The Courage of Cat Campbell (19 page)

“I'm going to take you both with me to the bakery,” Cat whispered. “Then I'll find my spell book and work out how to change you back.” Peter gave a series of high-pitched little squeaks that sounded a lot like panic to Cat. “Don't be scared, Peter. You have to trust me,” Cat whispered, slipping the guinea pig into her pocket.

He gave her finger a little nip and it wasn't entirely friendly. But Cat couldn't blame him for being upset. He probably knew that the odds of Cat Campbell changing him back into a boy again were not good. Not good at all.

T
HE NEXT BIG PROBLEM CAT
faced was how to get Madeline Reynolds and a guinea pig back to the bakery by herself. The storm was still blowing outside the windows but not as hard as before. There were long pauses between the rumbles of thunder, and the rain seemed to be letting up.

Cat walked over to Madeline Reynolds, who appeared to have drifted off to sleep again. She wondered how heavy the witch was. Cat hated touching her, but there was no other choice. Just in case Madeline Reynolds started screaming, or tried to bite her, Cat took a roll of sparkly purple duct tape out of the supply cupboard and, grimacing in disgust, she taped the witch's mouth shut. Madeline Reynolds's skin was as soft and wrinkled as moldy citrus peel, and she stank of rotten grapefruit and old porridge. Turning her head to one side so as not to breathe in the stench, Cat wrapped her arms around Madeline Reynolds and tried to lift her up. It was impossible. She might be a bag of bones, but she was still too heavy for Cat to carry.

Walking around the witch, Cat studied her from all angles. There was a nice loop of white thread for grabbing on to in the middle of Madeline Reynolds's back, and for a brief moment Cat felt a glimmer of satisfaction at how perfectly the spell had worked. If this had been performed on a screaming toddler lying in the street, you could simply pick the toddler up by the loop and cart him back home for a bath. Cat tried picking Madeline Reynolds up this way, but she still couldn't get her off the ground.

“There has to be a solution,” Cat said, speaking to Peter as if he was right beside her. Just because he happened to be a guinea pig didn't mean she intended to ignore him. Cat paced around the room, stepping over bits of broken desk. A large glossy poster lay crumpled on the floor, and she stopped in front of it. The poster showed a sketch of a young girl riding on a broomstick, her back straight, and her legs tucked underneath her. At the top in bold letters, it read, “Correct Posture for Broomstick Riding.”

“Hey, I have an idea, Peter,” Cat said, her enthusiasm starting to return. She ran out into the hallway and found the door with
BROOM SUPPLY CLOSET
on the front. Flinging it open, Cat switched on the light. She stepped inside, staring at the neat rows of broomsticks hanging from the wall. There were Beginner Brooms, Easy Flyers, and High Strung Stallions. Then a whole row devoted to Stunt Brooms, Sport Brooms, and Work Brooms. Cat reached for a Stunt Broom but changed her mind with a sigh. This was not the time for stunts. She hung it back up and took down a Beginner Broom, but as she did so, Cat noticed a bin in the corner of the closet full of chunky-looking broomsticks. The notice on the wall said “Training Brooms,” and Cat tugged one out of the barrel. It didn't look fast or sleek like the High Strung Stallion, or up for much in the way of tricks like the Stunt Broom, but Cat guessed this was her best chance of getting them all home safely. The broom had an on-off switch, and Cat realized it was motorized, which accounted for its thick, chunky shape.
This must be the equivalent of riding a bike with training wheels,
she guessed. Anyone could do it, or that's what she hoped.

Cat dragged the broom back into the classroom, trying not to think about how many rules she must be breaking. Uncle Tom would probably lock her up for trespassing on school property, using magic without permission, stealing a broomstick—not to mention the fact that she was completely responsible for his son being turned into a guinea pig. Cat might not have cast the spell on Peter, but he would never have been here in the first place if it weren't for her.

Madeline Reynolds was still snoring away. Her head had nodded forward and she looked like a giant white slug. Cat walked around behind her and poked the end of the broomstick through the loop of string. Then she put one leg over and flicked the switch to on, grasping the handle in both hands.

