Rupert pointed to the Council of Three. “What’s that?”
“The Council of Three answers to the Midnight Witch. Then the Underbelly consists of young witches.”
“How young?”
“The youngest one is eighty.”
Rupert’s eyes bugged out. “Eighty!”
Witchling Two nodded. “Since they’re relatively new, they just get to vote on things. They’re kind of the bottom of the heap. But each member of the Underbelly gets her own witchling to raise.”
“So you belong to the Nebulous Witch?” Rupert said, pointing to Witchling Two’s chart.
“Yes. And the Nebulous Witch used to belong to the Storm Witch back before the Storm Witch got promoted to the Council of Three. So in a way, Storm is… she’s the human equivalent of my grandfather.”
“Grandmother.”
“Yes — Godbrother. That’s what I said.”
Rupert rolled his eyes.
“But how are the Undercat, Council of Three, and the Underbelly chosen?”
“Well it mostly goes in age order — the oldest witches have seniority, so they get the better positions. The younger witches just have to wait.”
If the youngest witch was eighty, Rupert couldn’t even imagine how old the oldest witch must be. Rupert stared at Witchling Two’s chart, looking at all the witches. And then he suddenly got embarrassed. He didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t help but notice that there were only women witches.
“Can you tell me,” he said sheepishly, “where baby witches come from?”
“Oh, the same place human babies come from,” she said. “From an egg.”
“An egg?” Rupert snorted.
Witchling Two nodded. “In Witch Primary School, I had a class on humans. I know all about how they work. The mommy human lays an egg and has to sit on it for three years. Then a human hatches.”
Rupert opened his mouth to correct her, but then he didn’t really see the point.
“Er… good thing you have primary school then,” Rupert said.
“Definitely!” Witchling Two said, nodding vigorously.
Rupert stared at the Witches Council list that Witchling Two drew in the sand. She was number two out of five witchlings. The more Rupert thought about this, the more confused he became. Until he finally asked, “Why did you contact a human? There are four other witchlings training for their exam, right? Why wouldn’t you just ask them for help?”
“Erm… well… the other witches were all too busy,” she said quickly. “So, I thought I’d get help from a human instead.”
“But I can’t help you with magic,” Rupert said.
“Sure you can.” She patted Rupert’s head, which was still sticking out of the pet sack. “I have a potions book, and so you can help me brew. And you can quiz me on magic, even if you can’t do it yourself. Here — ask me to conjure something up.”
“How about you conjure me out of this pet sack?”
“What?” Witchling Two said. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Conjure me a chocolate milkshake with a very long, bendable straw.”
Witchling Two snapped her fingers. “Milkshake,” she breathed. “Milkshake.”
CRACK.
The ground mumbled and rumbled and grumbled. Then it groaned and moaned. The Earth splintered beneath Rupert — the sand underneath him began to jerk. Then his pet sack popped up to the top of the sand dome and Rupert face-planted into the ground. He swallowed a mouthful of sand.
“An earthquake!” Rupert choked, spitting the sand out of his mouth. “I asked for a milkshake!”
“I told you I need practice!” Witchling Two shouted.
“Well do something! If you don’t stop this earthquake, the sand bubble will break, and the witches will find us!”
“I know!” Witchling Two said between gritted teeth. Rupert saw a bead of sweat trickle down her round face. Witchling Two snapped her fingers. The ground still shook. Then she snapped her fingers again and again. She snapped about a thousand times before the ground quieted and fell still.
“Was that you?” Rupert breathed. “Did you stop it?”
Witchling Two shook her head. “To be honest, I think the earthquake just ran its course.”
“And how long do we have to stay in the sand?”
Witchling Two whistled, long and low. “I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t intend for the Council to find out about you, but somehow they did. And now you’re in terrible danger.”
“Danger?” Rupert said. “What danger?”
“A witch has never asked a human for help before! And now the Witches Council is after you, and it’s all my fault!”
She started to sniffle, and he didn’t know what to do to console her. He thought maybe he should pat her on the back, but he was still all twisted up inside the pet sack, so he settled on awkwardly rubbing his head against her arm. “There, there,” he said.
She mussed his hair. “You’re lucky you were in the pet sack — they didn’t see your face right?”
Rupert nodded. Maybe they saw the top of his head when he peeked out from the pet sack, but there were lots of people in Gliverstoll with light brown hair. They would never recognize him from his hair alone.
“That’s good,” Witchling Two said. “I’m sure you’ve heard terrible stories about witches, right? I thought it was a bit surprising that you answered my Classified Ad. You’re the only human who responded — that’s why I thought you were a bunny in disguise.”
“I’ve heard stories about the witches — I just didn’t think they were as terrible as everyone makes them seem.”
Witchling Two shook her head. “Oh no, they’re worse! I’ve watched them do horrendous things. Once I saw them make a boy eat his way out of a pool full of Jell-O.”
Rupert paused. “Actually,” he said after a moment’s thought, “that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Talk to me after you’ve eaten two thousand, three hundred, and fifty-two cubic feet of Jell-O. That poor boy could hardly walk. His stomach was so big and plushy that his sisters tried to use him as a trampoline for weeks.”
“So that’s what they would do to me if they found me? Make me eat myself to death?”
“Maybe,” Witchling Two said. “Or maybe not. They’re particularly fond of making people lick the dead skin off their feet.”
Rupert made a face.
“One thing’s for sure though — you won’t be found. I may be a mediocre witch—”
“A horrible witch,” Rupert muttered under his breath.
“—And you might just be a normal boy. But I still need your help to pass my exam, and now you need my help to stay alive.”
“Alive?” Rupert gulped.
Witchling Two stood up and popped her head through the top of the sand bubble, which — when she was standing up fully — was as tall as her neck. Then, she ran through the sand bubble until it started to crumble.
“What are you doing?” Rupert asked.
“Popping the bubble! The witches are gone. We’re safe now!”
She skipped around the sandbox until the bubble was entirely destroyed. Rupert shook his head to get the lumps of sand off. A few grains got in his eyes and he teared up as he tried to blink them out.
“Are you crying?” Witchling Two said as she picked up the pet sack. “I learned in primary school that humans only cry when they are extremely happy.” Rupert tried to correct her, but Witchling Two began to sob. “This is so great!” she blubbered, her tears flying everywhere, as she walked toward his house. “I am so happy, too, Rupert — I’ve never had a human friend before!”