Witch Twins and the Ghost of Glenn Bly (5 page)

“Don’t stand there with you mouth hanging open.” Grandy snapped her fingers. “Bring me the ghost for popping! Meet me in the Peacock Chamber in two minutes. Get moving!”

Luna shut her mouth again.

After all, Grandy was a five-star witch. She knew best. Right?

C
LAIRE AND LUNA FOUND
Sir Percival in his regular haunt, hiding behind the clock on the hallway landing. When he caught sight of the twins, he leaped out at them.

“Boo! Did I scare you?” he asked.

“Not really,” said Claire. She turned and whispered behind her hand to Luna. “How could Daphne think that you-know-who is s-c-a-r-y?”

“Excuse me, thou rude witch, but I know how to spell!” exclaimed Sir Percival.

“Sorry, Sir P,” said Claire. “Anyway, we have a proposition for you. Since you say you’re so good at castle haunting, Luna and I thought it might be fun-fun-fun for you to give our grandmother a little spook.” Claire smiled her most warm and coaxing smile. “She’s a teeny old lady. I bet she’d jump right out of her boots if she saw a genuine ghost!”

“Thinks thou so?” Sir Percival looked doubtful.

“Oh, yes,” said Claire, taking his hand, which slipped out of her grasp because it was a ghost hand, and not made out of skin and bones, but ghost dew.

“Well...it would be good fun to scare a teeny old lady,” said Percival with a gleam in his eye. “Let us be off, then, and be quick.”

Seeing the swagger in his ghostly step and the confident ghost-grin on Percival’s face as they marched toward the Peacock Chamber, Claire felt almost sorry for the puny phantom.

Luna must have felt the same way.

“Crumbs! Percival’s not a gruesome ghost, Clairsie,” whispered Luna (in a secret witch-whisper so that Percival could not hear). “I’d even say he’s a sweet addition to Glenn Bly. Having Percival in the castle is like having a mouse in your house, or a garden gnome.”

“I’m with you, Loon. But the reason we’re here is to help get rid of a ghost,” reminded Claire. “That’s what Grandy wants, and that’s what we’ll deliver.”

Luna sneaked another look at the knight. “Poor Percival. He doesn’t stand a chance against Grandy, does he?”

“Nope,” Claire agreed, but rules were rules. She and Luna needed to help the Blys. Besides, Claire had a secret hope. What if helping to pop a ghost meant getting an extra half star? Another half a star would make her and Luna full two-star witches! Although the Decree Keepers were often stingy with their star rewards, ghost-popping seemed like a good, smart, and tricky spell.

Claire could almost see those two bright stars shining on her dark velvet witch robe. She crossed her fingers and kissed them for luck.

When the twins plus Percival entered the Peacock Chamber, Grandy was waiting. Hands on her hips, she stood at the foot of the mahogany bed with a horrible scowl on her face.

“What a nasty sight,” she muttered.

In the bed, Lord and Lady Shrillingbird were fast asleep. They looked extremely comfortable snoozing under the greeny-blue, peacock-patterned quilt. Lady Shrillingbird was wearing plaid flannel pajamas and Lord Shrillingbird was wearing silky white pajamas trimmed with pink satin roses.

But both the Shrillingbirds slept identically, with their noses pointing up at the ceiling and their mouths open, and traces of lunch on their chins.

“Your grandmother is a bit taller than teeny,” mentioned Percival as he clinked his amulet in his usual hopeful haunting manner.

“Aha!” cried Grandy, with a fierce look that struck Percival into silence. “I’ve got ya now!” And before the knight could think up a good ghostly defense, Grandy wheeled on Percival, hopped on one foot, wriggled her fingers, and with full, five-star vengeance, cast:

“Ancient castle, scrawny ghost,

Go and haunt who needs thee most!

Take thee to a—”

But before she could get any further,
pop!
With a dry, sparkling scatter of dust, Percival was gone.

On the floor where he’d been now rested a luscious, red strawberry.

Poor Percival! thought Claire.

“Oh, poor Percival.” Luna echoed Claire’s thoughts out loud. “Where did he go?”

“Who knows and who cares? Maybe he’s off haunting a smaller bed-and-breakfast,” said Grandy “This castle was much too big a job for one measly ghost.” She squinted at the strawberry. “Blech. Ghost dropping.”

The twins watched as Grandy reached for her pocketbook on the dresser, pulled out a tissue, then stooped to pick up the strawberry, which she threw in the wastepaper basket.

