The Runaway Spell Page 5

  “I guess there aren’t any other spelling witches my age,” B said. “Or any age, for that matter.”

  “That’s my sister,” Dawn said, patting B proudly on the shoulder. “One of a kind. Listen, I’ve got to get with my group. You know what to do here, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. I’ll probably be an hour.”

  B hurried to the table near the card catalog line, grabbed a paper and pencil, and got to work. She wrote UNDOING MAGIC SPELLS on her paper and stared at it for a while.

  UNDOING MAGIC SPELLS

  Hmm.

  UNDOING MAGIC SPELLS

  SINGS

  She crossed out the letters she’d already used. “G” plus “A” and “L” made “gal.” Gal sings.

  UNDOING MAGIC SPELLS

  GAL SINGS

  After a few false starts, B hit the jackpot with “melodic” and found that the letters remaining spelled “pun.”

  UNDOING MAGIC SPELLS

  MELODIC GAL SINGS PUN

  She grinned. It was only letters. B was a natural speller. She’d be an ace at this before long!

  The line moved slowly, so B passed the time by trying another anagram with the same book title. There was definitely a knack to this that she could develop with more practice, she thought. She found “scolding,” and, feeling very smug, realized she could make another -ing word out of “using.” And the letters that remained spelled … “pleam”? “Lamep”? “Maple”! Better yet, “Ample”!

  And then it was her turn to face the librarian. Which drawer should she open? She hesitated, feeling nervous. Would she get another zap here if she did it wrong?

  “Choose the drawer that matches the first letter of the title of your book,” said a witch in yellow, just leaving with his title, Magical Chromatology.

  “Thanks,” B whispered. She pulled open the drawer marked T-U. The gray vapor poured out and formed a cloud. The woman’s face inside was round and beaming, creased with smile lines.

  “Another young researcher,” the face said.

  “Um, yes,” B said. “May I have ‘Using Ample Scolding’?”

  “Splendid!” the face cried. “Wait right over there, dear, while I snag it for you.”

  In moments, the dragon-scale green book was in her hands. B hurried over to a study table and opened it. The binding creaked, and a marvelous ink-and-paper smell filled her nose as she pored over the beautifully illustrated pages, handwritten in meticulous calligraphy.

  The book felt magical in her hands. Well, of course it was magical! But more than that, its smooth leather binding, the heft of each lustrous page, all seemed to reassure B. Here she’d find her answer! If anything could help her cure George of his zebra malady, she was sure it was this book.

  She scanned through the table of contents, the page numbers overlaid with gold leaf. She scanned the section headings: Potion Antidotes, Reversing Overactive Love Potions, Undoing Jinxes and Hexes, Halting Magical Mayhem. Hmm, she should come back some time to study that last one. But there it was, the section she needed, last of all: Reversing Transformation Spells, followed by a long list of animals. Nothing about people! Oh, no!

  In despair, B flipped to page 492, Monkeys and Other Primates, scanned through the chapter, and began to read:

  There should be no need to mention reversing transforming spells cast on humans, because all well-trained witches understand how foolish it is to attempt such unruly magic. The effects can be permanent and irreversible. Any witches who accidentally cast transformation spells on humans should report immediately to the High Council of the Magical Rhyming Society. An emergency meeting of the High Council can be called if needed. Only the most highly qualified witches should devise an appropriate solution to the crisis before disaster strikes and the witching community is exposed to the entire world.

  B’s face fell forward until her forehead rested on the book pages. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

  She was doomed.

  Chapter 13

  Just in front of the table where B was sitting, two witches walked past, whispering about something. B just picked up the words, “… taken completely to pieces.”

  They could have been talking about anything, but B gulped. The thought of facing the Dismantle Squad was too much for her. She had to try one more thing before she confessed.

  B flipped back to the table of contents. She scanned the list of chapters with her finger.

