The Trouble with Secrets Page 5

  “You go and round up an audience, while I grab Frank to announce me,” Enchantress Le Fay snapped at Jason. “The show will start in five minutes.”

  B realized this was her only chance to get out of there before she got caught.

  She waited until it was quiet and then raised her head over the rim of the cauldron. Enchantress Le Fay and Jason Jameson were gone.

  B crawled out of the cauldron, uncamouflaged herself, slipped through the tent flaps, and ran straight into Mr. Bishop.

  “There you are, B,” Mr. Bishop said.

  “S-sorry,” B stammered. “I …”

  Mr. Bishop stroked his goatee. “You must be eager to see the show.”

  “Actually,” B began, “I think I’ve got my answer… .”

  But just then, the announcer in his wrinkled red tuxedo jacket shouted out, “Step right up, ladies and, um, gentleman, for a show you won’t soon forget.”

  “Looks like today’s lesson is about to begin,” Mr. Bishop whispered.

  B didn’t want to stick around for the trickery, but since she’d begged Mr. Bishop to come, she didn’t have any choice.

  The announcer was still announcing. “From the far reaches of time, from the dark forests of Olde England, comes a living descendant of Morgan Le Fay, the sorceress who bedazzled King Arthur’s court! Need a love potion? A cure for baldness?” He glanced at Mr. Bishop. “Or, in your case, too much hair? Searching for the elixir of life? Look no further! Enchantress Le Fay waits to help you!”

  He pulled the curtain rope, and Enchantress Le Fay stepped out with a flourish. She looked around, expecting applause, but got none. After all, it was only Mr. Bishop and B in the audience today. B was relieved to see that Jason Jameson wasn’t back yet.

  Enchantress Le Fay sized up Mr. Bishop the way B’s father looked at sports cars. “Come closer, come closer,” she said, beckoning to them in her gravelly voice. “The mysterious gentleman and the charming young lady. What has brought you to Enchantress Le Fay today? What hidden needs, what deep desires can I help you with?”

  She winked at Mr. Bishop. B giggled. Enchantress Le Fay shot her an annoyed glance. In a completely different voice, she said, “Hey, weren’t you here the other day? With that obnoxious kid?”

  B bristled at this description of her best friend.

  Enchantress Le Fay turned her attention back to Mr. Bishop, took a deep breath, and resumed her stage voice. “You, sir … the spirits are vague, I can’t sense your name like I usually can… .”

  “Doug,” Mr. Bishop said.

  “Doug! I was just about to say that. The spirits are vague, yessssss, but your aura tells me you have powers all your own. What can Enchantress Le Fay dooooo for you?”

  Mr. Bishop glanced at B and rolled his eyes slightly. “My special power,” he told the witch, “is teaching. I came today to teach my student a lesson in good judgment.”

  “Ah!” Enchantress Le Fay reached for her suitcase and searched through the potions. “A teacher! A wise man and his pupil. What you need is a potion for knowledge! Drink this, and the hidden mysteries of the universe will unfold before you! Only fifty dollars.” She held out an amber vial.

  Mr. Bishop’s left eyebrow rose. He shook his head.

  Enchantress Le Fay selected a red vial from the cluttered case, and leaned a little closer to him. “Then perhaps you’d be interested in my very own, never fail, Cupid’s arrow love potion? Only twenty-five dollars. I can demonstrate how it works.”

  Mr. Bishop coughed. “Er, no, thanks.”

  Enchantress Le Fay deflated slightly. “Good luck for fifteen?” She watched both their faces. “Happiness for ten?” She snapped her fingers under their noses. “I know what you need. The ever-popular money potion, sure to bring financial success, special today, only five dollars a dose!” She thrust a green vial into Mr. Bishop’s hand.

  “Why would the money potion cost the least?” B asked.

  “If somebody can only afford five bucks, that’s probably what they need most, kid,” Enchantress Le Fay said.

  To B’s surprise, Mr. Bishop pulled out his wallet and handed Enchantress Le Fay a five-dollar bill. “Teachers never make enough,” he said, laughing a little to himself. “Well, Madam, thanks for an entertaining show.” He turned to leave.

