Witch Twins Page 9

  “Zest,” mumbled Luna, shouldering her bag. “You mean a zest for adventure.”

  Grandy raised her eyebrows. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you something,” she said. “Maybe it’ll rub the doom off your gloom.”

  So Luna followed Grandy into the house and upstairs to the library.

  The library was dark and smelled like books and spells and secrets. Glass-fronted cabinets stretched from the skin-thin antique Persian rugs to the high, water-stained ceiling. There was no air-conditioning at their grandparents’ house, but the walls were so thick that the rooms stayed cool, even in July. Luna loved-loved-loved this library. It was her favorite room in any house, anywhere.

  Grandy sat down at her desk chair and turned on a slim silver laptop computer that Luna had never seen before. “I recently downloaded my Big Book of Shadows,” she said. “It’s a lot easier for spell searches. Eighteen hundred pages take too long to thumb through, not to mention the mildew problems. Come here and sit by me.”

  Luna pulled up a chair. Grandy was quick on the keystrokes and did not have to look down at the letters once. She logged on and typed in “zest.” Dozens of categories popped up.

  Squeeze New Zest from Old Dandelions: Leaves

  Squeeze New Zest from Old Dandelions: Roots

  Take a Three-Minute Zest Test

  Zesty Magical Herbs: Fennel, Flax, and Feverfew

  Guatemalan Zesty Spiced Tacos

  Carefully, Grandy scrolled down, and then highlighted the category marked Zest for Adventure. A long list of spells came up, but Grandy went right to the one called Marigold Zest.

  “Aha,” she said. “Presto perfecto.” She double-clicked.

  Luna read:

  Marigold Zest:

  A harmless adventure enhancement

  Warning: do not confuse this spell with Marigold Pizzazz.

  You will need:

  Thrice-distilled marigold essence and clean feet

  Directions:

  Standing barefoot, facing west,

  Three times chantyth, “Zest, zest, zest!”

  Sprinkle powder toe to heel

  ’Twill soon provide that zesty feel.

  Grandy clicked PRINT. “Since you are so good at memorising, Luna, you should learn this by heart tonight,” she warned. “It’s a bad idea to take a written-down spell to camp, where it could fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Thanks, Grandy” said Luna, studying the paper. She did not quite know what the spell was about. Interesting, yes, but how could it help her?

  “I’ll be seventy-seven this year, but nobody can call Arianna Bramblewine a techno-turkey.” Grandy patted her laptop and stood up. She crossed the room to unlock the door of one of her cabinets and took out a glass bottle of yellow powder. She blew the dust off its seal and held it up for Luna to see. “There you are, thrice-distilled Marigold Zest. This vial should never leave your care, though the smell is so unique it could be mistaken for some useless, overpriced cosmetic item. But a bottle of Marigold Zest can work wonders on even a non-witch’s wishes. So hide it well! And if anyone asks you what it is, say it’s homemade cornmeal foot powder.”

  She tossed the vial to Luna, who, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped it into her pocket. “Thanks, Grandy.”

  “It’ll put some temporary spring in your step,” said Grandy.

  Luna glumly rolled the bottle between her fingers. She would need more than a springy step to get through the next five weeks. Under Grandy’s watchful eye, she felt her face grow warm.

  “Grandy, I don’t want to go to camp,” Luna blurted. “And that’s not the kind of thing that can be solved with spells. It’s just my personality.”

  Grandy looked down her nose. “Nothing,” said Grandy, “can be solved with a spell. Especially not the dinky one-star spells you and Claire are allowed to cast. But think how lucky you are, Luna. You’re a twin! Imagine all the girls who brave camp alone.”

  “It’s worse to be a twin! All camp will do is show how different Claire and I really are!” Luna wailed. “Claire’s so much better for a place like camp. She can walk backward on her hands. She can whistle through her fingers. She never gets sun rash. I wish she hadn’t talked me into stupid Camp Bliss. I wish I could stay here all summer and take care of the kittens!”

  “Oh, they’ll be fine. Cats are loners by nature. That’s why they’re such good pets. I’m more concerned about you.” Grandy’s brow furrowed. “Can you think of anything wonderful that might be at camp, that you wouldn’t find at home or Bramblewine?”