  Chapter Seven, under Reversing Transformation Spells, was Wild Jungle Beasts. She quickly flipped to page 473 and scanned through the chapter. Several rhyming couplet possibilities were listed to reverse a botched animal transformation spell. The rhymes wouldn’t do B any good; she had to spell her spells. B rested her chin on her fists, despondent. Probably all of the books in this library were written for rhyming witches. Was it the fact that she was a spelling witch that made all her spells turn out wonky?

  The giant clock above the double doors chimed the quarter hour. Instead of a cuckoo bird popping out a door to do the honors, a magical mechanical peacock popped out and silently fanned its tail feathers.

  Dawn would be back soon, so B would have to hurry.

  The other remedies in the book seemed to suggest things B had already tried, such as trying an “undo” rhyme (she’d spelled it) or using a couplet to try to reset the animal’s species.

  She kept reading and came across a section written in strange, old-fashioned language with some words spelled oddly. It wasn’t easy to make sense of it:

  A Remedie for Failing Animal Reversals …

  To reverse the spell and undo

  Get one from the original the brew

  And hair of the beast that troubles you.

  B blinked. “One from the original the brew”? She didn’t know what that meant, but at least the fix didn’t seem to involve a rhyme. Just a hair.

  “Whatcha reading, B?”

  B closed the book quickly and stood up. “Hey, Dawn, you all set to go?”

  Her sister peered behind B’s back to look at the table. “Yeah, we can leave. Undoing Magic Spells? What’s the matter? Did you break a vase or something?”

  B laughed — maybe a little too loudly. “Of course not. C’mon, let’s go, it’s probably dinnertime.”

  Dawn showed B where to return her book. A shower of sparkles swooped up the volume and returned it to its shelf.

  As Dawn whisked them back home, B chanted the words of the strange rhyme in her head. Get one from the original the brew and hair of the beast that troubles you. It was like a puzzle she had to unravel.

  The next morning, George wasn’t on the bus. B’s imagination conjured up the worst. Had her spell taken on a life of its own? Had his arms turned into forelegs, his hands and feet turned to hooves? B pictured George’s mother fainting at the sight of her transformed son, then rushing her zebra-boy to the hospital in an ambulance … a newspaper reporter in the emergency room, snapping a photo … and the Dismantle Squad reading the next day’s paper.

  Stop it, B told herself sternly. He probably overslept.

  In the foyer of the school, B took her latest Spirit Week addition — a plastic tiger nose that attached with an elastic strap — out of her bag and put it on while watching anxiously for George. Some kids had whiskers painted on their faces, others wore headbands with fuzzy orange ears. It was Tiger Day, since tigers were the school mascot.

  “Nice nose, B!” Lisa Donahue called, passing by. B waved to her, then turned back to the window, relieved to see George galloping across the elementary school playground toward their school. In spite of her worry, B whistled in amazement. Look at him move! He was faster than a boy should be. With that kind of speed and power, there would be no stopping him on the soccer field.

  Then she remembered, if the spell was getting stronger, it could be becoming more permanent. B was going to have to fix this — and fast.

  He burst through the door, panting and sweaty.

  “Wher
e were you this morning?” B said. “I waited at the bus stop.”

  George stretched his long arms over his head. “Couldn’t help it,” he said. “Had to run. I just thought, why sit cooped up in a smelly old bus when I could feel the wind rippling through my mane?”

  “You don’t have a mane!” B hissed, glancing around to see if anyone had heard.

  George laughed. “All right, my hair. It’s just an expression.”

  B didn’t think it was funny.

  George’s tail twitched out from behind his jeans. “Your tail,” B whispered. “It’s stripy orange!”

  “Yep,” George said proudly. “I washed off the charcoal dust and colored in the white fur with an orange marker. All this Spirit Week stuff is working out perfectly for me.”

  B shook her head. The risks were so huge! How could George be so relaxed about it?

  He patted her shoulder. “I know you’re worried,” he said. “I’ll be careful. But it hasn’t been all bad, you know. I have so much energy! On the soccer field, I’m totally relaxed. I know I’m the fastest so I don’t worry that the other guy’s gonna get to the ball before me. I know I’ve got the strongest kick so their goalies don’t worry me. I’m a brand-new player!”

