“P-penguin?” Sandy said in a small voice.
“Sure,” the Fairfoul Witch said. “Or, forget the penguin. Conjure me an olive.”
“An olive,” Sandy said, deadpan.
“No, no, you’re right. An olive isn’t interesting enough. Instead, you can put a chimney on this roof. No — rather, conjure me something purple.”
None of these words rhymed with anything. The Fairfoul Witch was prepared to stump her, and now Sandy would fail her exam, have her powers stripped, and be forced to leave Gliverstoll forever. Rupert hid his face in his hands. He didn’t want to watch this… this bloodbath.
Sandy stood there with her hands limp, looking like she didn’t know what to do.
The Fairfoul Witch threw her head back and cackled. The Midnight Witch joined in, but the other witches seated at the table looked rather uncomfortable.
“You already had a name picked out, didn’t you, Witchling Two? What was it that the loathsome little Campbell boy called you? The Sand Witch? A little premature to pick out a name before you even pass your exam, don’t you think?” The Fairfoul Witch leaned close to Sandy. “You want to earn the title? Conjure me a sandwich, then. Something delicious.”
Rupert quickly went through the alphabet and realized that there was no rhyme for sandwich, either. His thoughts buzzed about — he needed to step in and save her, but how?
Sandy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she looked firmly into the Fairfoul Witch’s piercing eyes.
“Well?” Sandy said carefully. “Which is it? Which of these things would you like me to conjure?”
This, apparently, wasn’t the reaction the Fairfoul Witch was expecting.
“You won’t pass unless you conjure them all,” she snapped.
“Okay!” Sandy said brightly. “Engine, knowledge, kidney, burble, and a grand old perky canned-snitch!” She snapped her fingers.
Rupert pressed his face against the grate.
A penguin popped up next to Sandy. Then she uncurled her left hand to reveal a tiny olive. The ceiling rumbled and a chimney popped up. In her right hand, she revealed a purple locket.
Everyone except the Fairfoul Witch clapped.
“Where’s the sandwich?” she hissed. “You can’t pass without that!”
“Check your bag,” Sandy said coolly. “I think you’ll find a bland, cold turkey sandwich.”
The Fairfoul Witch dug in her bag and pulled out a turkey hoagie wrapped in paper.
Sandy bowed, and the table clapped for her. Storm smiled extra wide.
But the Fairfoul Witch scowled, baring her inordinately pointy teeth. She picked up the table and threw it across the room, where it narrowly missed the waddling penguin. Then, with a flourish of her cloak, the Fairfoul Witch stormed out of the gymnasium. The Midnight Witch copied the Fairfoul Witch in every gesture and marched out behind her.
There was a tittering from the rest of the board, and one of the witches Rupert didn’t recognize stood up. “Well, I’ll be!” she said. “We never act in such an unsightly manner in Foxbury. This witchling obviously has the skill and ingenuity it takes to be a full-fledged witch.”
“Vitchling Two, ve’re proud to present you with ze title of Vitch,” said the Thunder Witch.
“From here on out, you will now be known as the Sand Witch,” the Lightning Witch said with a smile.
With tears in her eyes, Storm popped up from her seat and engulfed Sandy in a great big hug.
“Can’t — breathe — Storm—”
Storm let go.
Sandy thanked the witches and ran out of the gymnasium. Rupert quickly turned around and began wiggling his way out of the vent, but then suddenly it seemed that the vent was much wider than it was before. So wide, in fact, that Rupert didn’t even have to crawl. He stood up and walked. When he reached the grate by the gymnasium entrance, he found that the grate was the size of a large door, and so he swung it open and jumped out.
Sandy stood there, waiting for him, excitedly bouncing.
“I suppose the growing vent was your doing, Sand Witch?” Rupert said.
She giggled, and Rupert ran and hugged her.
“I PASSED!”
“I know! But how did you conjure up all those things that didn’t have rhymes?”
Sandy grinned. “Nebby had a feeling that the Fairfoul Witch would try to stump me like that. So she made a list of hyrax words that don’t rhyme with anything exactly, and Storm helped me practice how to conjure them.”
“But how could you?”
“We practiced zebra-rhymes,” she said.
“Zebra-rhymes?”
“What’s that you humans call them? Half-rhymes? Near-rhymes? Quarter-rhymes? Almost rhymes? Partial rhymes?”
“And that works?”
She nodded. “Even when my spells on you went horribly horribly wrong, a lot of times it just sounded like something, but it didn’t have to be perfect. If it sounds enough like something else, there’s a whole lot of ways my spellwork could go wrong,” she said proudly.
“Not anymore,” Rupert said, “because you’re a real witch now!”
“Let’s go tell everyone!” she squealed. She grabbed his hand and ran with him through the high school — and then out the doors to where his mother, Nebby, and the remaining witch guardians stood.
“WELL?” everyone said.
Sandy did a cartwheel. “I PASSED!” she said.
Nebby threw the Sand Witch up into the air and paraded her around town on her shoulders. Rupert followed, clapping and hooting and hollering. And Rupert’s mother walked behind them, making sure to hold the cake steady.
Later, Rupert and his mother ended up at Nebby’s clean and pristine lair for celebratory cake, tea, and scones.
“More sugar?” Nebby asked Rupert’s mother.
Rupert’s mother picked up a sugar cube with the tongs and dropped it into the tea. “You must have done wonderfully,” Rupert’s mother said.
“I did, I did!” Sandy said with a grin. “You should have seen me, Nebby! Zebra rhyme here, zebra rhyme there! It was vernacular!”
“Spectacular,” everyone corrected, and then they all laughed.
Rupert smiled. He never thought — not in a million years — that he could help a witch with her magic. He never thought that his best friend would be a witch. He never thought that he would prove that his horrible rotten teacher was a witch. He never thought his mother would actually believe him about his horrible rotten teacher. And he especially never thought that he would peaceably have tea with his witch-hating mother and three witches.
“Psst!” Sandy whispered under the sound of the adults talking.
“What?”
“Come with me!”
Rupert and Sandy excused themselves from the table and ran upstairs to Sandy’s room. It looked just like her lair at Pexale Close — all cluttered and musty and cramped. It was the only room in Nebby’s perfect house that was an absolute mess.
Rupert watched as stacks of papers blew around in the breeze that was coming from Sandy’s open window. Rupert walked over to the window and looked out — she had the most wonderful seaside view, with the orange sun setting beneath a purple sky.
“Hey, look,” Rupert said. “It’s your favorite color.”
Sandy squealed.
“Sandy? Thanks for everything. Really.”
“No, thank you, Rupert! You are the best apprentice ever…” Sandy smiled, her ears turning bright pink. She turned back toward the closet and dug through piles of clothes. At last, she seemed to find what she was looking for because she turned around with her hands behind her back.
“And now I’m going to give you a little treat. I hope you like heights,” she said, and she whipped a broom out from behind her back.