The Blue Witch

by Alane Adams

  And Hugo had an idea who he could ask.

  There was an old witch, an outcast who didn’t live behind the walls of the Tarkana Fortress. His brother, Emenor, had warned Hugo about her.

  Emenor claimed the witch had put a swine curse on his friend Milton for teasing her. Emenor might not always like Hugo, but he didn’t want his only brother to walk around with a pig’s tail. It would embarrass him. Poor Milton had never shown his face in school again without hearing oinking squeals behind his back.

  Leaving the Tarkana Fortress, Hugo made his way into the lower part of town, away from the nice shops. He was looking for a misshapen lump of rags. That’s how Emenor had described the old witch.

  There.

  On the corner across from the stables, an old woman squatted on the ground, a begging bowl in front of her. A long cloak made of old rags hung over her shoulders. She was drawing a circle in the dirt with a sharp stick.

  Hugo drew in a breath, clenched his hands into fists for courage, and then walked over to her. He squatted down until he was eye level. There was a single copper in her bowl, a half penny. The witch kept drawing, but her shoulders stiffened as she waited for him to speak.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver coin he’d taken from his Yule stocking that morning, tossing it into the bowl. It clanked loudly. Gnarled fingers flashed out and snatched it up, making it disappear into the bodice of her gown. Only then did she lift her eyes to his.

  They were an emerald green so piercing Hugo almost fell backward.

  “What do you want?” she snarled.

  “I . . . that is, I have a question.”

  “You seek knowledge from me?” A harsh wheezing sound that might have been laughter shook her body. “I’m naught but a pile of rags. What could I possibly tell you?”

  “I want to know what happened to Lissandra,” he said.

  At the mention of Abigail’s mother, the old witch drew back.

  “How dare you. Who are you? Who sent you?” Flashing eyes searched the square.

  Hugo tried to rise. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  But before he could explain, she held up her palm and blew a handful of black powder in his face.

  The world went blank.

  Chapter 26

  Abigail sat on a wooden bench outside Madame Hestera’s chambers trembling from head to toe. She was cold. So cold. Ever since she had used that spellbook, it felt as though a sliver of ice had embedded in her heart, sending slush through her veins.

  The coven leader held court in a room at the top of the fortress towers. The corridor was lined with portraits of their ancestors. Abigail looked up into the eyes of an ancient witch named Nestra. Her haughty gaze looked down at Abigail as if she knew exactly what the firstling had done.

  Abigail wanted to stick her tongue out at the old witch. What did she care if Endera was gone? Served the girl right. She was terrible in every way. And her friends were no better.

  Yes, dark witch, they deserved it.

  She covered her ears, trying to block out that oily voice. It was the spellbook. She could feel it rattling around in her bookbag. Calling out to her, hoping to get her to open it again.

  She inched away from it. It was a hateful thing. She wished she could burn it, but then was horrified by the thought.

  Vor’s words came back to her.

  Don’t let the darkness win.

  Bile rose up in Abigail, choking her with guilt.

  “What have I done?” she whispered.

  “Are you all right?”

  Abigail jumped, startled by the interruption, then was relieved to see a familiar face. “Calla! What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you were in trouble. Sorry I was so mean.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sorry, too. Friends?” Abigail stuck her hand out.

  Calla nodded, shaking it firmly.

  “Did you really use the spellbook on Endera?”

  Before Abigail could answer, the door to Madam Hestera’s chambers opened.

  Madame Vex stood in the doorway, looking down her thin nose, and crooked a finger at Abigail.

  Abigail rose, wishing she could make herself disappear.

  “It’ll be okay.” Calla smiled encouragingly. She picked up Abigail’s book bag and held it out.

  “You think so?” Abigail reached for it, but Calla held on and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “My great-aunt’s not as mean as she looks. If she were, I wouldn’t be here.”

  She gave Abigail a wink, pushing the bag into her hands, and then Madame Vex dragged Abigail inside the room and slammed the door shut.