  “Brand-new species, you mean,” B muttered.

  The bell rang, and she left George and headed off to homeroom, thinking hard. She had to unravel that rhyme, and fast.

  When she got to English class, she sat next to George as usual and sniffed the air.

  “You need a shower,” she told her friend.

  “Sorry.” He grinned. “I did shower this morning. It’s all the running getting me sweaty. You should smell my socks….”

  “Ugh!” She laughed in spite of herself. “Sometimes you are so gross, George!”

  “Got my soccer socks on today,” he said, hitching up his pant leg to show her. “The whole team’s been wearing their game socks all week for good luck.”

  “Pee-yew,” she said, shaking her head. Then the sight of the sock made her stop still.

  One from the original the brew.

  The original brew that started all this trouble in the first place!

  “George,” she whispered urgently, “I need one of those socks.”

  “Huh?” He made a face at her. “At this point, they’re practically hazardous waste. Even my mom won’t touch ’em.”

  B reached into her backpack and pulled a zippered baggie from her lunch bag. Her mom had filled it with grapes for a snack. B gobbled up the grapes, then handed George the bag. “Sock, in bag, quick, before Mr. Bishop gets here.”

  George pried off one sneaker, grimacing at B. “I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like this. Can’t it wait until after tomorrow’s game?”

  “Not a chance,” B said.

  Just then Mr. Bishop came in. “Morning, class,” he said. “Let’s all settle down for this week’s pop quiz.”

  After a few groans, the room went silent as Mr. Bishop passed out the papers. George slipped B the sock-in-a-bag, then tackled his quiz. It was on poetry terms — easy stuff for B.

  She was halfway done when an earsplitting noise shattered the silence.

  “Nee-hee-hee-hee!”

  It was George, whinnying like a stallion!

  After an astonished second of silence, the class burst out laughing. Mr. Bishop appeared by George’s desk, twirling the point of his beard. B felt her face grow hot.

  “I’m at a loss, George, to explain the sound you just made,” Mr. Bishop said. “Can you enlighten me?”

  George bit his lip and grinned. “Well, the test question was on onomatopoeia. I was just … thinking about what that means, and I … thought about horses and I … forgot I was in public for a minute.”

  Mr. Bishop shook his head and chuckled. “Well, try to remember next time. And maybe, if you need to think of something, think of fish or mice, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  B rolled her eyes. Nice save, George. A little close for comfort, but no goalie could do better. Still, this was a definite sign of “intensification.”

  Half of B’s mind worked on the quiz, while the other half thought about the spell some more. One from the original brew, check. Hair of the beast that’s troubling you?

  That could only mean a zebra hair, right? But where was she get going to get zebra hair from?

  They passed in their quizzes, then B handed George a note. “After school, we’re going to the zoo.”

  Chapter 14

  The zoo was across town, miles away, and B knew her mom wouldn’t want her to ride the public transportation buses there all by herself. She’d need someone older to take her and George.

  It was time to cash in some sister favors.

  B knew that during lunch period, Dawn would be in the band room, practicing with the jazz ensemble. A few minutes before lunch ended, she left the cafeteria and headed down the corridors for the music wing. She camped outside the band room door and waited, glad she didn’t have to chase down a human hamster in there again.

  When the bell rang, Dawn came out, flanked by a handful of other tall teenagers carrying their band instruments in black cases. Dawn paused in her tracks at the sight of B. Her eyebrows rose slightly. It was code for, “Is everything okay?”

  B nodded, then beckoned for Dawn to meet her away from the group.

  “Catch up to you guys in a minute,” Dawn said, breaking away from her group. “What’s up?”

  “I need a favor,” B said in her sweetest, most pleading voice. “George and I need to go to the zoo today after school. It’s important. Can you take us? Please?”

  Dawn frowned. “The zoo? Why today? What’s the big rush?”