  “But I’ve only just begun!” she cried. A puff of green smoke rose from her cauldron. “Stay and see the rest!”

  “Not today, thanks,” Mr. Bishop said. In a low voice, he told B, “We’ve seen plenty.”

  “Be sure to come back tomorrow night for my Grand Spectacular Extravaganza,” Enchantress Le Fay called after them. “It’s the highlight of the fair! The whole town will be there… .”

  Her voice faded as Mr. Bishop led B to a bench some distance from the thoroughfare, where no one would hear them talking. He uncorked the vial of money potion and poured a few drops into his hand. He tilted his hand so B could see it in the afternoon light.

  “Look like a magical potion to you, B?” he asked.

  “No,” B said. “Mine, at least, was sparkly. That looks like salad dressing, except it’s green.”

  “Take a whiff,” Mr. Bishop said. “It’s safe.”

  She sniffed at the little puddle in Mr. Bishop’s palm. “It smells like the herb soap my Granny Grogg makes.”

  “Exactly,” Mr. Bishop said. “Some herbs, some vegetable oil, and wham, a so-called potion, just enough to swindle poor, hopeful people out of their hard-earned money.” Mr. Bishop reached for a napkin from a hot dog cart passing by, and wiped the potion oil off his hand. “But I should hope that after meeting her, you wouldn’t need me to tell you she’s no witch. Think of your parents. Think of everyone you’ve met at the Magical Rhyming Society. Are they anything like Enchantress Le Fay?”

  “No, of course not,” B said, kicking the dirt. “It’s just … George is so shaken up by this, and everything seems to be going wrong for him. I wanted to make sure.”

  Mr. Bishop nodded. “People can get ideas into their heads and start believing them for crazy reasons, just because someone says so. It’s called the power of suggestion. That’s how Enchantress Le Fay’s potions operate.”

  “George didn’t believe her, though,” B protested. “That’s the thing. He was saying right to her face that he thought it was ridiculous. That’s why she cursed him in the first place. And then his go-cart broke, and I think he got spooked.”

  “That’s exactly it,” Mr. Bishop said. “Even though he didn’t believe it, a little superstitious part of his mind said, ‘What if it is true?’”

  The smell of fried dough with powdered sugar made B’s stomach rumble, but she couldn’t stop worrying about her friend. She picked up the half-empty potion vial and let the rest of it dribble onto the hard-packed fairground dust. “What can I do for him, then?” she asked.

  Mr. Bishop stood up. “He’ll snap out of it. Believe me.” He pulled a book out of his knapsack. It was bound with a metal spine and pink jeweled lettering, and looked like a cross between an ancient book of spells and a teenage magazine. Preteen Potions, it read. “It’s time to go. But since you managed to talk me out of a regular magic lesson, you’ll have homework tonight. Read chapter two and be ready to discuss potions to cure the common cold next time we meet.”

  B took the book. “Um, Mr. Bishop? What do I say if someone sees me reading Preteen Potions on the bus?”

  “Oh, right.” Mr. Bishop cleared his throat.

  “Mumbly-jumble, magical book,

  Make for yourself a nonmagical look.”

  And the potions book turned into the Yellow Pages.

  “Gee, thanks,” B said as Mr. Bishop walked away.

  B realized now that “Enchantress” Le Fay couldn’t even curse a jelly doughnut. But that didn’t make her harmless. People shouldn’t pretend to have powers, and they shouldn’t go around trying to scare people. Especially not B’s best friend.

  Enchantress Le Fay, B decided, had tangled with the wrong witch.


  Now all B needed was a plan.

  Chapter 11

  “Pass the bird, please.”

  B handed her dad the steaming platter that held a perfectly golden brown roast chicken flanked by potatoes and carrots. A masterpiece for most cooks, just a normal dinner at B’s house. B’s mother’s cooking spells were legendary in the witching world.

  B poured an extra dollop of gravy over her potatoes. “This is amazing, Mom.”

  “Thanks, dear. You don’t think the meat’s too dry?”

  “Are you kidding?” B took a huge bite. “Scrumptious.”

  “Then why isn’t your sister touching her food?”

  All eyes at the dinner table turned to Dawn, who sat staring at the solitary carrot on her plate, her chin resting in one hand.