Peter started to squeak, poking his nose out of her pocket and looking up at Cat with terrified eyes. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and she felt terrible. “I'm sorry, Peter. I know this isn't going to be fun, but there's no other way.” Peter did some more high-pitched shrieking. “Just close your eyes,” Cat suggested. “Don't look down.”

The broomstick started to vibrate, and Cat pointed the nose upward. She could feel Peter trembling in her pocket. With a sudden jerky motion, they rose into the air, Madeline Reynolds dangling underneath. Cat flew bumpily around the room, gasping and laughing at the same time. She realized she hadn't opened a window, and not wanting to get off now that they were airborne, Cat directed the broomstick toward the door, flying through it into the hallway. They would just have to go back the way they had come.

There was a button for speed, and Cat turned it to the lowest setting as they flew down the stairs. Going down was much more difficult to control than going up, Cat realized, and she almost fell off, bumping into the wall and steadying herself against the banister with her foot. Peter was rustling around and nipping at her thigh, which made it difficult for Cat to concentrate. Plus, she worried he might try to jump out. The extra weight beneath the broomstick didn't help matters either, but Cat navigated her way along the ground-floor corridor and into the fortune-telling classroom. She wobbled above the rows of desks and out the open window.

It was still raining, and the wind buffeted Cat about. Flying at night was hard enough without having to battle bad weather. As she gained height, the broom's automatic headlamps switched on, so at least Cat could see where she was going. She rose steadily into the sky, leveling out at about twenty feet above the rooftops. Cat wasn't too worried about being seen. None of the villagers would be out in this weather, and she was quite certain they were all glued to their television sets. She gripped the handle tight, trying her best to fly smoothly. It was not all that easy because they kept hitting wind pockets and getting tossed about. Every time this happened Madeline Reynolds slid along the handle, and Cat struggled to keep the broomstick as horizontal as she could manage to stop the witch from sliding off.

Cat focused on the landscape beneath her. She couldn't afford to overshoot the bakery and get lost. Luckily the broomstick headlamps reflected off the canal, and Cat flew along beside it until she saw the glow of lights coming from Poppy's. As she got closer, Cat could see that she had left her bedroom window open, but swooping through it would not be as easy as she'd anticipated. She had to circle the bakery twice before she got the broomstick lined up properly, and, gritting her teeth in concentration, Cat finally flew through. Having no idea how to land, she nosedived onto the bed, where she bounced once and rolled right off onto the floor.

Cat lay still for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning. She had bumped her head, and touching a hand gingerly to the spot, Cat could already feel a lump forming.

“Cat, is that you?” Poppy called up the stairs. “I thought you were at Peter's. What on earth are you doing, banging around up there?”

“I dropped something,” Cat shouted, getting slowly to her feet. She was relieved to see that Madeline Reynolds had arrived in one piece. The witch had slipped off the broomstick and was lying on Cat's bed with her eyes closed—though Cat sensed she wasn't asleep. Staggering over to the door, her legs all stiff and shaky, Cat called out, “I just got in. I came right up.”

“You weren't going to say hello first?” Cat could hear the hurt in her mother's voice.

“I'm tired, Mamma.”

“It sounds like they're getting close to catching Madeline Reynolds,” Poppy said. “No sightings yet, but the storm looks as if it's going to be a big one, and she's bound to be somewhere behind it. They've got fifty thousand different units lined up and waiting.”

“Really,” Cat called down, thinking that grown-ups could be just the tiniest bit thick sometimes. She knew Peter would be laughing his head off if he weren't a guinea pig, and Cat patted her pocket to see how he was doing. She patted it again, more wildly this time, and then shoved her hand inside, feeling frantically about. “Oh no!” Cat groaned, stuffing both hands in both pockets and turning them inside out. Peter's glasses were there but not Peter. Somewhere between here and Ruthersfield her friend must have fallen out.

Cat had been holding herself together for so long, but she couldn't do it anymore. Walking numbly back into her room, she sank down on the floor and started to cry. Soft, quiet tears that dripped onto the rug. She was so involved in her crying that she didn't hear the little chomping sound right away. It took Cat a few minutes to notice that a ginger-and-white guinea pig was chewing the frayed edges of her jeans.