“I guess that’s that,” Grandy cackled, wiping her hands. “Heh-heh-heh. What a cinch. He was weaker than I thought. Did you notice how I didn’t even need the whole spell? Well, live and learn. Now for the hard part.”

She rolled up the sleeves of her windbreaker and turned her attention to the slumbering Shrillingbirds.

Claire was glad Grandy was getting rid of the Shrillingbirds. They were loud and piggy and obnoxious—twenty times worse than poor Percival.

The twins looked on respectfully as Grandy hopped on her other foot and cast:

“Baked cod, whipped cream, and wet wool socks

Can all turn bad and rotten.

So do pillow-throwing guests—

Be gone, and be forgotten!”

Zip! Zam! Zim!
Electric blue-white light charged around the bed. The twins stepped back in awe.

Lord Shrillingbird wheezed. Lady Shrillingbird sneezed. Both of them twitched slightly. But neither of them disappeared.

“Hmm. They’re stickier than I thought,” said Grandy. “All rightly. I can play that game, you icky stickers.” She thought a moment, wiped her brow, hopped in a furious circle, and recast her spell:

“I’ll make a dragon burn you up,

Or feed you to a goat.

Let’s drop you from the highest ledge

Into a slimy moat!”

She snapped, wriggled, and did a little rumba. (The rumba was not part of the spell. Grandy had been taking lessons.)

With this fearsome five-star spell, the entire bed trembled, lifted an inch off the floor, and hung suspended in midair. Then it dropped with a mighty, thudding crash.

The Shrillingbirds, however, stayed put.

In fact, they did not even wake up. Lord Shrillingbird made a gurgling sleep-sound. A thin spool of drool oozed from Lady Shrillingbird’s mouth down her cheek.

And now, in the corner of the room came a
baaaaaa.

Claire, Luna, and Grandy turned. In the corner of the room, a little black goat was standing, contentedly chewing on a piece of the peacock-patterned carpet.

“Curses! Foiled again!” Grandy looked mad enough to spit.

“What’s with the goat?” asked Claire.

“Eh, foiled-spell side effect,” said Grandy.

“What is going on, Grandy?” asked Luna. “Why aren’t the Shrillingbirds responding to your spells?”

Grandy looked embarrassed. “It almost never, ever happens, but there are a few people in the world who are completely resistant to five-star spells,” she said. “Their horrible personalities protect them like a shield.” She shook her head, bewildered. “I haven’t seen such wretched resistance since that time I tried to send Madame DuFarge, my seventh-grade French teacher, back to Paris.”

She gestured weakly at the Shrillingbirds. “I could cast five-star spells on this pair of twits all day, but I’ll never be able to budge them.”

Claire felt a pull of something like sadness in her heart.
Crumbs.
She had always thought that her grandmother could do anything.

They all looked down at the Shrillingbirds, who continued to snooze, not knowing that their special, awful-personality powers had warded off a famous five-star witch’s most magnificent spells.

Even the goat crept up to get a look at the spell-defying duo. Then his attention turned to Lord Shrillingbird’s fluffy rabbit-hair bedroom slipper. He picked it up and took a curious nibble.

“I think the Shrillingbirds are staying at Glenn Bly through the weekend,” said Luna.

“Drat.” Grandy wrinkled her nose. I’m not surprised, though. Bad houseguests always outstay their welcome. Well, maybe I can cast a one-star spell to move them. Nobody can escape a one-star spell. They’re small, but they itch. Like mosquito bites. All right—here goes.”

With one finger, Grandy traced a circle in the air, pointed at the Shrillingbirds, and in a discouraged voice, cast the new spell:

“Since you two will not disappear—

At least don’t let me find you here.”

The bed was swallowed up by a puff of smoke that smelled like scrambled eggs. When the smoke cleared, the Shrillingbirds were gone, and the peacock-patterned quilt was hospital smooth, with one corner turned down invitingly.

“Wow, good one, Grandy,” said Luna.

“Not really,” said Grandy grumpily. “I didn’t move them far.”

“Where did you move them?” asked Claire.

“Into your bed, of course,” said Grandy. “Okay, time For my nap. Well, at least I got rid of that blasted ghost.” Grandy knocked off her shoes and crawled into bed, fluffing the pillow. “If you run into your grandfather, send him back to me. As you know, he gets very cranky if he doesn’t have his afternoon nap. Now. Girls—goat—begone!”

With that, Grandy sniffed in one nostril, then the other.