  Now it was Luna’s turn to think hard. “Well, maybe one thing,” she confessed in a voice slightly louder than a whisper. “I keep wondering if maybe my true, all-weather friend is at camp. Someone just for me.”

  “Well, there you have it!” Grandy thumped Luna’s knee. “An all-weather friend is scarcer than finch-and-turtle soup. And I’d go farther than the Galapagos for finch-and-turtle soup. You’re only going to Virginia.”

  2

  Sailing to Bliss

  WHAT CLAIRE REALLY WANTED to know about Camp Bliss was: would there be a tug-of-war?

  “You always see tugs-of-war in the movies and television shows about camp,” she said, leaning up to talk in Grandy’s ear.

  “Claire, sit back. Is your seat belt on?” snapped her grandmother.

  “Sometimes the tug happens over grass,” Claire mused. “Other times there’s a huge mud puddle, and mud is what I’d rather—”

  “You’re blocking my rearview, Claire. Your belt’s not on, is it?”

  “—I’d rather tug over mud since I’m—”

  “Sit back and buckle up, Claire!”

  “—since I’m good at mud!”

  They had been on the road since early morning, and now it was just past lunch. Luna was up front, with Wilbur on her lap. The reason Luna was up front, of course, was because she had started complaining that she was carsick from the moment she woke up that morning. Even before breakfast.

  “How can you be carsick before you’re in the car?” Claire asked.

  “My anticipation that I will get carsick is almost as bad as the real thing,” Luna answered primly.

  Claire had a hunch that her sister only felt sick because she did not want to go to Camp Bliss. Even though Luna kept insisting it wasn’t true, Claire’s hunches usually were correct.

  “If Camp Bliss doesn’t have tugs-of-war, I’ll enkindle one,” Claire said. She had just learned the word enkindle. It was a fantastic word that made her think of a candle sparking into pale flame. Claire also had a hunch that enkindle was not working perfectly in her sentence, but it was hard to find the correct way to use a word like enkindle in regular, everyday talking. You had to grab your chances.

  “If you don’t sit back, Claire, I will enkindle your toes,” said Grandy crossly. (Grandy was not using enkindle perfectly, either, but Claire decided not to say anything about that. Grandy was acting too crabby.)

  “Besides,’” said Luna, turning around, “what does that mean, to be ‘good at mud’? What do you think you are, a pig?”

  Claire rolled her eyes, sat back, and refastened her seat belt. Grandy said it would take three more hours before they arrived at Bluefly, Virginia. Claire could hardly wait another minute. So far, it had been a pretty bad drive.

  At first, Grandy had been enthusiastic about an all-day sight-seeing trip down south. “Well do a quick detour through Roanoke. That’s where I met your grandfather, you know,” she told them. “But first, well stop for a fish gumbo at this darling place I know in Baltimore.”

  But they got stuck in traffic and didn’t find the darling fish gumbo place, after all. Instead, they had to eat a fast-food lunch. The take-out people forgot to make Grandy’s drink diet. That’s when Grandy started to grump.

  “This trip was longer than I bargained for,” she kept saying.

  “A lot longer.”

  “It’s never-ending. What was I thinking? Who the heck would ever want to go to Blu
efly, Virginia? There aren’t even any outlets.”

  Then Luna started getting grumpy, too, since grumpiness was in the air.

  “Stop kicking the back of my seat,” Luna complained. Or, once: “You didn’t wash your hair last night, did you, Claire? I can smell it from up here. Yuck. It smells like dog breath.”

  And no matter what interesting subject Claire brought up—did Camp Bliss have tugs-of-war? How much money would Justin make delivering groceries this summer? Would their kittens forget them after five weeks? What color did pink and green and a touch of mustard make? No matter what, it was nothing but crabbing from the front seat.

  “Pink, green, and mustard is the color of carsick throw-up,” said Luna.

  “Pink, green, and mustard is the color of nondiet soda,” said Grandy.

  At one point, even old Wilbur looked up and yawned rudely in Claire’s face.

  So Claire was relieved, watching her grandmother in the rearview, when Grandy began to get her thoughtful, spell look. Grandy’s spell face was unique among all others. First, she pressed her lips together so that they almost disappeared. Then her eyelids drooped. And then she started to nod her head. It all happened very, very slowly.