T
O KEEP PETER SAFE, CAT
put him in her sock drawer. She left the drawer open so he could have some air, and right away he made himself a nest in the corner, snuggling down on her green woolly tights. “That was really scary,” Cat said, stroking his furry back. He made a happy little chattering sound. “I thought I'd lost you for good.” Cat realized that Peter must have crawled out of her pocket after landing, when she was lying on the floor, and she couldn't risk anything else happening to him until she had turned him back into a boy.

“I'm going to go and find the spell books my mum hid,” Cat whispered, feeling bad about leaving him alone in the same room with Madeline Reynolds. The witch had opened her eyes, and every time Cat glanced in her direction, she was shocked by the emptiness she saw. It was as if Madeline Reynolds had lost her soul. Even the hatred and fury from earlier had leaked away. Cat felt like she was looking at a shell, a shell with nothing inside.

“I won't be long,” Cat whispered, breaking bits of a Twirlie bar and scattering them in front of Peter. “This is much more tasty than my tights.”

Cat crept into her parents' bedroom, trying not to make a noise. It had occurred to her that Auntie Charlie and Uncle Tom might be wondering where Peter was, and picking up the extension by her parents' bed, Cat quickly dialed their number. She was relieved when Auntie Charlie answered. Uncle Tom, being a policeman, might have been able to tell that Cat was hiding something.

“Auntie Charlie, it's Cat. Peter was wondering if he could sleep over,” Cat said, trying to keep her voice down. “It's all right with my mum if it's all right with you.”

“Oh, yes, that's fine,” Auntie Charlie agreed. “Just don't stay up too late chattering!”

Well, at least she didn't have to worry about Peter's parents until morning now. Cat hung up the phone and peered under the bed, but there was nothing to see except dust balls. Then she searched in the closet, even standing on a chair so she could reach the top shelf. One by one she pulled open all the drawers in the carved rosewood bureau her father had brought back from Africa on one of his trips. She felt among the sweaters and T-shirts, but the books were not in there. They weren't in the linen cupboard either. Cat didn't think her mother would have put them in Marie Claire's room, so they had to be downstairs.

The fire had gone out, Cat noticed as she walked into the kitchen. Marie Claire was rocking in her chair beside it, while Cat's mother sat hunched over the table.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Cat said in surprise. Well, it wasn't quite the dark. One small lamp shone from the sideboard, but with no fire burning and nothing in the oven, the effect was cold and gloomy. Cat switched on all the overhead lights. “Do you want me to start the fire again, Marie Claire?”

“Don't bother, Cat. I'm going to go to bed.”

“We should all go to bed,” Poppy said with a yawn. “And when we wake up tomorrow, the worry will be over and Madeline Reynolds will have been caught.”

“I should think that's very likely!” Cat couldn't help saying.

“There's soup on the stove if you want some.” Poppy sighed, rubbing her hands across her face. “Marie Claire and I had a bowl earlier.”

Cat shook her head. “No, thank you.” She walked around the room, opening cupboards and looking inside.

“Have you lost something,
chérie
?” Marie Claire asked, watching Cat study the shelf of cookbooks. It would be just like her mother to hide the magic books in with her cookbooks.

“Mmmm, a study guide I need for homework,” Cat said. Not meeting Marie Claire's gaze, she turned and hurried out of the kitchen. Cat was not a good liar, and she could feel her face grow warm as she shut the door softly behind her. They had to be somewhere, Cat thought as she darted across the hall into the bakery. It was the only place besides Marie Claire's room she hadn't looked. But after poking around for a few minutes, checking in the drawers that held all the cake boxes and ribbon and pretty tissue paper, it was clear that the books weren't in there. Cat was about to go back upstairs and check on Peter when she realized she hadn't looked in the coat cupboard. Creeping out into the hall, Cat softly pulled open the closet door, and there, hidden at the back behind the winter coats and jackets, she found her cardboard box of books.

“Score,” Cat whispered, tugging them out. She glanced at the kitchen door, but it was still closed. Hugging the box of books against her chest, Cat tiptoed up to her room.