“Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have put that ad in the newspaper,” she groaned. “And I shouldn’t have hung up flyers. And I definitely shouldn’t have stood on the beach with a megaphone.”
The witch leaped up, skipping steps. Rupert ran after her, but then his side started to ache, and he panted for breath.
“Come on, Rupert!” she said. “We have to get out of here, now!”
Rupert coughed and panted, and the witch paced back and forth on the steps above.
“Ah!” she said. “Okay.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she looked fiercely behind Rupert. “I need to get this boy to move faster,” she said.
Rupert looked behind him, but no one was there. Who was this witch talking to?
“I need a Jetpack,” she said, and she snapped her fingers.
CRACK.
In a blink, the witch held a brown over-the-shoulder bag with a zipper on top and holes on the sides.
“Is the Jetpack in there?” Rupert said.
The witch shook her head. “It-it’s not a Jetpack,” she said in a very small voice. “It’s a pet sack.”
“A pet sack?”
“A pet sack.”
“But we need a Jetpack.”
“They’re getting closer,” the witch said.
“Who?” Rupert asked, turning to look behind him again. Still, nothing.
“The witches… the Witches Council. The Fairfoul Witch and all her underlings.”
“Well, you’re a witch!” Rupert said. “Can’t you stop them?”
The witch opened the pet sack. “This can work. Get in.”
“You want me to get in there?” Rupert grabbed the pet sack. It was made for a medium-sized dog — or perhaps a giant cat. It couldn’t possibly fit an average-sized boy like him.
“Yes!” the witch said. “And hurry!”
Rupert zipped open the bag and curled himself inside. He contorted in a way he didn’t think he possibly could. Somehow his ankle was by his ear and his wrists were knocking his knees — and his head popped out of the bag just slightly. The witch threw the bag over her shoulder and darted up the stairs. Rupert marveled at her speed — even while carrying him over her shoulder, she was just as fast.
With every landing, Rupert thumped against the witch’s side, which hurt his twisted-up body, but he tried not to think about it. Instead he peered out of the bag, watching for the top of the stairs. They were so close! Then Rupert turned around to look behind them.
This time, he caught a glimpse of the witches. There were about ten of them chasing them up the stairs. Some pointed crooked, gnobbly fingers in Rupert’s direction. Others let out menacing cackles. Rupert gulped and ducked back into his pet sack.
“They’re behind us!” he said.
“Don’t you think I know that?” the witch shouted. “Hold on! It’s about to get bumpy—”
And she leaped up the stairs so fast that Rupert thought she was flying — she skipped twenty steps and landed with a THUMP just before the top step. The witch flung the bag that held Rupert onto her other shoulder, and she sprinted toward the residential area.
A Lie, the Witches Council, and the Bar Exam
“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” RUPERT ASKED.
“Trust me,” the witch said, stopping at the park.
The witch ran over to a sandbox, dropped Rupert gently in the sand, and sat down next to him. She snapped both her fingers, and the sand flew up around the edges of the sandbox. Then it converged together above their heads; they were stuck in a sand dome.
“Won’t this be a little obvious?” Rupert said. “A giant sand bubble in the middle of the playground?”
“Witches have eyesight that is five times better than the best human, but they have trouble seeing sand,” the witch said. “Well, they can see it, but it’s slippery on their eyes.”
“Slippery?”
“It’s like when you’re walking in a crowded street. You certainly see other people — but can you tell me what they look like? It’s because your eyes just see them and slip off. I have narwhal-narwhal vision, and even I have trouble seeing it. The only reason I’m better at this is because my eyes are younger and stronger.”
“It’s unfortunate that you settled near a beach, then.”
“Long story,” the witch said.
Rupert, still crouched in the pet sack, scratched his ear with his toe.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Rupert said. “If I’m working for you now, I should call you something.”
The witch bit her lip. “I… well…” she stammered. “I don’t have a name.”
“Don’t have a name!” Rupert said, aghast.
The witch’s lip began to quiver. “Oh, Rupert! I lied to you! I told you I was a witch, but I’m not! Not yet.”
“Yes you are!” Rupert said. “I never would have believed it from the way you dress, but I’ve seen you do magic. I’m twisted up in a pet sack for goodness sakes!”
“I’m not a real witch yet. I’m just a witchling. That’s why I need an apprentice — to help me practice for my Bar Exam.”
“Bar Exam?”
“Yes… that is my witch test. It’s coming up in four weeks. I become part of the Council once I pass my exam — and then I’ll be a full-fledged witch, and I’ll finally get to pick my name.”
“Pick it?”
“Of course. That’s the best part, silly. Until then, I guess you can call me Witchling Two. That’s what Nebby and Storm call me.”
Rupert raised his eyebrows. “And who are Nebby and Storm?”
“They’re my witch guardians, silly! The Nebulous Witch and the Storm Witch.”
Rupert scrunched his face. “Who?”
Witchling Two stuck her finger in the sand. She wrote THE WITCHES COUNCIL in big, swoopy cursive. Then underneath, she wrote:
Top Witch:
THE FAIRFOUL WITCH
The Undercat:
THE MIDNIGHT WITCH
Council of Three:
THE LIGHTNING WITCH
THE THUNDER WITCH
THE STORM WITCH
The Underbelly:
THE STONE WITCH
THE NEBULOUS WITCH
THE HIBBLY WITCH
THE COLDWIND WITCH
THE SEA WITCH
Witchlings (not technically Witches Council … yet!):
WITCHLING ONE
WITCHLING TWO (ME!)
WITCHLING THREE
WITCHLING FOUR
WITCHLING FIVE
“Make sense?” Witchling Two said.
Rupert shook his head no. “Not even a little bit.”
“Okay. So the Fairfoul Witch is the top witch. The head honcho. The cherry on the sundae, the cheese on the nachos, the sauce on the pasta—”
“I get it,” Rupert interrupted.
“She is in charge of the Witches Council, and everyone has to listen to her. She is the strongest and oldest witch.”
“I’ve read about her,” Rupert admitted. “She’s the only witch anyone ever writes about in the papers.”
“That’s because she’s the boss.”
“So no one ever crosses her?”
“Exactly. And she has an Undercat, named the Midnight Witch. She’s really scary, too, but not half as terrifying as the Fairfoul Witch. The Midnight Witch has been dying to overthrow the Fairfoul Witch for ages. Everyone knows it — she tries to get rid of the Fairfoul Witch all the time.”
“And the Fairfoul Witch doesn’t get mad?”
Witchling Two shook her head no. “She thinks it’s amusing. The Fairfoul Witch knows it will take centuries of practice before the Midnight Witch is powerful enough to actually beat her.”