  Madame Hestera was seated on a high-backed chair in front of a fireplace. One hand rested on her emerald-tipped cane. A woman stood staring out the window, her back to Abigail.

  Melistra.

  Abigail’s heart began to drum so loud it was a wonder the chandelier didn’t shake.

  Madame Vex cleared her throat. “Abigail, explain to Madame Hestera what kind of spell you used on those witchlings.”

  Before Abigail could open her mouth, Madame Hestera leaned forward, rapping her cane on the stone floor. “You realize, child, causing harm to a fellow witch is an offense punishable by exile.”

  Abigail’s knees went weak and she swayed. Exile? That meant being kicked out of the coven, stripped of your magic, and sent away. Better off being a glitch-witch than an exile. She couldn’t bear it.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I didn’t mean it. Endera was teasing me, and I . . . I just read off the first spell I saw.”

  Endera’s mother turned slowly to face her. Her eyes were blazing coals of emerald fire. “You had no right to use my spellbook,” she hissed. She raised her hand clenching her fingers in the empty air.

  Abigail froze as all breath left her body.

  “I’m—suh—suh—” she gasped, trying to find air as invisible fingers of power gripped her throat, cutting off her supply of oxygen.

  “Tell me what spell you used,” she commanded. “Speak!”

  Abigail’s throat loosened enough for her to form words. “It started with gally mordana.”

  Melistra paled. “You sent my daughter to the nether-world. You should die in flames this instant. You should be turned into a pile of cinders and ash.” She raised her hand again, as if to deliver the fatal strike. Abigail had no strength to even move.

  “Stop!” Madame Vex said, stepping forward to shield Abigail. “The girl meant no harm. You heard her. She didn’t know what she was doing. How is it your spell-book came into her hands, Melistra?”

  Melistra looked angry enough to explode. Before she could utter a word, Hestera drove her cane into the ground.

  “Enough squabbling. You are both right. Melistra, your spellbook is too powerful to be in the hands of a firstling. Madame Vex, mind your words. Melistra is a High Witch. She will have your respect.”

  Madame Vex was the first to give in, tilting her chin at Melistra and taking a step away from Abigail. It took another agonizing moment, and then Melistra released Abigail from the choking spell.

  “Give me the spellbook so I can find the return spell and bring my daughter and those half-wits back,” she snapped, holding out her hand.

  Relief shot through Abigail. A solution! Melistra would find the right spell and bring them back. Abigail was so excited, she nearly dropped her bag searching for the spellbook.

  Where is it?

  She pushed aside her Magical Maths book and her Potions journal. It had to be here. She hadn’t taken it out. All eyes were on her as Abigail searched harder.

  No one had touched her book bag except for her.

  She blinked. That wasn’t true. Calla had touched it. The cunning glitch-witch had picked up her bag, leaned in close, and whispered in her ear. She must have taken it. But why?

  “Um, I don’t have it,” Abigail said.

  Melistra’s eyes flashed fire as she raised a threatening hand. Madame Vex moved in front of Abigail once again.
“The girl will be locked in her room until she produces the book,” she said.

  There was a tense silence.

  Madame Hestera finally nodded. “If the book is not returned by the end of day tomorrow, she will be brought in front of the High Witch Council and charged with crimes against another witchling. Endera and the other two won’t survive long in the netherworld.”

  “Not against that horrid eight-legged monster,” Melistra agreed, spearing Abigail with the hatred that blazed from her eyes.

  Chapter 27

  Hugo swam back to consciousness to find the world a blurry kaleidoscope. He removed his glasses, wiping off smudges of black powder, then put them back on.

  Better.

  He sat up. He was in a shack of some kind. Sunlight poked through holes in the roof and a rickety door hung half-off its latch.

  “Hello?” he croaked. His mouth was dry, as if he had swallowed a ball of cotton.

  Smoke rose from a small fireplace, where a cauldron rested over the coals. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling. A table held jars of what looked like various sizes of pickled eyeballs.

  Gross.

