On Monday morning, a seventeen-year-old girl with purple-black hair and enough face metal to build a Cadillac walked into the Dairy Queen, strode to the back of the seating area, and tossed a thin newspaper onto the witches’ table.
Agatha glanced down at the Ashcroft Senior High School newspaper then up at the student. “Hecate. That’s a new look for you.”
The student frowned and aged a dozen years in a matter of moments. Then the senior witch sat down. “I’m not impressed.”
“I agree,” Gertrude said. “It’s hardly worthy of the name newspaper. It’s mostly ads and announcements for things the students are already perfectly aware of. It contains hardly any news at all.”
Netty sniffed at Hecate. “I thought you weren’t interested in the news?”
Hecate thinned her lips. “I’m talking about you.”
“Oh!” Netty said. “Well, that’s hardly news either.”
Hecate smiled. “I’ve been hanging around this school of yours for the past week.”
Agatha lifted a French fry off her plate, rolled her eyes at it, and watched it catch fire and burn until it was a cinder. “I understand that hanging around schools can be hazardous to your health. You could accidentally learn something.”
Hecate glared at the burnt fry, and it burned in reverse, becoming a light golden brown. “I learned plenty. Mostly that I’ve been right about you three all along. The play has been hardly vexed, never mind cursed. Have you forgotten how to curse?”
Agatha cast a long stare at Gertrude.
“Oh! My turn.” Gertrude scowled at her near-empty plastic cup, and the plastic began to darken. Then cola began bubbling out of the top of the straw and flowing out onto the table, making a small, dark brown lake.
Hecate sighed and the lake froze, turned into mist, and disappeared into the atmosphere.
Netty made a choking sound and spit a gob of half-chewed French fries onto the table. Her eyes rolled in their sockets. “Are you three going to play with your food all morning, or are we going to say what needs to be said?”
Hecate waved her hand, and the table was suddenly bare of food. The only thing left was a slightly damp school newspaper. “But I was so enjoying your petty attempts at intimidation.”
“I wasn’t finished with my breakfast!” Netty waggled her fingers in the air, and her tray reappeared. On it sat a half-eaten hamburger, a Styrofoam plate of fries, and a hardly touched soft drink.
“What’s with the finger waggling?” Hecate asked.
Netty growled deep in her throat. “It amuses me.”
“I see.” Hecate waggled her own fingers, and Netty’s fries became a puddle of soup.
Netty stared at it, dipped in a finger, tasted it, and grimaced. “Don’t give up your day job.”
Hecate smiled. “And why would I? It’s the greatest job in the world. Too bad you three have given up yours.”
“What do you mean?” asked Agatha.
The senior witch let her gaze drift out the window. “You haven’t cursed the play in over a week. And from what I can tell, you’ve hardly cursed it at all.” Hecate tapped the newspaper. “This is not a curse.”
“It also wasn’t us,” Netty said. “It was our drama teacher what cut Reverend Witch-hunter off at the knees.”
“Witch-hunter?” said Hecate. “Reverend Long is a recruiter! Nothing tastes as good as forbidden fruit, and Mr. Long is an effective fruit salesman. In the past ten years, he’s lured more women into our ranks than anyone else.”
Gertrude cackled. “So you see what we’ve been up against. Mr. Samson is no slouch.”
Hecate slammed a fist onto the table. “He’s just a man. And a mortal man at that. I suppose he’s also the one who made a disaster of the PTA picket line last Monday?”
Gertrude grinned. “No. That was us.”
The senior witch grabbed a swatch of her own hair and pulled it out of her head, then threw the black strands onto the table. “You should have arranged the picket line, not stopped it.”
Agatha let out a short cackle. “This is our play to curse. We’ll do it our own way, thank you very much.”
“Your own way?” Hecate glared at the school newspaper. It spontaneously shredded itself into confetti and blew around the table. “There is no such thing as your own way. You work for me!”
“Worked,” Gertrude said. “You’re fired.”
Hecate’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You can’t fire me. I’m your boss. If there is any firing to be done, I’m firing you!”
“We accept!” crowed Netty.
Agatha held out a burning French fry. “It’s about time we set out on our own.”
Gertrude held out a burning finger. “We don’t need you telling us what to do. Oh my!” She extinguished her finger. “I thought that was a fry.”
Hecate ground her teeth. “If you do this, you’ll be on your own. Completely cut off. Your names will be stricken from the Order of Witches. You’ll be barred from coven gatherings.”
“Yee-hee-hee-hee!” Netty screeched. “We haven’t been invited to coven gatherings in centuries.”
Agatha nodded. “And we haven’t missed them.”
“Then we are done here.” Hecate vanished.
There was a brief silence while the Weird Sisters waited to ensure they were really alone.
“Well,” Agatha said. “That went smoother than I thought it would.”
“I thought she’d boil us in oil,” Gertrude admitted. “I even wore my swimming suit beneath my knickers.”
“She did ruin my fries,” said Netty.
Then, just as suddenly as she had disappeared, Hecate was back. “One more thing. Since you three appear incapable of cursing the play, I’ll do it.” Then she was gone again.
“Oh, booger,” Gertrude said.