The Witchy Worries of Abbie Adams Read online

  By now I was starting to feel sick with worry. After I looked everywhere I could think of downstairs, I hauled Munch up to the second floor to help look there. Mom and Dad were searching my room, and Munch and I ran into his.

  Munch’s room was a terrible mess, messier even than when Munch has had a friend over and they’ve played knights—and let me tell you, all that jousting and sword fighting and stuff . . . that gets messy.

  All Munch’s books were on the floor, his toy box was dumped out, and his bed was torn apart with the stuffed animals thrown all over the room. It was so scary, I almost started to cry.

  I took a deep breath like Mom always tells me to do and tried to get quiet inside so that I could think clearly and come up with likely places that Tom might have hidden.

  That’s a human technique by the way, not a witchy one, that calming breath thing. FYI, it can come in handy.

  Just then, Munch, who was already squeezing my hand really hard, tightened his clutch even more. With his other hand, he pointed off into the corner, where, underneath a lot of clothes and teddy bears, was his alligator hand puppet. . . . It was shaking all over.

  Well, it could have been anything—some horrible spell cast on the puppet that was going to make it blow up if we touched it—or a hidden evil witch, shrunk down to miniature size and waiting to pop out at us—or even a possessed puppet that might start acting like a real alligator. So Munch and I didn’t go near it but started screaming for Mom and Dad. They flew down the hall and got there in an instant. Then they leaped between us and the quaking thing in the corner.

  As I’ve told you, Mom can sense magic and she quickly figured out that there was nothing bad about the puppet. So she and Dad gently picked it up . . . and pulled out a terrified, quaking Tom. His hearing isn’t the best to begin with, and he’d been too muffled up in the puppet to hear our calls.

  I don’t mind admitting that now I did cry, great big gulping sobs. I was so happy to see Tom safe and not kidnapped or crushed or anything worse. His tail was huge and bushy and tiny shaky “mews” kept coming out of his trembling little mouth like he was trying to tell us how he felt. Now I cried even harder because I felt bad that he was scared. Mom and Dad passed him to me and I cuddled him and petted him until we both finally stopped shaking.

  “Okay, kids. Everything’s going to be okay now,” said my mom comfortingly.

  “Let’s get back downstairs while we figure all this out,” suggested my dad.

  Mom and Dad put me and Munch and Tom on the couch in the living room under another safety shield, made absolutely sure there was nobody else still in the house, and then zapped the living room back to normal.

  I was so happy to see everything back where it belonged instead of broken and tossed around on the floor that I decided from now on, I was really going to try to put things away when I was finished using them. Which by the way, Mom says she spends half her life trying to get me and Munch to do.

  Munch conjured up a few sardines for Tom and I let him sit right in my lap to eat them even though they were horribly smelly. After that, he seemed to feel a lot better. Then, as if he’d suddenly remembered something, he leaped up out of my lap and bounded across the room to bump his head into my mom and dad, to get their attention.

  Well, it was pretty obvious Tom had something to tell them, and so they followed him into Mom’s office, to where the computer still lay smashed on the floor. At the sight of this disaster, Tom’s tail fluffed up huge and he started to shake again.

  Mom zapped the computer back into shape, did one of those diagnostic things on it that you’re supposed to do if you don’t shut down the computer properly, and reassured Tom that no data had been lost.

  Though it took a long time because he had to tap out everything with his little paw, one keystroke at a time, Tom opened a file that he’d clearly been working on just before the terrible events that wrecked our house began.

  Boy, Tom was smart . . . and hardworking. I’d never known anybody like him. You know what he’d been doing while we were off drinking coconut milk and snorkeling around in Hawaii? He’d spent time with the spell books in the basement, then gone into all the witchy files on the computer and read up on the disenchantment spells he’d seen my mom and dad working on. Though Tom, of course, not being magical, couldn’t cast any spells himself, he’d mixed and matched various spell and incantation formulas and had come up with a brand-new one for spell-breaking. It was something that my mom and dad (and by the way, neither of them is exactly understaffed in the brain department) had ever even thought of.