In the
poof!
of the next moment, both twins, one goat, and Lord Shrillingbird’s fluffy slipper all got scooped up, swept off, and dropped outside Glenn Bly’s back door, where Grandy had instaported them.

“T
HERE YOU ARE!” CRIED
Daphne, running out the kitchen door toward Luna and Claire. “I’ve been looking all over for you two.” She stopped and stared. “Heavens to Pete! Whose goat is that?”

But the goat had seen enough strange things at the Castle Glenn Bly for one day, and he did not want to stick around to see any more. He threw back his head and released a raspy bleat. Then he picked up Lord Shrillingbird’s slipper, kicked up his hind legs, and bounded off toward the fields where he’d been wandering, looking for thistles, before Grandy’s spell had nabbed him.

Suddenly, low clouds swept over the sky.

“Oh, no! Not another thunderstorm!” cried Daphne, looking up. “How peculiar! We never get this much rain, usually. And it comes on so fast! Run inside, and hurry, before you get soaked!”

Shrieking, the threesome dashed into the kitchen just as sheets of rain began to wash down heavily over the land.

“Here’s an idea,” said Daphne, shaking the rain from her hair. “We explored the outside of Glenn Bly this morning, so why don’t I take you exploring the inside of the castle this afternoon?”

“Oh, good!” Luna clapped her hands together. She liked doing indoorsy things a lot better than outdoorsy things, and she hadn’t much enjoyed the morning’s horseback ride. Even a slowpoke horse such as Paloma had made her nervous. But exploring the castle would give her a chance to pretend she was a princess. Pretending to be a princess was one of Luna’s favorite games.

“I’ll be the tour guide,” Daphne announced. “Well begin with the cellar and climb our way up to the bell tower. The stairs are just off the butler’s pantry. This way!”

Luna could tell that Claire did not care for Daphne’s bossiness. But Luna didn’t mind it. Actually, Daphne and Claire were a lot alike—and Luna didn’t mind Claire’s bossiness, either.

Mostly, Luna was just happy to tour the castle. She had never seen another castle other than Glenn Bly, but she bet this was the best one in Scotland. A castle would be the perfect setting for a splendid summer wedding. (Luna loved-loved-loved weddings, especially the splendid summer kind.)

“Even if we spent all afternoon, we still wouldn’t be able to see every room at Glenn Bly,” Daphne said as they wound down the steps to the cellar. It takes nine hours to walk the castle from top to bottom. I timed myself.”

“Let’s try to beat your time!” said Claire. “Let’s try to explore the whole castle in four and a half hours.”

“Let’s not and say we did,” said Daphne.

“Let’s!” insisted Claire.

They both stopped and looked at Luna to be tiebreaker.

“Let’s not,” said Luna. She hated to rush things.

Daphne smirked. Clare scowled. Then Daphne took Luna’s hand. “Watch your step. It’s dark down here.”

The cellar was dark. It smelled like old pennies and was stacked from its cold, earthen floor to its beamed ceiling with heavy barrels that Daphne told them were ancient wine casks.

But wine casks aren’t that interesting, even ancient ones, so the girls didn’t stay down in the moldy cellar for long.

The airy second-floor garden parlor was more like it. So was the yellow-silk-wallpapered music room, the fern-filled conservatory, and the gloomy portrait hall filled with gilt-framed faces of Blys gone by.

“Oh, Daphne, you’re so lucky to live here!” said Luna.

“I suppose I am,” said Daphne. “But I’m used to it. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

Behind her, Luna heard Claire sniff.

Next, she showed the twins into a library that made Grandy’s den look like a nook. Its walls were hung with framed maps and inlaid with ebony wood. Overstuffed leather armchairs sat in front of a flagstone hearth. Most astounding of all, though, were its bookshelves.

“There are almost four thousand books in this room,” Daphne told the twins. “I haven’t read them all, of course. But I might have read, oh, perhaps two hundred.”

Beside her, Luna heard Claire snort.

A narrow door stood beside one of the bookshelves. On its surface was carved a single strawberry, the Bly coat of arms. Though Luna and Claire spied the door at the same time, it was Claire who bounded over and wrenched it open without asking permission.

“Hey look, there are secret stairs behind here!” she exclaimed. She stuck her head in the doorway. “Yoo-hoo-oo!” The echo bounced up the stairwell. She popped her head out again. “Where do they lead?”

“Up to the charter room,” Daphne answered. She ran to the door and closed it, then stood in front of it with her arms crossed. “But that room’s not meant for visitors, American Claire. What is stored in the charter room is much too secret and valuable to be on display.”