  B was concerned. “What’s the matter, Dawn?”

  “It’s my magic lessons,” Dawn muttered. “I’m going to fail my advanced potions seminar, and then they’ll probably give my slot at Summer Enchantments Camp to someone else.” She buried her face in her hands.

  B knew all about Summer Enchantments Camp for teenage witches. Dawn had only been talking about it nonstop since she turned fourteen. Teenage witches from several nearby states gathered at Camp Juju and communed with nature while practicing advanced magic under the full moon and whatnot. B never knew what Dawn was more excited about — the magic, or the “totally hot guys,” as she always described them, especially Lancelot Jackson, the seventeen-year-old spell-casting superstar.

  B’s mom loaded Dawn’s plate. “Eat, pumpkin,” she said. “Everything looks worse on an empty stomach.”

  “I’ve got a stomachache,” Dawn protested. “From testing my healing potion.”

  B’s parents exchanged worried looks.

  “And look at my face!” Dawn cried, parting her hands. “My beauty potion made me break out in pimples! I look like a pizza face!”

  “No, you don’t,” her mother said, clucking her tongue.

  “Now, why would a lovely girl like you even think of making a beauty potion?” Dad asked. “You can’t improve perfection.”

  Dawn groaned. “It’s no use trying to cheer me up. I’m doomed. If I don’t turn in a working honesty potion in two days, that’s it. Kaput. Failing marks, which means no camp.”

  Honesty potion. Now there was an interesting idea. “What are the ingredients in an honesty potion, Dawn?” B asked.

  Dawn looked up as if the answer to her potion misery was somehow scrawled on the ceiling. “You need something to expand the mind, something to loosen the tongue, something to, um, infuse the soul with courage, and something to fill the heart with truth.”

  “Yikes!” B said. “That’s not a recipe, that’s a mystery.”

  “Right. And that’s why I’ll end up magically mopping floors the rest of my life.”

  “But, girls, that’s the wonderful thing about potions,” their mother said. “They’re not rigid recipes. They’re creative! We would make potions in a factory if it was simple.”

  B watched her sister closely. Sometimes Dawn could be a drama queen, but this time, B could tell she was really worried.

  “You’ll figure it out, Dawn,” B said. “Everything you do turns out well.”

  Dawn blinked. She looked at B for a long moment, then speared a chunk of chicken with her fork. “Thanks, B.”

  “I know another potion you should make,” B said. “A fake curse antidote.”

  “A what?” Mom said.

  “A fake curse antidote,” B said. “George and I were at the fair, and we stopped to see this crazy so-called witch, Enchantress Le Fay. She did her silly show, and George said out loud there was no such thing as witchcraft, so Enchantress Le Fay put a curse on him.”

  Dawn chuckled. “No such thing as witchcraft, all right.”

  B’s mother lay down her fork. “Surely George doesn’t believe the curse is real.”

  “That’s the thing,” B said. “He didn’t at first, but then all these bad things kept happening to him, and now he’s convinced he’s cursed. He stayed home from school today because he thinks he’s deathly ill with a cold.”

  “Poor George!” B’s mom said.

  “Ridiculous,” Dad said. “That boy needs to snap out of it. I thought he had more sense.”

  “Now, Felix,” Mom said. “Emotions are tricky. It sounds like this Le Fay creature makes her living preying on people’s emotions.”

  “And selling them potions,” B added. “Hey, it rhymes! Could one of you think up a spell to stop her from something-something emotions with her something-something potions?”

  “You’re on your own, B,” Dad said. “Why don’t you spell something?”

  “I’ve tried, but nothing helps,” B said.

  “You’ll figure it out, B,” Mom said, rising from her chair. “And you’ll make a brilliant honesty potion, Dawn. I have complete faith in both of you. But right now, I have complete faith you’ll both help me with the dishes.”

  Chapter 12

  When they had finished the dishes, B followed Dawn up to her room, explaining about George.

  “He’s bringing it upon himself!” B was saying. “He’s so sure he’s cursed, he’s practically useless. Thinking about the curse constantly. So of course bad things keep happening to him.”

  “Expand the mind, loosen the tongue …” Dawn was muttering to herself. “Hm? Oh. Yeah, George. He’s got it pretty bad, huh?”

