Free The Only Thing Worse Than Witches by Lauren Magaziner Page B

Witchling Two looked around frantically, leaned close to Rupert, and whispered, “We keep the climate favorable, we circulate commerce, and we bring tourists in on our brooms. The more money the townspeople make, the more we make, too. And the more money we make, the more potions we can concoct. And the more potions we concoct, the more we can trade with average people . . . and the happier everyone is. It’s a win-win situation. Plus . . . there’s a lot more to it.”
    â€œLike the bad magic?”
    Witchling Two’s glance darkened. “We deal out punishments, too. We’re in charge of making sure that everything is fair.”
    â€œBut there’s the justice system. What about that?”
    â€œConsider us the catchall. We never let any crime go unpunished, even if your human justice system lets people go. That’s why people are afraid of us.”
    â€œBut what sort of crimes?”
    â€œAll sorts of crimes, any sorts of crimes. We pick and choose.”
    â€œSo it’s all pretty random then? That doesn’t seem fair. Or is it fair?”
    Witchling Two frowned. “Yes . . . no . . . maybe . . . whether it’s fair or not, it
does
keep people on their best behavior.”
    â€œHmm,” Rupert said.
    â€œRemember, don’t tell anyone!”
    â€œWho am I going to tell?” Rupert said. “I won’t tell anyone as long as you don’t tell my mom that I’m a witch’s apprentice.”
    Witchling Two giggled. She took another sip of hot chocolate. “You’re thinking about something,” she said solemnly. “Your face is all scrunched like a raisin.”
    â€œA raisin?”
    She nodded. “Your forehead is all squiggly. Out with it!”
    â€œCan a witch be anyone?” Rupert said. “Anyone at all?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI . . . I think Mrs. Frabbleknacker is a witch,” Rupert said.
    Witchling Two opened and shut her mouth wordlessly. “Tell me everything.”
    So Rupert told her all about Mrs. Frab-bleknacker — from the day he first started fifth grade to the field trip at the dump, from the day she forbid everyone from talking to the latest vocabulary lesson. He told Witchling Two every single detail. Once he started talking, it was impossible to stop, and Witchling Two was a good listener, nodding and gasping at all the right moments.
    When Rupert was done, she took a sip of hot chocolate and frowned. “There’s just one problem . . . there
is
no Freckleneckle Witch.”
    â€œFrabbleknacker,” Rupert corrected. “She must be using a fake name.”
    â€œBut why would a witch become a teacher?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Rupert said. “Maybe she’s bored with the Witches Council. Or maybe she just wants to torture innocent children.”
    â€œHave you told your mom about this?”
    â€œShe doesn’t believe me. No one does,” Rupert said.
    â€œHuh,” she said as she swirled her hot chocolate. “Something about this situation is rabbit!”
    â€œIs
what?
”
    â€œRabbit! It’s when something doesn’t smell right.”
    â€œYou mean, something’s
fishy
,” Rupert corrected.
    Witchling Two ignored him. “Well, I believe you, Rupert,” she said firmly. She reached across the table and patted his hand. “I believe in you, and I believe you.”

Plan B
    O N S UNDAY , ONLY A WEEK AND A HALF BEF ORE Witchling Two’s Bar Exam, Rupert called for an emergency practice session.
    Witchling Two snuck in through the basement window, carrying her enormous witching textbook. She also brought a backpack, stuffed to the brim with an encyclopedia of magic, a magical history textbook, four potions books, three spell books, two witch crime novels, and five dozen lollipops.
    â€œI’m impressed you fit all this in your