  “Oh, it’s a project,” B said vaguely. “I’m writing a research paper on zebras and I want to, um, observe real ones, and … take some pictures of them.” B blushed. It’s true. I am writing a research paper on zebras! I just need to remember to bring the camera.

  “I was going to get together with the girls this afternoon,” Dawn said. “You remember Angela, Stef, and Macey?”

  B remembered them all right. They were witches from Dawn’s magic class and the ones who first showed B what a bag-cauldron could do.

  “Why don’t they come, too?” B said. “I’ve got enough allowance saved to treat you all to ice cream sundaes at the zoo. Deal?”

  Dawn shrugged. “I’ll check with them. They probably won’t mind. We’ll leave from home at four, after my softball practice.”

  B gave Dawn a quick hug. “Thank you soooo much!”

  “Ack, you poked me with your tiger nose!”

  “Sorry.”

  At four o’clock, George and B were waiting on B’s front porch for Dawn to be ready and her friends to arrive. At B’s insistence, George had stuffed his tail down a leg of his jeans. Nightshade, B’s black cat, twined himself in and out between B’s ankles, and she scratched him absentmindedly between his ears.

  Dawn’s friends came into view, walking around the corner — Angela, with sleek black hair and a shiny black leather jacket; Stef, with spiky hair dyed pink today, and wearing a rainbow-striped vest and purple high-top sneakers; and Macey, whose long red hair was braided. B suspected some magical needlework had gone into her pretty hand-knit sweater.

  “Hey, B,” Macey said. “We haven’t seen you in a while! Thanks for inviting us to come to the zoo with you.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the ice cream,” Stef said. “Make mine a triple-fudge caramel banana split.”

  “All I want is a diet soda,” said Angela, checking her reflection in a handheld mirror.

  “Everyone, this is George, my best friend,” B said. “George, this is Angela, and Stef, and Macey.”

  “Hey,” George said, turning a little red when he shook hands with Macey. B looked at him sideways, suppressing a smile.

  “What kind of ice cream are you getting, George?” Macey asked.

  “Oh, uh, I, er, Coach says not much sweets, I mean, I … think I’ll
just have a salad.” His last words tumbled out awkwardly. Stef threw back her head and hooted with laughter. “A salad? Since when does a kid pick salad over a sundae?”

  “He’s just a little health conscious before the big game,” B said, not wanting them to think too much about it.

  Just then, Dawn opened the front door, freshly showered and beautified. “Hey, girls!” she cried, hugging all her friends.

  “C’mon, let’s hurry or we’ll have to wait for another bus.” They all walked to the bus stop. After twenty minutes and a transfer, they reached the zoo and paid their entry fees.

  “Let’s go see the zebras first,” B told George and the older girls. “Then we can get that out of the way and get the ice cream.”

  “What’s your hurry?” Stef said. “I want to see the penguins. Waddle, waddle.” She pretended to walk like a penguin.

  Macey sidled up to B. “Hon, what’s your little friend up to?”

  B turned to see George bending low over some shrubbery, taking a big bite out of a leafy branch. “Oh, he’s always clowning around,” B said, then grabbed George and stepped on his toe. “Watch it, zebra-boy,” she whispered. “No grazing, okay?”

  “But it smells so good!” George protested. “Don’t you want a bite, too?”

  “No, and neither do you,” B said. “I brought some chocolate; want some?”

  George stuck out his tongue. “Yick. No thanks.” B blinked. Was it just her imagination, or had George’s tongue gotten really long all of a sudden?

  She steered George toward the penguin house, following the older girls. After the penguins they toured the aquarium, the reptile house, and then the aviary. George seemed bored, and B, who ordinarily loved the zoo, was anxious. She was in no mood to marvel at parrots or pythons. Zebras were her only research interest today.

  At last she persuaded Dawn and her friends to join them for the African safari train ride. They climbed aboard and waited for the train car to fill. George bounced up and down on his seat and let loose another zebra whinny. Dawn and her friends sat halfway across the train and avoided looking at him.