  Claire crossed her fingers as Grandy cleared her throat.

  “Girls,” Grandy began, coaxing, “To get this boring drive over with means casting a spell. I seem to have forgotten, however, the correct speed-driving spell. The only one that comes to my mind is a speed-sailing spell. But surely you do not want to sit in this car with me and my terrible mood for the next couple of hours, do you?” Her voice was loud and deep, ready to cast. “Young witches mine, be we in agreement? Aye or nay?”

  “Aye!” shouted Claire.

  “Aye,” said Luna, very quietly because, Claire suspected, she did not want to get to Camp Bliss any earlier than she absolutely had to.

  “Ayes have it. Hold tight!” Grandy ordered. With a tap of her finger north, south, west, and east on the odometer, she cast:

  Batten down the hatches!

  Blow, wind, blow.

  We’ll sail to Bliss

  In the undertow.

  There was a rush of freezing cold. Claire shut her eyes as what felt like a giant wave, then another, then a third, pounded and crashed the sides of the Lincoln Continental. It sounded so real and salty wet that Claire almost believed she was getting soaked. When she opened her eyes again, she realized that, as a matter of fact, she was soaked, and the car was pulling up between two blue-and-tan-striped pillars. Stretched between them was a canvas banner that read:

  CAMP BLISS WELCOMES YOU!

  “I’m drenched,” squealed Luna. “Grandy you splooshed us!”

  “Eh, spell side effect. I should have told you to roll up your windows. But at least the car had a nice wash.” Their grandmother turned on her windshield wipers and slowed over the speed bump. “Humph. Looks like we’re right on time.”

  The parking lot was full. Dozens of girls milled around, waving to one another. Some carried tennis rackets. Some clung to their parents’ hands. Some were wearing tan-and - blue-striped Camp Bliss T-shirts.

  Claire scrunched down in her seat and tried to wring water from her shirt as she peered out the window. It was true, all of it! The rolling green fields, the curve of bright blue Lake Periwinkle in the distance, and even the posted wooden signs marked NATURE TRAIL or LODGE or SUPPLY HOUSE.

  Just like in the pamphlet. Just like the camp of Claire’s dreams.

  Water squelched in her sneakers as she jumped out of the car. She hoped nobody noticed. Arriving at Camp Bliss all wet was not exactly the first impression Claire had wanted to give. She would just have to work with it.

  The truth was that Claire wanted to be more than just another camper. She wanted to be the star camper! In fact, she wanted to be Camp Bliss Girl! She had read about it on the back page of the pamphlet. The counselors voted for the girl who “best embodied those characteristics of loyalty, sportsmanship, enterprise, and bravery most exemplary of Camp Bliss.” The winner received a two-handled silver trophy. In the pamphlet, a picture showed last year’s Camp Bliss Girl onstage, one shy hand held in Mrs. Carol the camp director’s congratulatory grip, the other hand hefting her giant silver trophy.

  “Loving cup” was what the pamphlet called the trophy. A perfect name for a big lovable hunk of silver!

  Claire really-really-really wanted that loving cup. She had cleared a space on her bookshelf for it. She had already practiced her shy handshake.

  She would be Camp Bliss Girl, and nobody was getting in her way!

  Grandy parked in the lot, in front of the low white building marked OFFICE.

  “Do you know any get-dry-quick spells?” asked Claire desperately.

  Grandy rapped a finger against her temple. “Dry, dried … Well, I can make dried fruit from fresh, and I can cast a thirty-day drought anywhere in the tristate area, but actually, come to think of it, no. I don’t know any spells for turning a wet person dry. Too bad.”

  As they walked up to the office, however, Claire saw Grandy quickly hop on one foot and mutter something to herself. When Claire looked at her again, Grandy was dry and pressed and perfect, as if she’d just spent a day at the beauty parlor.

  “Hey! Grandy! You said you didn’t—”

  “Well, obviously I know how to attend to myself,” said Grandy with a sniff. “Now, shush, because here comes somebody. Let me do the talking.”

  “Hi, there!” An older girl, dressed in white shorts and carrying a clipboard, came bounding down the steps leading from the office. She shook Grandy’s hand politely. “My name is Pam Carol. I’m a senior counselor here. I’m also Jack and Brenda Carol’s niece. They’re the camp directors. You’ll meet them later, at orientation.” She glanced at the twins with dark eyes that matched her dark bobbed hair. “Are you the Bundkin twins?”

