Witch Baby and Me At School Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Eighteen moons of Witch Baby

  1. My smelly little sister

  2. Pants to that

  3. In with a hiss

  4. The hairy eyeball in action

  5. Burning down the house

  6. Not another squawk

  7. Storm warning

  8. Toad in a hole

  9. Ae fond kiss, Hiss

  10. Spot on

  11. A spot of bother

  12. Daylight robbery

  13. Brewing up a storm

  14. Big weather

  15. Beastly relations

  16. The Hisses swap

  17. The spelling test

  18. A spell of good weather

  19. Finally, spotless

  20. Another story

  Ae last Hiss

  Footnotes

  Praise for Witch Baby and Me

  Also by Debi Gliori

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781407051154

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  WITCH BABY AND ME AT SCHOOL

  A CORGI BOOK 978 0 552 55677 4

  Published in Great Britain by Corgi Books, an imprint of random House Children’s Books A random House Group Company

  This edition published 2009

  1 3 5 7 9 1 0 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Debi Gliori, 2009

  The right of Debi Gliori to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

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  Dedicated to anyone

  who has ever been

  The New Girl or Boy

  EIGHTEEN MOONS OF WITCH BABY

  ‘Hello? Anybody home?’

  Silence greeted the postman standing on the front doorstep of Arkon House. He cleared his throat and tried again.

  ‘Er. HellooOOO. Postie. Got a p-p-p-p-parcel for you.’

  He was beginning to sound like a mad owl. He finished with a sort of you OoOoOooou sound that trailed away into the silence.

  The postman swallowed. Hard.

  If only there had been a letterbox in the front door of Arkon House, he could have posted the parcel through its slot and that would have been the end of it. However, with no letterbox, the postman had to hand over the parcel to whoever was on the other side of the door. And the problem with that was he’d heard that Arkon House was haunted - and not by any old Woo-hOO, icy-fingers-running-up-and-down-your-spine kind of ghost, but by an ancient ghoul with nasty habits and a particular fondness for eating postmen.

  Earlier that morning, back at the post office, the idea of a postman-munching monster sounded ridiculous, but now he wasn’t so sure. Now, the postman wanted to dump the parcel and run away as fast as his legs could carry him. However, all postmen are taught that, come rain, hail or monsters, The Mail Must Get Through.

  One last try, he decided, then I’m out of here.

  Although it didn’t have a letterbox, the front door of Arkon House did have a huge brass knocker in the shape of a toad, so the postman seized this and rapped it sharply against the door with a loud rat-a-tat-tat

  As the Toad told her sisters while the three witches were eating supper that evening, this was exactly the kind of dumb mistake humans were always making.

  ‘Stuck his grubby fingers up my nostrils and rapped my rear end three times on the door!’ she croaked, her eyes goggling at the memory.

  The Nose and the Chin tsssked in sympathy.

  ‘I mean, what else was I supposed to do?’ the Toad continued, hopping backwards and forwards across the tabletop where the three sisters of Hiss were having supper. ‘My bum still hurts.’

  ‘Too much information,’ muttered the Chin, spearing a lump of gristle on her plate*1 and flicking it onto the floor. A small black cat appeared from the shadows, pounced on this morsel and devoured it. The three Sisters gazed at the cat fondly.

  ‘I actually think that turning him into a cat was a brilliant idea,’ said the Nose, bending down*2 to make the kind of encouraging noises that cats are supposed to enjoy: ‘Heeeere, possty wossty, psspsspss chhhhhh - who’s a ssssweet pussy wussy?’

  ‘Oh, give me strength,’ the Chin said under her breath, adding in a normal voice, ‘Changing people into animals is all very well, but we haven’t worked out how to change them back. Have we, Toad dear?’

  The Toad ignored this, running her tongue round her empty plate in the hope of finding an overlooked crumb.

  ‘Look,’ the Chin said, ‘I’ve told you before: no more magic spells. They’re too dangerous. We’re living here, surrounded by humans. We’re trying to pretend that we are dear little old ladies. Harmless, toothless and utterly forgettable. If we keep on spelling willy-nilly, sooner or later a human will notice that we’re “different”, and then we’ll be in deep poo.’

  The Toad rolled her eyes and yawned.

  ‘DEEP POO,’ the Chin repeated. ‘It’s only been a few hundred years since they barbecued the last witch in Scotland. If they did it then, they can do it again. So. No more magic unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ shrilled the Nose. ‘If we’re not allowed to do any magic, then just what exactly are we going to eat?’

  The Sisters looked down at their plates.

  ‘Suddenly I’m not hungry,’ whispered the Toad, remembering what supper had been before she’d turned it into supper.*3

  ‘We don’t need magic to make supper,’ the Chin said. ‘The Toad is perfectly capable of making a good wholesome meal out of whatever she can find lying around—’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ interrupted the Nose. ‘I think you’re forgetting that we’re witches, dear sisters, and not just any old witches either. We are the Sisters of HiSS. Magic is part of what makes us Us. It is like the very air we breathe. We cannot live without it. It is as natural—’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ interrupted the Chin. ‘Fascinating. But all the same, no more magic unless it’s strictly necessary. Changing that innocent postman int
o a pussycat was a really stupid use of magic.’