  Dad got so excited, he immediately started puffing rainbow-colored smoke out of his ears and the only time I remember seeing him do that before was the day that Munch was born. (I wasn’t very old but you know, that’s the kind of thing you tend to remember.)

  “Tildy, Tildy! Of course!” Dad yelled, grabbing my mom and hugging her. “All those lockbox spells we kept encountering partially opened up, over and over again, didn’t they? But then, every single time, just as we were about to break through to the next level, they snapped shut so we were never able get through to the main enchantment. This formula—and Tom, may I say again, it’s a great, great honor to know you—this formula provides a time release factor, so that each level will finally stay open long enough for us to get through to the next one. Time release! Time release! Of course. It’s brilliant!”

  Immediately, Mom and Dad started hauling advanced spell books and dusty old jars and bottles out of the basement and as Dad got to the top of the stairs, he turned back down to Mom and said, “Well, I guess I’d better summon up March Hall, since he’s the big expert on this stuff and he’ll want to oversee our formulations.”

  Well, quick as a sneeze, Dad suddenly went flying back down the stairs as if somebody had grabbed hold of his collar and hauled him down. Which is more or less what had happened, because my mom had done a little summoning of her own and had magically yanked him right back down to the basement so she could talk to him privately. Only, the thing is, she was so mad that she didn’t manage to keep her voice quite as hushed as she meant to. So, upstairs, we could hear every single word she said.

  And boy, she had a lot to say.

  “Marley. I have had it with that big bag of hot air March Hall,” she hissed. “The truth is, he hasn’t done one single thing to help. In fact, if you would just think about it for a moment, you’d realize he’s actually made things worse. And in any case, I am heartily sick of the sight of him. He’s rude to the kids and he’s full of himself and to be perfectly honest I would be very happy if he never darkened our door again!”

  That’s what she said, “darken our door.” I like that expression, don’t you? As if someone was so miserable and unlikable that their very arrival at your door sucked all the light out of the place. And hey, it certainly fit in Dr. March Hall’s case.

  Well anyway, after this extremely heated outburst from Mom, who never usually loses her temper at all, Munch and I stood at the basement door in stunned silence for a second.

  Then we both said, at exactly the same time, “You go, Mom!!”

  This sent us into a big fit of giggles and even got Mom and Dad laughing downstairs. Tom, however, had strangely dived right under the kitchen sink at the very moment that Dad had gotten hauled down the stairs. I guessed he was still pretty jumpy from his experiences earlier in the night.

  CHAPTER 23

  No More Kitten

  Needless to say, Mom and Dad got busy with their formulations without the help of Dr. March Hall. As soon as they’d zapped the rest of the house back in order, I hauled Tom out from under the sink, so they could start applying some of the potions and disenchantment spells with the new formula that he had worked out.

  Now that he’d gotten over whatever fright had sent him under the sink, Tom was remarkably calm and relaxed, as if he hadn’t a doubt in his mind that his calculations were correct and were going to solve all his problems.

  “Abbie,
” said my mom. “Your father and I think that this Time Release Disenchantment might work better if it were directed at Tom from three different angles. Do you think you’d be up to helping us out with this?”

  “Would I ever!” I yelled, and shot up off the couch so she could teach me my part.

  Mom and Dad were going to do the hard stuff but there was a tone that I had to hum while the Disenchantment Chants were recited, and I also got to sprinkle Tom with this glittery potion that smelled just like raspberries.

  Mom and Dad started reciting and the air began to shimmer. The light in the room flickered and the magical hum got louder and louder, so that you couldn’t even hear my hum anymore, even though I kept it up the whole time . . . well, except for when I ran out of breath for a second and remembered that there was a little spell I really ought to have cast to temporarily extend my lung power. I had a bad moment with that, but in the end, it didn’t appear to matter.

  This time, Tom seemed so unafraid that his tail didn’t even puff up, though he did start to dance around excitedly.

