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 thesoul 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 crazyso-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
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 thesoul 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 crazyso-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
Similar Books