  ‘Meeyowl,’ agreed the innocent postman.

  ‘That was a spur-of-the-moment spell,’ the Toad said. ‘It won’t happen again. I’m really, really sorry.’

  ‘What?’ the postman squeaked in Cat. ‘Is that it? sorry? You’re sorry? Have you any idea just how sorry I am? What about meeeeeeyowl?’

  The sisters ignored him.

  ‘Now,’ said the Chin, ‘there’s a full moon tonight, which means our baby is exactly eighteen full moons old.’

  ‘Witch Baby!’ squealed the Toad, hopping up and down with excitement. ‘Our dear little adopted human child. To think that she’s already eighteen months old. Seems like only yesterday when we chose her at the hospital. Oh, she’s soooo sweet and small … I so wish we didn’t have to wait until she’s big before—’

  ‘Ughhhh,’ interrupted the Nose, ‘babies. Disgusting, dribbly little beasts. Who’d be a human parent? I can’t tell you how glad I am that we don’t have to raise her. Nappies? Fluffy toys? Fairy stories?’

  ‘I love fairy stories,’ whispered the Toad. ‘Especially the one where the Toad gets kissed by the handsome prince—’

  ‘You’re going soft in the head,’ said the Nose: ‘a) it’s a frog, and b) it gets kissed by a beautiful princess.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ muttered the Toad. ‘And I don’t care if we agreed not to get Witch Baby till she’s bigger. I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to go and get her right now.’

  ‘Oh, puh-leaze,’ groaned the Chin. ‘How many times do I have to say this? We aren’t going to raise Witch Baby. Her human parents will do that for us. Then, when the time is right, we’ll step in and take over. And not one moment before. Do I make myself plain?’

  The Toad didn’t reply. Instead, she slid off the table onto a chair and then dropped to the floor with a small thud. ‘I only wanted a little baby to hug,’ she said, waddling towards the kitchen. ‘I don’t mind nappies, fluffy toys and stories.’ Outside the window, the full moon rose for the eighteenth time since Witch Baby had arrived on Earth. The Toad heaved a sigh. In a house only three minutes on a broomstick away, Witch Baby would be getting ready for bed. The Toad sighed again.

  Nappies, fluffy toys and fairy tales? How hard could that be?

  One:

  My smelly little sister

  I tell you, babies are hard work. Right now, baby Daisy MacRae is probably the wettest, stickiest, smelliest baby on planet Earth. She is also my baby sister and, sadly, to earn more pocket money, I have promised to do the needful with Daisy’s nappy every night before she has her bath.

  Tonight her nappy is gruesome. Tonight even Mum turned pale when she passed Daisy over to me.

  ‘Soddy, Lid,’ she said, holding her nose with one hand as she fanned the air in front of her face with the other. ‘Daidy smeds preddy awfud.’

  Mum’s not kidding. Daisy smells awful. If I smelled like that, I’d flush myself down the toilet. But Daisy doesn’t care what she smells like. Daisy thinks her nappy is hilarious.

  Hahahaha POO,’ she roars, running down the corridor. ‘POO, POO, smelly smellysmelly,’ she says proudly, adding, Getta BAFF.’

  Too right. Get a bath right now. Unfortunately, this is not as easy as it sounds. The trick with Daisy is to turn her bath times into a sort of wet playtime. As long as she thinks we’re playing Lily and Daisy’s Wonderful Bath Game, she’ll do just about anything I want her to do. However, the minute she realizes I’m trying to speed her into the bath and out the other side into her pyjamas and then (whisper it) Off to Bee-Ee-Dee, that’s when the trouble starts.

  Problem is, Daisy isn’t a normal kind of baby baby. My little sister is Something Else Entirefy. I call her a Witch Baby because I can’t think what else to call her.*4 Daisy is a Witch Baby because ever since she was born she could do magic. Real, proper magic spells. Spells like the one when she put my head on the wrong way round or turned me into a slug. Once, memorably, she even changed my big brother Jack and me into vampires.

  Fortunately, I’ve learned a few things about Daisy’s spells. For instance, she can only do one spell at a time. This might be because she’s only very little; maybe when she’s bigger, she’ll be able to do lots at once, but for now it’s one at a time.

  Thank heavens.

  Also her spells can be broken if she is distracted. If I make her laugh, or if she bursts into tears or finds something more interesting to do, then … Pfffff, the spell fades.

  Thank goodness.

  As you can imagine, I spend an awful lot of time worrying about whether Daisy is about to do a spell, and I can’t even relax when she isn’t doing spells because that’s when she conjures up her magical dog WayWoof. No spells equals WayWoof.