  Just like it had before when Mom and Dad got close to disenchanting him, a little light appeared around Tom and it got brighter and brighter until the whole room was bright as day. And then, just when the hum got so loud it was almost unbearable, it suddenly got absolutely quiet—and there was no more adorable little kitten—there was only Thomas Edison, thirteen-year-old boy.

  Smoke, of course, began puffing out of my dad’s ears, but it was pink and white this time as he rushed across the room to shake Tom’s hand. My mom ran over too, and grabbed Tom and gave him a hug and Munch and I got over there fast and hugged him too. Then Dad seemed to change his mind about a handshake being quite enough under the circumstances, so he grabbed Tom and gave him a big hug as well.

  “Success is sweet, Tildy!! Success is sweet!” crowed Dad as he turned around and gave my mom a huge hug too.

  Tom stood a little stiffly, as if he wasn’t all that familiar with getting hugged quite so much (we’re big huggers in my family), but he was smiling and he took it all with very good cheer. He kept looking down at himself as if to make sure that he had human arms and legs again, instead of cat paws and fur. After a minute or two of this, he crossed to the mirror over the fireplace and then smiled happily at his face, as if it was an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while. Which, in a manner of speaking, it was.

  “Dr. and Mrs. Adams,” he said with a formal little bow. “I’m mighty beholden to you both.” And then he turned to me and his formal stance turned into an excited little shuffle. “And by jingo, Abbie, you’ve been bully, just bully getting me all those books!” Finally, he turned to Munch, who was feeling a little left out, I think. “And Munch, those sardines were grand, just grand. I can’t thank you all enough for your kindness.”

  Munch liked that, so he conjured up another sardine then and there. Tom, though he did ask for a plate and a fork this time, seemed to enjoy it just as much as he had when he was a cat.

  “Great Caesar’s ghost,” he said. “And to think there was a time that I didn’t enjoy fish.”

  Even though it was about four o’clock in the morning now and we all should have been in bed ages ago, my mom flashed a little refresher spell on everyone and conjured up a chocolate cake and ice cream to celebrate. She even let Munch and me have soda, which is something she hardly ever does.

  Once we’d eaten the cake and we’d laughed about how confident Tom had been that his idea would work, and after Dad had praised the brilliance of Tom’s formula a few more times, things got serious. The excitement died down as we all sat together around the kitchen table.

  “Now, Tom,” said my dad quietly. “I think it’s time you tell us what happened here tonight and more importantly to reveal who did this terrible, terrible thing to you.”

  You see, once an enchantment has finally been removed, all the accompanying spells that go along with it, like the one that stops people from revealing who their enchanter was, are gone too. It’s a lucky little fact of witchy science.

  Tom, who’d been hopping around excitedly, stopped dead and got an uncomfortable look on his face. “Oh blame it, Dr. and Mrs. Adams,” he said. “I think p’raps you’re not going to like what I tell you.”

  “No, no, Tom,” said my mom. “We need to hear the truth and we need to hear it soon, so we can work on getting you back to your poor mother, who must be beside herself with worry.”

  At the mention of his mother, Tom overcame his reservations and broke the big news. His enchanter, the evil witch who, once caught, would never ever be allowed to practice magic again, was none other than, are you ready for this? Dr. March Hall.

  Had you already guessed it? I hadn’t. I guess there were lots of clues but it just hadn’t occurred to me that someone so impressed with himself could do anything criminal.

  Well, my dad nearly fell off his chair he was so shocked, but my mom, though I don’t think she had been exactly expecting it, didn’t look completely surprised. I told you she was practically psychic, didn’t I? And when I remember how angry she got about Dad’s suggestion to bring the doctor in again, I think that she’d probably had a bad feeling about old March Hare for some time.

  Tom told us a terrible story.

  “It all feels like a rotten bad dream,” he started, “because I hadn’t any notion that anything horrid might happen that day. I’d just been doing a jolly little chemistry experiment in my home laboratory, when, from a clear blue sky, thunder boomed and black clouds burst in through the doors and windows. And by jingo, it made a power of racket.

