Moonlight Mischief (Witch-in-Training, Book 7) Page 3
Two minutes later, there was another appeal. “Would anyone who knows the whereabouts of President Shar Pintake please come forward?”
Jessica and Miss Strega looked at one another.
President Shar Pintake had gone missing!
Chapter Seven
News of Shar Pintake’s disappearance flew around Coven Garden.
“Where can she be?” the witches asked one another.
“Who is going to call the Farewell Muster?”
“Who is going to give out the prizes?”
“We can’t leave without saying goodbye to her,” they all agreed, “even if she is a bossy old boot at times. It would be terribly bad manners.”
“That’s true,” said Miss Strega, “but we can’t hang around here much longer. The sun will be up soon.”
Jessica stared at the hawthorn tree. She had a flashback of Medea hovering there before she Zoomed off.
She shouldered her way through the melee of witches and seized the microphone.
“Excuse me!” she shouted. “I think I know where Shar Pintake is! She’s on the hawthorn tree!”
The entire assembly of Witches World Wide swivelled around and stared at the tree as if expecting to see Shar Pintake sitting atop its branches.
“Oh no, she isn’t!” said Florinda and Ariadne together.
“Yes, she is!” insisted Jessica. “But she’s invisible. I mean I saw Medea acting oddly earlier. I’m sure she has cast a spell on Miss Pintake to get her own back.”
“What do you think she has been turned into?”
“I don’t know,” Jessica admitted. “I just think she is on the tree.”
“Then, let’s look for her,” said Miss Strega. She turned on her heel and the whole witch muster rose up like a cloud of black crickets and followed her.
Everyone stared at the branches, at the little broomsticks, the tiny hats, the raggy bits of cape, the teensy cauldrons, the shoe buckles and all the other gifts that the witches had left, hoping that Dame Walpurga would make their wishes come true.
“I’m not getting the scent of a spell,” said one witch, sniffing. “Everything here seems to be what it is supposed to be.”
Miss Strega too shook her long chin from side to side. “I’m not getting any whiff of Shar Pintakeness either, Jessica.”
Jessica sighed. “Maybe I am wrong. But I did see Medea acting oddly. And I heard her threaten to get her own back on the president.”
“I heard that too!” said Ariadne.
“Come on, then!” said Florinda. “Let’s check out this hawthorn!”
The three witches-in-training immediately set about picking off all the witches’ offerings, one by one, as if they were dismantling an overladen Christmas tree, and passed them to Miss Strega.
Miss Strega inspected each one. “No,” she said, “no, and no, and not this one either.”
Soon the ground around the tree was littered with offerings and the tree was bare – but there was still no sign of Shar Pintake.
Then Jessica had an idea.
“Can we have a bit of shush?” she asked. “A complete and absolute shush. No noise at all.”
Her tone was so confident that everyone immediately fell silent. It was so quiet you could have heard a snail squeal.
But then, they heard it – the unmistakeable sound of Shar Pintake breathing, sharply drawing in her breath and crossly sucking her teeth.
“She’s here!” said Jessica, Florinda and Ariadne together.
“She’s definitely here!” chorused the grown-up witches.
“She’s in the well!” cried Jessica. “That’s it! Medea leant over the well before she Zoomed off. She must have thrown Shar Pintake in.”
Chapter Eight
Shar Pintake came up in the third bucket. Medea had changed her into a tiny pottery doll, so Miss Strega had to make up a spell to change the W3 President back into herself.
Shar Pintake was terribly shaken at having been tricked by a mere witch-in-training, and doubly embarrassed that it was another witch-in-training who had rescued her. She could hardly wait for everyone to go away and leave her in peace.
She raced through the prize-giving at a gallop. In the Witch-in-Training Championship Hurdles, Florinda received the Golden Broomstick, Ariadne got the Silver Hat and Jessica was awarded third place “for completing the course despite being bombarded and bamboozled with illegal spells.”
Jessica couldn’t stop grinning as Shar Pintake pinned the Bronze Cat on her lapel.
“And finally,” said Shar Pintake, loudly sucking her teeth. “Before I summon the Final Farewell Muster and we can take to the skies, I have one final prize to bestow, awarded by popular vote.” She looked over her half-moon glasses and slit open the envelope that the steward passed to her.
“The Dame Walpurga Medal for this year’s Extraordinary Witch of the Games goes to . . .”
The crowd waited.
“. . .Miss Jessica Diamond, witch-in-training!”
The witches went wild! They made a huge Mexican wave, waving their broomsticks above their heads and cheering: “Jessica! Jessica!”
Jessica beamed from ear to ear and bowed in all directions.
Miss Shar Pintake seized the chance to stumble off the stage and head for the lift.
Jessica caught up with her just as the doors opened.
“Madam President, please?” she said. “You know my trainer, Miss Strega – the one with the Witches’ Supplies shop? Well, she has a fantastic new product – it’s her own invention actually – Protection Cream, she calls it. A dab of that behind your ears every morning and you’re a one-hundred per cent no-spell zone. You’d never have to worry about Medea or any sort of moonlight mischief again . . .”
She trailed off and turned a little red. “I mean I know you’re perfectly good at protecting yourself, you’re the president, but . . . Miss Strega’s is on the High Street beside the toy shop.”
Shar Pintake pursed her lips. She wasn’t quite sure if Jessica was poking fun at her. Then she smiled. “Thank you, Jessica. Tell Miss Strega I shall look forward to visiting her shop.”
As they left the bright lights of Coven Garden behind them and joined the stream of broom riders heading homewards, Miss Strega and Jessica passed a flight of unfamiliar witches with matted hair, hooked noses and tufts of long white whiskers sticking out of their ears like cats. But what really made them stand out was that they were flying their broomsticks the Wrong-Way-Up, twigs behind them, the way cross old-fashioned witches used to do before Dame Walpurga’s marvellous invention.
Jessica was just about to pass them when she did a double take.
“Isn’t that Medea down there with those witches flying Wrong-Way-Up brooms?”
Miss Strega looked down her long nose over the top of her glasses. There, spitting and fuming and looking murderous, was Medea, the ex-champion.
“By the screeching of Minerva’s owl, I do believe you’re right.” She tut-tutted loudly.
“What a crowd of bad-tempered harpies. We should have suspected that Medea was the Wrong Sort of Witch. It’s no wonder she’s such a pain! Well, she shall drink as she brews. Shar Pintake will never allow her back to Coven Garden again.”
“With any luck,” added Jessica. “Come on, I’ll race you to a Moon-Vault!”
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Copyright
First published in Great Br
itain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2005
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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Text © Maeve Friel 2005
Illustrations © Nathan Reed 2005
The Maeve Friel and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as author and illustrator of the work.
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Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007571888
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