  Speaking of which … there she is, Daisy’s very own, home-spelled witchy pet, WayWoof, with her tail waving and tongue flopping out of one side of her mouth as she lollops towards us.

  Hi, WayWoof. Yes. Yes. NO. Eughhhh. Don’t sniff that. It’s a nappy. A used nappy. Oh, gag.

  WayWoof looks like a normal dog, but she’s not. Two things make her completely different from other dogs.

  One: she smells. Yes, I know, all dogs smell; sort of woolly, meaty and doggy, but WayWoof really smells. Imagine the pong of a dustbin plus a gas leak and add the whiff of stinky cheese, then multiply all that by ten and that’s WayWoof.

  Two: WayWoof f a d e s away when Daisy begins to concentrate on a spell. This is very useful, because it’s like a kind of early-warning-Daisy-spell alert.

  Three: I know, I said two things about WayWoof, but I forgot the most important one. WayWoof is invisible. Except that’s not exactly true. I can see WayWoof, Daisy can see WayWoof, my best friend Vivaldi can see her,*5 other dogs can see her, but that’s it.

  Everyone else thinks the smell is me. Especially my big brother, Jack. Every time a bad smell wafts up his nostrils, he assumes that it came from me.

  Except right now. When Daisy runs into Jack’s bedroom wearing the NAPPY OF NASTINESS, even Jack can work out that the stench comes from Daisy, not me. He looks up from the music magazine he’s reading, sighs mightily, removes one earbud from his ear and looks around as if he’s not quite sure where he is. Jack always looks like this. His nose twitches, then wrinkles up like a walnut.

  ‘Phwoarrrrr,’ he says. ‘Daiseeeee. Was that you?’

  ‘No, Dack,’ lies my little sister. ‘WayWoof smelly. No Daisy. Lillil smelly. No Daisy. Dack smelly. Hahahahaha …’

  But fortunately, Jack isn’t listening any more. Tss, tss, Jack’s put his earbud back in – tss, tss - and now he can’t hear Daisy, even though he can still smell her.

  Oh, sigh.

  Now Way Woof has followed Daisy into the bathroom and is happily drinking water out of the toilet while Daisy hurls Barbies into the bath.

  ‘LIIIILLLLEEEEEE?’ Mum yells ‘ from downstairs. ‘Is Daisy even in the bath yet? You’ll have to get a move on - tomorrow’s a Big Day.’

  Thanks for reminding me, Mum. As if I could forget. Tomorrow is a huge day. Tomorrow is my first day at a new school. Just thinking about this makes my tummy feel weird. We moved house at the beginning of the summer holidays; moved house, friends, school, city, Dad’s job … everything. A big red removal van swallowed everything from our old home in Edinburgh and hauled it up to our new house here in the Highlands.

  At first it was horrible. I missed all my old friends and I missed our old house. However, because we’d moved at the start of the summer holidays, I didn’t really miss my old school. But now that the holidays are over and it’s back-to-school time, I’m feeling really nervous because I’m not going to my old school in Edinburgh. Tomorrow I’m starting at a tiny little school where everyone’s in the same class. How weird is that? And it’s not only me who has to start at a new school. Daisy’s starting playgroup. And guess where her playgroup is? Next door to my new class in my new school.

  That means there’s no escape. Much as I love my little
sister (and I do - I love her to bits), she is HARD WORK. Every time I’m out with her, I worry that somebody will notice that she’s not exactly ‘normal’. Actually, I’m amazed that no one’s spotted Daisy’s weird witchy ways yet. Most grown-ups hardly notice anything, even if it’s going on right under their noses.

  Thank goodness.

  Imagine if we’d lived four hundred years ago. Back then they used to kill anyone they suspected of being a Witch. Nowadays they’d probably make a TV programme about them. And how embarrassing would that be? The whole world would know about my little Witch Baby sister. right now, the only other person who knows that Daisy has Special powers is my friend, Vivaldi.*6

  Vivaldi is the only person I’ll know at my new school. My big brother Jack says that there’s nothing special about being born under a Blue Moon like Vivaldi and me, but he’s wrong. He can’t see WayWoof and he doesn’t notice when Daisy casts a spell - he wouldn’t notice if a volcano erupted in his bath. Poor Jack.

  Talking of baths … Daisy has climbed into ours, even though I haven’t run it yet. She’s sitting in our big empty bath with a long mermaid’s tail curled elegantly around herself. I really like it when she does this kind of fishy spell; it’s the reason I don’t mind giving her a bath at night. She isn’t always a mermaid; sometimes she’s a Daisy-seal or even a shoal of Daisy-fish. Tonight her mermaid’s tail is covered in pale pink scales and she’s given herself long lilac hair.

  I think she looks amazing, but I’m not entirely sure her playgroup leader would agree. Daisy the mermaid is talking to herself and her Barbies as if she’s the mummy and they’re her family. She has no idea that she’s starting at playgroup tomorrow. My tummy gives one of those sort of backflips that happen when I’m really nervous.