  “Everything went black and I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face,” Tom went on, his legs bouncing up and down nervously as he leaned forward in his seat. “I tell you, it shot a scare right through me.”

  Now he leaped up out of his chair as if it was almost painful for him to sit still.

  “I tried to run outside but I couldn’t budge a lick,” he continued. “Then, out of the darkness, came a bolt of lightning. As it cracked down right in front of me, frozen where I stood, Dr. March Hall appeared.”

  The terrified Tom had tried to call for his mom and dad but no sound would come out of his mouth, and his feet felt stuck to the floor. Worse yet (if you ask me), he’d had to stand there and listen while Dr. March Hall droned on and on self-importantly about his “ingenious” plan to step into Tom’s place, claim his accomplishments for his own, and become the famous inventor that Tom was destined to be. Tom, of course, only being thirteen and not having even thought of perfecting the lightbulb or any of those things, didn’t even know what Dr. March Hall was talking about.

  “It all gave me a terrible turn,” Tom said, “because ’twas clear that Dr. March Hall didn’t mean me a bit of good. Until then, I hadn’t any notion that alchemy was an honest science. Why, if any man had told me, I’d prob’ly have tried to lick him, but crikey!—I s’pose I’ve changed my mind since then!” And he threw back his head and laughed so hard, we all burst out laughing right along with him.

  “I suppose you have!” roared my dad, jumping up out of his chair and pounding him on the back.

  “Well, the next thing that happened was that there was a tremendous flash of light, with a horrid smell like the sulfur from a spoiled egg. My, it stank like the dickens.”

  As Tom talked, we all leaned closer. Munch was so awed, his mouth looked like a big round donut.

  “All of a sudden, I felt the floor flying up to meet me,” Tom continued. “And lo and behold, I shrank right down to meet it, transformed, quick as lightning, into a small black kitten.”

  Then he explained how Dr. March Hall had snatched him up and zapped Tom and himself into the twenty-first century. From what we could gather, apparently, the doctor’s plan was to turn Tom over to an animal shelter.

  I don’t think Tom really understood the business of the animal shelter but I figured that Dr. March Hall thought Tom would probably get put to sleep because there are so many unwanted ki
ttens in the world. I guess this way, the creepy old guy could tell himself that he hadn’t really murdered Tom, since he hadn’t done the deed himself. Of course, there was also the possibility that someone would adopt Tom and never know he was anything but a cat. It’s so horrible. And to think, we were having dinner with this creep just the other night.

  Well, as we know, even as a kitten, Tom’s brain was always on overdrive.

  “Well, I was in a sure enough fix then,” he went on. “But I spent my time in the doctor’s hands, studying the possibilities. And by jings, I knew my chance would come.”

  His chance did come, as Dr. March Hall was opening the door at the animal shelter and had to temporarily loosen his two-handed grip on Tom. Immediately, Tom sunk his sharp little teeth into the doctor’s finger. As March Hare reacted, Tom leaped out of the doctor’s hands as far as his little legs could take him and zipped out into a parking lot.

  There were so many cars parked in the lot, Dr. March Hall wasn’t able to figure out under which one Tom was hiding. Not that Tom knew it was cars he was hiding under, never having seen cars before. It was all buggies and carriages back in his time. All he knew was that there were lots of convenient hiding places underneath these big metal contraptions.

  As Tom talked, things started to fall into place because my dad’s medical office is in a building just down the block from the animal shelter and it shares a parking lot with it.

  “I was scared to death of all the queer noises,” Tom told us. “But I had a bigger fear of being recaptured by old Mr. Smarty.”

  I stifled a guffaw at that one.

  “So, I kept moving ’neath what I now know were cars, to try to put as much distance as possible between myself and that chicken-hearted March Hall. And then by Jiminy, the most peculiar thing happened. I saw an open door that had little clouds of pink and white smoke puffing out of it, and . . . well, hang it all, I can’t explain it, but I got the notion that there was . . . aw . . . goodness on the other side of that door and help for the fix I was in.”