  He tried to get up, then realized his feet were bound with rope. He bent to untie them, but when he touched the twine, a spark jumped out and shocked him.

  They were enchanted. That witch had done this to him, taken him prisoner and spirited him back to her lair.

  But why?

  Hugo had heard stories of what witches did to stray kids that wandered into their traps. Turned them into creatures. Trained them as their pets.

  He wasn’t about to let that happen. Getting to his feet, he began hopping to the door. He had only made it three hops when the door was flung open, and a young girl stood framed in the doorway.

  Her hair was lighter than Abigail’s raven locks, almost brunette. Her large eyes sparkled with excitement. She was carrying a school bag over her shoulder. Her mouth dropped open in surprise as Hugo hopped toward her.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m Hugo. Who are you?”

  “Oh, you’re Abigail’s Balfin friend. Nice to meet you. I’m Calla. But why are you hopping?”

  Hugo looked pointedly down at his feet, and she groaned.

  “Baba Nana, untie this boy immediately.”

  Baba Nana? Did this girl know the horrid witch who’d kidnapped him and tied him up like a hog?

  A wheezy laugh came from behind a ragged curtain. The curtain was thrust aside, and Baba Nana waddled out.

  “Now, child, calm yourself. Baba Nana was only having a bit of fun.”

  There was a loud crackle, and the ropes around Hugo’s feet disappeared.

  “You know this witch?” he said, still outraged over his treatment.

  Calla smiled. “Of course. She’s my godmother. She’s taken care of me forever.” The girl moved over to a small stove and put a kettle on. “Would you care for some tea?” she asked, as if it were perfectly natural for Hugo to be in this hovel.

  “No, I’d like to go home,” he said, edging toward the door. But a zing of witchfire made him jump back.

  “You cannot leave until you tell me why you were asking about Lissandra,” the old witch snarled.

  “Now, Baba Nana, be nice. I have good news,” Calla said. “I’ve got it!”

  “Got what, child?”

  “Melistra’s book of spells.” She pulled a leather-bound book out of her bag and held it up.

  Baba Nana crowed with delight. “Wonderful. But how ever did you get your hands on that?”

  “Wait a minute.” Hugo recognized that book. “You took Abigail’s spellbook.”

  She clutched the book to her chest. “Well, it’s a good thing I did. She’s in a heap of trouble.”

  “What do you mean?” Hugo’s heart lurched. If Abigail was in trouble, she would need his help.

  “Abigail used the book to send Endera and two other witchlings to the netherworld. She was called up to Madame Hestera’s chambers to face the consequences. I took it from her before she went in.”

  “Calla, you shouldn’t have interfered,” Baba Nana scolded. That spellbook belongs to Melistra. She could have used it to bring those witchlings back.”

  Calla blinked rapidly, her eyes shiny with tears. “But I had to. This book is going to help me get my magic.”

  “Might help you, child,” Baba Nana said, sounding kinder than Hugo would have guessed possible. “Baba Nana doesn’t know if she can find the right spell in there. It may be no magic can undo the curse you’ve got.”

  “Curse?” Now Hugo was interested. He pulled out his notebook. “What curse?”

  “The glitch-witch curse,” Calla said. “It stops me from getting my powers. I know I have magic. I can feel it at times. But something is blocking it.”

  “No time for that now,” Baba Nana said. “Every second we delay, those three witchlings are closer to death. We must bring them back before something terrible happens, or your friend will pay the price with exile.”

  “We’ll need Abigail’s help,” Hugo said.

  Calla shook her head. “She’s been locked inside her room. The door will be guarded. There’s no way we can sneak past them.”

  “Then we’ll have to find another way.” Hugo chewed on his pencil, looking over his notes, and then paused. It was a crazy idea, but maybe . . . just maybe, it would work.

  “We’ll need an Omera,” he announced.

  Baba Nana’s eyes widened. “Have you lost your mind, child? An Omera will tear your head off.”

  Hugo grinned. “Not if you call the right one.”

