Chapter 1
“Let me get this straight, B,” George said, bouncing his soccer ball on his forehead. “All you have to do is spell a word, just some old random word, and you can make
anything
happen?”
Beatrix, “B” to her friends, flopped into the beanbag chair on her best friend’s basement rec room floor. “It’s not that simple, George,” she said. “Watch out! You nearly hit the lamp.”
George caught the ball. His thick, curly blond hair dangled over the rim of his glasses, but B could see the curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “W-I-N-D,” she spelled, and a little breeze swept through the room, riffling her friend’s hair.
George touched his forehead in amazement. “You really did that, didn’t you? I still can’t believe it.” He began pacing back and forth. “So,” he said, waving his hands wildly, “
so
, you could just spell ‘win’ and
bam,
our team could win the championship soccer game on Thursday? Just like that?” He wiggled his fingers.
B laughed. “No, I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t do a thing like that, even if I could.”
Clearly, George didn’t understand magic yet. And why should he? It was all so new to him. She hadn’t meant to tell him she was a witch — he had discovered her secret by accident. All the same, it was a relief not to have to hide it from him anymore, and to have someone to talk to about her magic. She tried to explain herself better.
“Just because it’s magic, George, doesn’t mean it’s like the movies. Real magic takes training and lots of practice. There are rules! Even still, things have a way of going wrong.” She held up her hands, and George tossed her the ball. “Believe me, I know.”
She tried bouncing the ball on her forehead, butit got away from her and rolled across the broad room. George’s huge yellow dog, Butterbrains, bounded after it.
“Show me another trick,” George begged. “C’mon. One teensy little trick.”
“They’re not
tricks,”
B said indignantly. “I’m not some circus performer. This is real.”
“I know. Just one little … demonstration?”
“Allllll
right,” she said. “What do you want to see?”
George pointed at a lava lamp. “Make it, I dunno, float in the air or something.” He fidgeted with excitement.
B focused on the lamp. “F-L-O-A-T,” she said.
The lamp rose in the air and swung in a wide circle, as far as the power cord would let it travel. Butterbrains backed into a corner, his head cocked to one side. Now and then he gave a curious whimper, his tail thumping.
George crawled over to Butterbrains and tussled with him. “It’s okay, boy! It’s only B, the magic witch.” He giggled. “This is just so stinking cool! I can’t believe it. I can’t
believe
it!”
B smiled. When George was excited about something, he had a one-track mind.
How long,
B wondered,
will it take him to get used to my magic?
She’d had a lifetime, growing up with parents and an older sister who were witches. True, their spells, like most other witches’, were conjured by imaginative rhyming couplets, and not by spelling. Even so, minor magic such as floating objects had been commonplace in B’s home for as long as she could remember.
Why not give him a little crash course?
“F-L-O-A-T,” she whispered, concentrating on a plastic tote full of Wiffle balls and squooshy footballs. They slipped into the air silently and orbited over George’s head.
“Whoa!” George paused his game with Butterbrains. “Lookit that!”
Butterbrains barked and jumped in the air, his body twisting as he tried in vain to snag the flying balls.
“D-A-N-C-E,” B told a tub full of old, forgotten action figures George had long since outgrown.Soon military figures were waltzing with monsters, and Greek heroes were tangoing with robots.
If George hung his mouth open any wider, he’d start drooling.
This was too much fun.
“B-U-I-L-D,” she told a huge crate of interlocking blocks, and, clickety-clack, they
“Let me get this straight, B,” George said, bouncing his soccer ball on his forehead. “All you have to do is spell a word, just some old random word, and you can make
anything
happen?”
Beatrix, “B” to her friends, flopped into the beanbag chair on her best friend’s basement rec room floor. “It’s not that simple, George,” she said. “Watch out! You nearly hit the lamp.”
George caught the ball. His thick, curly blond hair dangled over the rim of his glasses, but B could see the curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “W-I-N-D,” she spelled, and a little breeze swept through the room, riffling her friend’s hair.
George touched his forehead in amazement. “You really did that, didn’t you? I still can’t believe it.” He began pacing back and forth. “So,” he said, waving his hands wildly, “
so
, you could just spell ‘win’ and
bam,
our team could win the championship soccer game on Thursday? Just like that?” He wiggled his fingers.
B laughed. “No, I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t do a thing like that, even if I could.”
Clearly, George didn’t understand magic yet. And why should he? It was all so new to him. She hadn’t meant to tell him she was a witch — he had discovered her secret by accident. All the same, it was a relief not to have to hide it from him anymore, and to have someone to talk to about her magic. She tried to explain herself better.
“Just because it’s magic, George, doesn’t mean it’s like the movies. Real magic takes training and lots of practice. There are rules! Even still, things have a way of going wrong.” She held up her hands, and George tossed her the ball. “Believe me, I know.”
She tried bouncing the ball on her forehead, butit got away from her and rolled across the broad room. George’s huge yellow dog, Butterbrains, bounded after it.
“Show me another trick,” George begged. “C’mon. One teensy little trick.”
“They’re not
tricks,”
B said indignantly. “I’m not some circus performer. This is real.”
“I know. Just one little … demonstration?”
“Allllll
right,” she said. “What do you want to see?”
George pointed at a lava lamp. “Make it, I dunno, float in the air or something.” He fidgeted with excitement.
B focused on the lamp. “F-L-O-A-T,” she said.
The lamp rose in the air and swung in a wide circle, as far as the power cord would let it travel. Butterbrains backed into a corner, his head cocked to one side. Now and then he gave a curious whimper, his tail thumping.
George crawled over to Butterbrains and tussled with him. “It’s okay, boy! It’s only B, the magic witch.” He giggled. “This is just so stinking cool! I can’t believe it. I can’t
believe
it!”
B smiled. When George was excited about something, he had a one-track mind.
How long,
B wondered,
will it take him to get used to my magic?
She’d had a lifetime, growing up with parents and an older sister who were witches. True, their spells, like most other witches’, were conjured by imaginative rhyming couplets, and not by spelling. Even so, minor magic such as floating objects had been commonplace in B’s home for as long as she could remember.
Why not give him a little crash course?
“F-L-O-A-T,” she whispered, concentrating on a plastic tote full of Wiffle balls and squooshy footballs. They slipped into the air silently and orbited over George’s head.
“Whoa!” George paused his game with Butterbrains. “Lookit that!”
Butterbrains barked and jumped in the air, his body twisting as he tried in vain to snag the flying balls.
“D-A-N-C-E,” B told a tub full of old, forgotten action figures George had long since outgrown.Soon military figures were waltzing with monsters, and Greek heroes were tangoing with robots.
If George hung his mouth open any wider, he’d start drooling.
This was too much fun.
“B-U-I-L-D,” she told a huge crate of interlocking blocks, and, clickety-clack, they
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