Friday evening, the butterflies in B’s stomach were so fluttery, she had to try three different socks on her left foot before she got the one that matched her right. She considered using a dab of her attitude beauty potion to snazz up her looks, but decided she didn’t dare. She’d already sniffed it once. Would sniffing it again use up all its magic? It was possible. And then where would she be?
She reached for a pot of lip gloss stored in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Just then, Dawn barged in, looking for something.
“Good luck tonight, Dawn,” B said. Dawn made a grunt of acknowledgment, and B figured that was about the best she would get from her sister tonight. B couldn’t wait until their argument blew over.
“Dawn, let’s go!” their dad called up the stairs. “I want to get a good parking spot.”
“Wish we could just transport there,” Dawn grumbled. B was just glad that Dawn had finally spoken to her.
Their mom appeared. “Are you ready to transport, B?”
“I guess so,” B said. “But could I hold your arm while you do it? I feel so nervous. I sort of want to conserve my magic for the competition.”
B’s mom smiled. “Of course.” She planted a kiss on Dawn’s head, then took B’s arm, recited a spell, and together they whisked away. They arrived in the coat room at the M.R.S. and hung up their things. B’s mom took a seat in the audience while B hurried to find Trina.
“I was wondering where you were,” Trina said. “It’s almost time to start. Knock ’em dead, B!”
“Same to you,” B said. Trina didn’t seem anywhere near as nervous as B felt, but that made sense. Trina was used to performing with the Black Cats. As for B, even just reading an assignment in front of her English class was enough to ruin her day.
Before B had much time to think, the Quickfire Questions began. She waited in the wings as the first young witch went on. Someone actually did get the permanent invisibility potion question. B nearly laughed out loud. The contestant, a nervous eleven-year-old boy, answered, “Wallace Waxby,” instead of his wife, Abigail. Madame Mel gave him partial credit.
And then it was B’s turn. She stepped out onto the stage. This was twenty times worse than a class spelling bee and more terrifying than the audition with Mozart. The great round library room looked different tonight. All the desks and tables had been cleared away, and hundreds of chairs brought in to make room for the magical community, and especially the parents and family members of the young witches present. The stage stood against one side of the room and, below it, the table where Madame Mel sat judging the competition. Lights flooded the stage, making it hard for B to see clearly. The butterflies in her stomach suddenly felt more like woodpeckers.
“Name one of the legendary witches memorialized in the foundation stones of the M.R.S.,” Madame Mel said.
B’s mind went blank. She had no idea whose name was carved in the foundation stones! A legendary witch? All she could do was guess.
Then she remembered. Back when she’d first gotten her magic, she’d learned about a legendary witch because of a cheap circus performer claiming to be her long-lost umpteenth granddaughter. It was worth a try.
“Morgan Le Fay,” she said, surprised at how loud her voice sounded. There must be magical microphones at work.
“That is correct,” Madame Mel said. “What is one of the prohibited forms of magic?”
B knew that one well from having violated this rule with George. “Human transformations,” she said. “You shouldn’t turn people into something they’re not.” Such as part-mice, she thought ruefully. But at least that had been an accident.
“Very good,” Madame Mel said. “Last question. What is the best way to choose a cauldron when making potions?”
Cauldrons. Cauldrons. B tried to think. She’d studied potions with Mr. Bishop in the Magical Rhymatory, but cauldrons were supplied as part of the lab equipment. There was never anything about how to choose them, was there? There had been a textbook, Pre-teen Potions. Had there been anything in there about choosing cauldrons?
She was taking too long. She could feel all the eyes of the audience upon her, even though she couldn’t see their faces well.
Then she remembered her makeover potion, and how she brewed it up in a cosmetic pouch, much like Dawn had done. A bag-cauldron!
That was it!
But when Dawn crossed her mind, she remembered Jason and his tricks. She wondered if her sister was okay.
“Ahem.” Madame Mel cleared her throat.
Focus, B!
“A basic cauldron is okay,” B said, “but it’s even better if the cauldron is a container that fits the … mood or the subject of the potion you’re trying to brew. Then it, er, lends its qualities to the concoction.”
“An excellent answer, B,” the Grande Mistress said. “Very perceptive.”
The audience broke out in applause. B only barely heard it. She turned and walked off the stage, so happy and relieved she nearly collided with the next contestant. B found Trina and they sat together on a couch in the hallway surrounding the main library room. There were lots of young witches milling around, waiting for their turns.
B looked at her watch. “The talent show semifinals will have begun by now,” she said. “I wonder how much longer until the Special Spell part of our competition begins.”
Trina gave her a suspicious look. “Why?”
“It’s Dawn,” B said. “I’m worried about her. Even though she’s mad at me right now … I know Jason is going to play dirty. Isn’t there a break between Quickfire Questions and Special Spells?”
“Yes, there’s a short break,” Trina said, “but what difference does that make? There’s nothing you can do from here, B. Dawn will figure things out on her own.”
“I can be quick. Maybe I can help!”
“This is risky, B,” Trina said, looking around. “You could miss something and lose your place in the competition.”
“Trina,” B said, “we know Jason’s up to something. We saw him steal … whatever that was.” Could she get there and back in time? Of course she could. She’d just take a quick look around and be back before anyone noticed anything.
“I won’t be gone long,” B said. “I promise. Cover for me, okay?”
Before Trina could answer, B spelled, “T-R-A-V-E-L.” She vanished in a swirl of magical wind.
B had meant her transportation spell to take her just outside the auditorium at the school, so naturally, she landed in the wings offstage. Better than landing on the stage, at least. A cameraman spotted her. It wasn’t Ed.
“Hey,” he said. “Where did you come from?”
“Sorry,” B said. “I’ll just be a second.” She peered through the curtains. Jason was about to go on! Jenny Springbranch was there in a special costume, whooping up the crowd while the sinister music filled the auditorium. B ground her teeth as she watched Jason perform his act perfectly. He’d even added a few special touches like having Jenny blindfold him after he had the straitjacket and the handcuffs on. What a show-off!
B tiptoed out of the wings, down the stairs in the outer hallway, and into the back of the auditorium. There, just in front of the stage, was the panel of judges. Clifton Davro was in the middle. A soap opera star wearing a glamorous red dress covered with sparkles, her hair all piled on her head in an elegant ’do, was on his left. On his right was a famous baseball player, wearing a baggy white T-shirt and cap. They were just about to give Jason his score when B spotted her father, just a few rows ahead in the audience. Oh, no! She’d be in big trouble if he saw her here. She took a step backward and nearly toppled a temporary lighting stand.
“I saw Jason Jameson’s act in the auditions, earlier this week, and I was impressed then,” Clifton Davro was saying, his voice booming over the auditorium’s sound system. “But I’m even more impressed now. That young man is a natural showman.”
“Yeah, pretty cool,” the baseball player said. “But I wish he had cut his assistant in half.”
“Oh, stop it, Rocko,” the soap star giggled. “Jason was amazing. He doesn’t need to change a thing.”