  Chapter 28

  Endera shivered. Something heavy lay across her stomach. She poked at it and received a groan in response.

  “Where are we?” Nelly asked groggily.

  “I don’t know,” Endera said, giving the girl a push. All she remembered was spinning blackness and splintered ice that filled her bones, then this place. She sat up. Glorian lay sprawled out next to her. She gave the witchling a nudge. “Wake up, Glorian.”

  “What’s happened?” Glorian asked, holding one hand to her head.

  “That stupid Abigail used magic on us.” Endera practically spat out the words.

  Powerful magic.

  “So where did we go?” Nelly asked again.

  Endera wished she had an answer—something simple like “Rotten Abigail sent us down into the dungeons.” Easy enough. Or “The dirty fink transported us into the swamps.” They could walk home. But this place . . . this place felt different. Otherworldly.

  Endera took a good look around.

  Wisps of fog made it hard to see things clearly in the murky light. She could just make out solid rock walls surrounding them.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice echoed in the chamber.

  “Is anyone there?” Glorian added.

  A scraping noise made them go still. It was as if someone, or something, had run a long nail across a stone.

  “I’ve got magic, and I’m not afraid to use it,” Endera called out, though her voice cracked a little.

  “Yeah, we’ve got maaaagic,” Nelly called out in her nastiest voice. “Witch magic.”

  The grating noise came again, as if something was dragging itself out of a corner.

  “Deliccciousss,” a voice whispered.

  Murmured echoes of the word surrounded them, as if a crowd had gathered.

  “We’re not delicious,” Endera shouted. “I’m sour, and Nelly’s tough as Gomaran steel.”

  Where were the voices coming from? They seemed to echo from every corner of the chamber.

  “Mmmm, methinks so.”

  The whisper drifted through the mist, followed by the sound of clawing nails as the unseen beast dragged itself closer to Endera. She could almost feel its hot breath on her neck.

  “W-we th-th-thinks not,” Endera stuttered as fear wrapped her throat in a tight grip. She thrust her palm toward the noise, sending a burst of witchfire.

  I
t sputtered harmlessly against stone.

  The three girls inched closer together until they stood with their backs to each other.

  “Show yourself. Don’t be a coward,” Endera snapped.

  “Ssssooo hungry,” the voice rasped from behind her.

  Endera whirled around, sending a wild spurt of witch-fire over Nelly’s shoulder.

  “Where is it?” she asked.

  “It was there, I swear,” Nelly said. “I heard it.”

  Endera waved one hand, trying to wipe away the mist that fogged her vision. All she could make out were craggy stone walls on all sides.

  Unless . . . she tilted her head back and looked up, shrieking.

  Directly over their heads were dozens of fat spiders hanging on glimmering threads, spinning lazily in the dim light. Their purplish-black bodies were the size of large pumpkins. Their multiple sets of eyes glittered with hunger as they eyed the three witchlings.

  Nelly and Glorian followed her gaze, screaming in unison.

  “Endera, what do we do?” Nelly asked once she’d stopped her screaming.

  Endera’s mind raced. “My mother will come get us. I know she will. We just have to wait for her to get here.”

  Webbing crisscrossed the chamber overhead. It went up several stories.

  “Leave us alone,” Endera shouted. “We are Tarkana witches. The Great Mother spider is our guardian. You may not harm us.”

  “Harrrrm you?”

  One of the spiders lowered itself down on a thin strand of web until it was eye level with her. It had a large set of eyes in the center of its head, then three smaller pairs around it, all looking at her. “Did we say harrrrm you?”

  Two more spiders lowered themselves in front of Glorian and Nelly.

  Endera blinked, seeing herself in its many eyes. Dizziness swamped her. Nelly and Glorian swayed next to her. “You . . . you said you were hungry. That we were delicious.”

  The spider held her gaze. “And so you arrrre.” And then it tilted its body, and a spray of silk strands surrounded Endera.

  The other two spiders did the same to Glorian and Nelly.