  “My granddaughters,” said Grandy. “I apologize that they’re wet, but they were very hot and insisted on jumping in your lake for a quick dip. Do I need to sign any release forms, or may I leave now?”

  “No, feel free to go, unless you want to stay for Uncle Jack and Aunt Brenda’s tour. Your girls are ours.”

  Ugh! Claire did not like how Pam said “ours.” Nor did she like how Pam handed over their two name tags without bothering to ask which name belonged to which twin.

  “No, thanks! I hate tours. Besides, if you’ve seen one camp, you’ve seen them all.” Grandy smacked a kiss on each twin’s forehead. “Good-bye, dears. One of your parents will pick you up in five weeks, but I sure as heck won’t be making this blasted trip again.” She lowered her voice. “Good luck, and no unsupervised spells!” Then she jumped back into her gleaming car.

  “How did you girls manage to get that car wet, too?” asked Pam as they all watched Grandy speed away.

  Luna was silent, fiddling with her name tag.

  “Um, we gave it a wash, since the lake was right there,” Claire lied.

  The smile dropped off Pam’s face. “Okay, listen up. I didn’t want to be strict in front of your grandma and all, but here’s the drill. First off, no washing of bodies or clothing or cars in Lake Periwinkle, nor is there any kind of jumping, splashing, or fooling around without permission from a senior counselor. Understood?”

  She waited for the twins to nod yes. They nodded yes. It would be an easy rule to follow, since all witches hate-hate-hate still water. Lakes and witches have a bad history.

  “Dandy.” Pam checked her clipboard. “You two are in Cabin Four, Sleepy Hollow,” she said. “That’s my cabin. Cabin Three, Green Gables, belongs to my best friend, Tammy. She’s also a senior counselor. We’ve been going to Camp Bliss since third grade. After Uncle Jack and Aunt Brenda, we pretty much rule this place. Me especially, since I’m their niece.”

  “How old are you?” asked Claire.

  “Fifteen,” said Pam. “Any other questions about my personal life? No? Dandy. Let’s go.”

  Pretty rude, thought Claire. Sh
e looked over at Luna, who stared glumly back. Luna was looking especially zestless today. Poor Luna. Claire would have to be a helping hand. Assisting the weaker campers was just the kind of good deed expected of a brave and enterprising Camp Bliss Girl!

  They trailed Pam past the office and down a hill to where the cabins were arranged in a giant horseshoe shape. There were eight cabins in all. They were separated by age, Pam explained, so that eight-year-old “babies” bunked up in Cabin One’s Sunnybrook Farm, all the way to “JCs” or junior counselors in Cabin Eight, Wuthering Heights. A senior counselor was assigned to each cabin, “to keep watch,” Pam explained.

  Which meant Pam would be sleeping in Sleepy Hollow, their cabin.

  “Yuck!” mouthed Claire. Luna nodded, knowing what Claire’s yuck meant. Pam was a rules-and-regulations counselor. She would not be much fun.

  Both inside and out, Sleepy Hollow cabin was very plain. Like Abe Lincoln’s house, Claire thought. It had a big window facing out onto Lake Periwinkle, four wooden bunk beds, a cot (for Pam, Claire guessed), two sinks against the wall, and some scattered bureaus.

  A few girls were sitting on their beds, drinking from juice cartons and chatting, while others were reclaiming their trunks. A radio was playing. It all seemed very cool.

  Claire bounced a little in her wet sneakers. Camp!

  Pam pointed out the window. “Those lean-tos are the showers and outhouses,” she said. “There’s one behind each cabin, so you’ll have to work out timing. Hi, Tammy! What’s up?”

  Another teenaged girl, with a freckled tan and wearing the same counselor outfit as Pam’s, had bounded into the cabin.

  “No fair,” she said, pointing. “You got the twins!”

  “Big deal,” said Pam. “They already took a dive into Lake Periwinkle. I’ve got my hands full of trouble, probably.”

  Tammy winked at Claire. “Well, I like trouble. I guess you girls will be our water-sports stars on Blue-and-Buff Day!”

  “What’s buff?” asked Claire, always on the alert for a new word.