope you know your way out of here.”
“I think it’s this way,” he said, pointing at a faint glow of morning sun in a break in the trees.
They began to walk, hopping over the worst of the bogs.
Excitement gripped Hugo. He had a real live Tarkana witch to interview! Finally, he could get answers to his long list of questions.
“Is it confusing that every witch has the same last name?” he asked.
“No. Our coven is our family. Besides, all great witches are known by their first name. Catriona was the greatest of them all. She was my ancestor and someday, I’m going to be as powerful as she was.”
Hugo frowned. “Then how come you didn’t use magic to defend yourself?”
Abigail shrugged. “Against Endera? She’s not worth it.” But she looked away as she said it.
Hugo stopped to peer closely at her. “You’re lying, which means. . .” His brain ticked over the facts and arrived at the only logical conclusion. “You don’t have any magic, do you?”
“Do so.” But two splotches of red spotted her cheeks.
“Then prove it.” Hugo pulled out his journal from his back pocket. He slid out his pencil, licking the tip with his tongue. “Observation Number Seven: Abigail Tarkana Uses Magic.”
Abigail’s hands clenched at her sides. “You don’t want to make me mad.”
“Okay,” Hugo said, pencil poised over the paper. “Go ahead then.”
She raised her fists, waving them at him. “Watch out, Hugo Suppermill, or so help me, I will zap you where you stand.”
He blinked. “Duly warned. Still waiting.”
She threw her hands forward. Hugo cringed, but there was nothing. Zippo. Not a hint of the crackling green witchfire Endera had used on him.
Her face fell. “Who am I kidding? I don’t have a drop of magic. I
’ve been nine for months. That’s when witches are supposed to get their first set of powers, but so far, nothing’s happened.” She looked at him with frightened eyes. “What if I’m a glitch-witch?”
“Glitch-witch? What’s that?”
“A witch who never gets her magic. Old Nan back at the Creche never got more than a smidgen of magic, barely enough to boil water.”
“I’m sure your magic will come in when you’re ready.”
“Well, it had better come soon. We have our first exam in Spectacular Spells next week. If I can’t call on my witchfire, Madame Arisa will fail me. Do you know what they do to witches who fail?”
Before Hugo could answer, a snuffling snort came from the shadows, followed by a sharp squeal.
“What. Was. That?” Abigail gulped out, grabbing his arm.
“Uh . . . I’m not sure. But logically speaking, it could be a sneevil.”
Sneevils were Hugo’s least favorite creature. The size of an overgrown pig, they had long curved tusks sharp enough to run right through a grown man.
“Then, logically speaking, we should run!” Abigail said.
Chapter 4
Branches whipped at Abigail as they fled. She spied a thin spire from the Tarkana Fortress through the trees, and her heart lifted. The gate into the gardens must be just ahead. Next to her, Hugo cried out as he stepped into a hole and twisted his ankle.
He sank to the ground, grabbing at his calf. “Help! It’s stuck!”
Abigail froze as a sneevil emerged from the bushes. Its ugly pig eyes glared out of slits over curved tusks that jutted from its lower jaw. Bristly hair covered mottled gray skin.
“Abigail, run!” Hugo shouted.
Running sounded like an excellent plan, but Hugo had stood up to Endera for her. She couldn’t just leave him.
Two more even bigger sneevils joined the first. Grunts and snarls rumbled from their chests. They tossed their heads, showing off those wicked pointed tusks.
Hugo tugged on his ankle, but it was firmly stuck in the hole. “I can’t get it out, Abigail. Just go. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt.” A smudge of mud striped his cheek and his eyes pleaded with hers behind his glasses. “Please. You’re the only friend I’ve got.”
Abigail’s heart melted. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
Flipping her pigtails over her shoulders, she shook out her hands. It was time to take charge of her magic.
“I have an idea,” she said. “Earlier, when Endera made me mad, I felt a tingle.”
“You think it was your magic?”
“I don’t know. But maybe if you make me mad, it’ll come back.”
“How do I do that?”
The sneevils lowered their snouts, digging in the dirt with their hooves as they readied to charge.
“Tell me I’m never going to be a great witch.”
Hugo repeated the words. “You’re never going to be a great witch.”
“No, silly, you have to mean it.”
He took a deep breath and shouted, “Abigail Tarkana is the worst witch in all of Orkney.”
There. A spark kicked in her chest. The sneevils paused, looking around in confusion.
“Again,” she said.
“She is never ever going to get her magic, and everyone will laugh at her, especially Endera.”
Ooh, she hated it when Endera laughed at her. The spark ignited into a tiny flame. She ground her boot in the mud as the wild beasts warily inched closer.
“More,” she said.
“Endera will always be the better witch, and you know it. She will be the most powerful witch of all time, and you will be her serving maid, bringing her tea and cookies.”
That did it. The day Abigail served Endera tea was the day sneevils could fly.
She lifted her hands. “Fein kinter,” she began, reciting the words she had learned in Madame Arisa’s Spectacular Spells class. A faint whisper tickled her ears.
I call on my magic.
Hugo threw a dirt clod at the closest sneevil, driving it back a step. “We’re out of time, Abigail. We need some witchfire.”
“Fein kinter,” she repeated with more confidence, drawing her hands in a circle.