  “He’s totally paranoid,” B said. Nightshade leaped up onto Dawn’s bed and Dawn sat down in front of her cauldron.

  “Hm. Whaddya think of this, B? A dictionary to expand the mind, a picture of a sunset to fill the heart with truth …”

  “That’s interesting. Why a sunset?” B asked.

  “Well, nature is one of the truest things there is, don’t you think? Nature can’t lie.”

  B stroked Nightshade’s fur. “I like that, Dawn. That’s really clever.”

  Dawn looked surprised, but she smiled. “Thanks. Anyway, what would infuse the soul with courage?”

  B scratched Nightshade between the ears. “Umm … I don’t know. I’m the biggest scaredy-cat there is.”

  “No, you’re not. Think what you did at the Magical Rhyming Society when you found your magic! You did amazing spells in front of everyone!”

  B flushed with pleasure to hear her sister’s praise. “Yeah, but you know what? I couldn’t do it until you came and stood next to me. You gave me courage.”

  “Well, I only went up because you needed me. Otherwise I’d have been scared, too …” Dawn trailed off midsentence and stared at B. Then she snapped her fingers. “That’s it, B. You figured it out. It’s family that gives us courage, isn’t it?” Dawn grabbed a copy of their family’s photo Christmas card that was lying on her desk and dropped it into her shiny EZ-Brew cauldron.

  “And friends,” B said. She gestured to the cauldron, where the family photo was melting into potion broth. “I hope Mom has more of those pictures.”

  “Now all I need is something to loosen the tongue.”

  “Um, a drink of water? The principal always takes a drink before starting his ‘Welcome back to school’ speech.”

  Dawn frowned. “I don’t think that’s what they mean.”

  “How about a thumbtack?”

  Dawn stirred her cauldron with a wooden spoon. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, if you sat on a thumbtack, you’d make some noise in a hurry.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Laughter loosens the tongue,” B said. “It gets people talking.”

  Dawn froze midstir. “B, you might be a genius,” she said. “Can I raid your candy stash?”

  “Since when do you ask? Go ahead,” B said, “but there’s nothing very good left.”

  Dawn disappeared into B’s room and came back with the Easter basket B had had since she was tiny. She kept it supplied with candy year-round. Dawn fished through it, then held a little green-wrapped s
quare high in the air. “Aha!” she said. “Laffy Taffy.”

  She threw it into the cauldron and stirred. “Wish me luck, little sister,” she said, then closed her eyes and recited a spell.

  “Wisdom of years, innocence of youth,

  Distill in my cauldron the essence of truth!”

  There was a soft noise like the ringing of faraway chimes, and the lumpy glop of Dawn’s ingredients transformed into a smooth sea green sauce that smelled like buttered popcorn.

  Dawn and B peered over the lid at the surface of the brew.

  “Please, oh please, oh please,” Dawn whispered. “Here goes nothing.” She dipped the spoon in, then licked it clean.

  “Tastes good,” Dawn said. “Go ahead, quiz me.”

  “Okay,” B said. “Did you or did you not fib to Mom and Dad two years ago about the broken crystal ball?”

  Dawn’s face flushed scarlet. “Yes!” She pressed her lips together. “It was a tiny white lie, okay? And I hadn’t been using it. I was just looking at it.”

  “Right,” B said. “What else do you do with a crystal ball, go bowling?”

  “No, you tell the future with it,” Dawn said. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Then her scowl turned into a radiant smile. “My potion worked! It made me tell the truth!”

  “Not so fast,” B said. “How much of your waking time do you spend daydreaming about Lancelot Jackson?”

  Dawn whapped B lightly on the hand with her wooden spoon. “You little sneak!” She tried to clamp her lips together, but they had a mind of their own. “Sixty-six percent.” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “The numbers don’t lie, do they?” B said, grinning. “Looks like you’ll get to go to Camp Juju. Congratulations.”

  Dawn sank down into her chair, exhausted and relieved. “It really works, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s spectacular.”

  Spectacular. The Grand Spectacular! Holy cats. Nothing like a little honesty mixed into a bamboozler’s performance … She snapped her fingers. That was it — the secret weapon she needed.