The Only Thing Worse Than Witches by Lauren Magaziner

Author:Lauren Magaziner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

Do you ever notice that words sound funny if you say them too many times? Especially Worm. Worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm.

“Well I’m just trying to fill up space,” Rupert said. “Five hundred thousand words . . .” he said wistfully.

Witchling Two banged her hands on the table, and Rupert jumped. Then she threw her head back and cackled, as all good witches do. Rupert patiently waited while she laughed so hard that she lay on the table and panted. He was starting to grow fond of her surprises—she always said the oddest things and never did what Rupert expected her to do. That was one of the reasons he loved being her apprentice.

When Witchling Two stopped panting, Rupert said, “Why are you laughing like that?”

“Because!” she said. “Put your books away—you’re going to help me with this potion.”

“What about my paper?” Rupert asked.

“Don’t write it . . . you won’t have to.” Witchling Two tied her hair up in a ponytail. “We’re brewing something to help you with Mrs. Frabbleknocker.”

Rupert walked over to her cauldron and peered inside. It was big, copper, deep, and completely empty.

“What do we need?” Rupert asked.

Witchling Two put a hand to her temple—in serious-beyond-serious thought. “We’re going to need some of the ingredients I brought from my special supply. Hmm . . . we’ll need . . . a goose egg! Aaaaaand a moose leg! Aaaaaand a loose peg!”

Rupert fetched a goose egg from a cardboard box and an enormous moose leg from a giant jar in the corner of the room—though he was almost too horrified to touch the preserved leg. It was extremely heavy, and Witchling Two needed to help him drag it across the basement. Eventually, with her help, he threw both the egg and the leg into the cauldron. “What is a loose peg?” Rupert asked. “I don’t think we have any of those.”

Witchling Two walked over to a stool in the corner of the basement, flipped it over, and wiggled the legs. On the third try, the leg creaked. Witchling Two hoisted the stool above her head, marched over to the cauldron, and tossed the entire chair in.

Then she grabbed a canoe paddle from Rupert’s mother’s old boat and stirred the potion until it started to crackle. Rupert and Witchling Two stood over the sizzling, sputtering, spitting cauldron. It hissed and coughed like a choking possum. Witchling Two dipped a finger into the dark oily potion and stuck her finger in her mouth.

“Delicious! Like cabbages in gravy! With a hint of pickles.”

Rupert cringed. “Are you sure this is safe to drink?”

“Positutely! I’ve brewed this one before with Nebby. It needs to sit for five days, but after that, it works great, I promise.” Witchling Two dipped a ladle into the potion and scooped a cup into Rupert’s empty water bottle. She pushed the potion into his arms with a wild grin. “Next Monday, make sure to take this right before Mrs.

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