A tiny spark leapt from her fingertips. She moved her hands faster and faster, feeling a charge build up inside her, and then thrust her palms forward. A sizzling jolt of energy shot up her arm as a trickle of arctic-blue witchfire zinged out of her palms straight for the closest sneevil.
It hardly dented its thick hide, serving instead to make it angrier. Its rumbling snarl grew louder as the other two stepped up on either side.
Suddenly, the sneevils froze, lifting their snouts in the air, and then they squealed, turning as one and fleeing.
Abigail dropped her arms in relief.
“What just happened?” Hugo said.
“I dunno. Maybe I scared them away.”
She looked at her hands. Had she used magic?
“You just used magic,” Hugo confirmed with an awed gasp.
“I guess I did,” she said, but an uneasy feeling settled in as she studied her palms.
“But how come your witchfire is blue?” Hugo asked.
Abigail had no idea. Every witchling knew witchfire was emerald-green. Which meant there was something very off about her magic.
She knelt beside Hugo and tugged his foot loose. A branch snapped, as if something heavy had stepped on it. A menacing growl brought them to their feet as a beast stepped from the trees into the far side of the clearing.
It was taller than them, a massive wolf-like creature with hulking shoulders and a shaggy mane. Pointed ears stood at attention. Black eyes held a yellow slit in their center and slanted upward. Its paws were the size of dinner plates, tipped with lethal-looking claws that curled into the soil. It opened its jaws, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth.
“Is that a Shun Kara?” Hugo asked.
“Shun Karas aren’t that big.”
“Can you blast it?”
She slid him a glance. “Seriously? My puny magic’s not going to stop that.”
“So, what do we do?”
An idea quickly hatched. The gate to the gardens was close. They just had to distract the creature long enough to get inside the fortress. She drew her hands up, charging her magic.
“Get ready to run.”
The beast took a step closer, and Abigail directed her palms upward at a mass of dead branches overhead. She blasted witchfire at the rotted wood, causing the heavy branches to break loose. Too late, the beast looked up as the falling wood entangled it.
While it tore at the branches, they ran.
Fear clogged Abigail’s throat as she raced behind Hugo. The iron gate came into view. She pushed Hugo in ahead of her and then jerked to a halt as jaws clamped down on the hem of her uniform. She frantically tugged on the skirt and ripped the fabric free. Before it could lunge again, Hugo pulled her inside and slammed the gate shut.
The beast gnashed the iron with its teeth, but the gate held fast. Finally, it turned away, casting one last snarl over its shoulder before slinking off into the woods.
Abigail sagged in relief.
“Are you all right? Did it hurt you?” Hugo asked, checking her from head to toe.
“No. I’m fine.” Her heart rate slowly returned to normal. “I better get to class before Madame Vex notices I’m gone.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He bit his lower lip. “I’ve never skipped school before.” He gave a faint smile. “Then again, I’ve never faced three sneevils and been chased by a wild beast.”
She looked through the bars into the dense swamp. “You can’t go that way. That thing could still be waiting.”
“There’s a service entrance on the other side of the gardens. I’ll be fine.” He gave a quick nod and then ducked into the bushes.
“It was nice to meet you,” she called out.
He turned with a grin, his face framed in leaves. “Same here. So maybe I’
ll see you after school? We can try to get to the bottom of why your magic is blue.”
“I’d like that.”
He nodded, then disappeared from sight.
Chapter 5
Abigail snuck into the Dining Hall as the other girls were finishing their lunch. If anyone asked why she’d missed her morning classes, she would simply say she’d had an upset stomach. Minxie tapped her on the shoulder.
“Here,” she held out Abigail’s book bag. “You left this behind this morning.”
Abigail was about to thank her when the girl’s eyes widened, and she fled.
“Abigail Tarkana!” a voice boomed. “I hope you have an explanation for why you missed Magical Maths this morning.”
Abigail turned to see Madame Vex bearing down on her.
“Sorry, Madame Vex. I wasn’t feeling well.”
Madame Vex gasped. “Is that a tear in your uniform?” She pointed at the jagged rip in Abigail’s skirt.
“Yes, ma’am.” Abigail twitched the fabric out of sight. “Sorry. I took a walk in the gardens to get some air, and it snagged on a bush.”
“That’s a lie,” Endera said, marching up with Glorian and Nelly at her side. “She went into the swamps. We saw her.”
Madame Vex’s eyes flared. “Is that true, Abigail?”
Abigail tried to think of something, anything, to say, but Glorian jumped in.
“It’s true, Madame Vex. She wouldn’t listen when we told her not to.”
“Yeah,” Nelly added, “she just barged out the gate and said the rules were stuuupid.” She waggled her hands as she said the last part.
Abigail groaned as Madame Vex’s face turned bright red. The entire Dining Hall went silent as the teacher grabbed Abigail by the ear, pinching it painfully. “We will see what Madame Hestera has to say about that.”
The girls let out excited oohs. Madame Hestera was the leader of the Tarkana coven and the most powerful witch alive.
Madame Vex marched Abigail out the Dining Hall and down a long corridor toward a towering set of double doors.
She was taking Abigail to the Great Hall, where the witches convened their councils. Abigail had never been inside, but she’d heard rumors spread by the older girls about a giant spider that lived there and ate witchlings who misbehaved.
