Read Witch Twins at Camp Bliss Online
Authors: Adele Griffin
Witch Twins at Camp Bliss
Adele Griffin
For Tessa and Tanya
Preview: Witch Twins and Melody Malady
Who Needs Zest?
“I
T’S HOT ENOUGH TO
slap your grandmother!” exclaimed Claire Bundkin to her identical twin sister, Luna. They were sitting together on the outdoor platform of the Philadelphia train station, waiting for the northbound local.
Luna frowned. “Claire, that’s not a very nice expression,” she said. “Especially since we’re about to see our very own grandmother in less than an hour.” She waved her folded-paper fan in front of her warm face and sighed.
“It’s hot enough to kick a nun,” Claire responded. “Hot enough to punch the post-man!”
Luna’s frowned deepened. She did not like thinking about kicked nuns and punched postpeople, but it was too hot to argue. Besides, she felt uncomfortable enough from the dose of greasy sunscreen that their mother had rubbed into every exposed inch of her skin earlier that morning. “You’ll thank me later. Most permanent sun damage occurs before age twenty,” Jill Bundkin had warned. (Their mother, who was a doctor, knew a lot of grim medical statistics.)
To Luna, who was ten, twenty seemed too old to bother thinking about. Twenty was years past the most important things, like becoming a teenager or getting her ears pierced. And it was way, way past the next five weeks that she would be spending at Camp Bliss.
There was no turning back now. In less than twenty-four hours, their grandmother would be driving the twins all the way down to Bluefly, Virginia, to spend one whole month plus one week at camp. Their mother was on call at the hospital this weekend; otherwise she would have taken them. Their father, a newspaper reporter, was in California on special assignment.
Neither twin had ever been to camp. But both girls had spent hours studying the Camp Bliss pamphlet trying to get the idea of it. They imagined themselves galloping over the “rolling green fields,” playing tennis on the “professional, all-clay courts,” stitching bead belts during “freestyle crafts time,” and, most important, making friends with other campers, “girls ranging from ages eight to fourteen.”
When it had been months away, Camp Bliss had seemed like fun to Luna. Now she was dreading it. Why had she ever thought camp would be a good idea? First, she did not like to venture off to new, strange places. Second, she was not very talented at sports, especially sports that involved balls, rackets, and nets. Last and worst, she was not that good at making new friends. She could never come up with the funny joke or the right questions that broke the ice.
In fact, she figured that except for maybe some talent at belt-beading, she would be all-around blah at Camp Bliss.
The train pulled into the station.
“Air-conditioning!” yelled Claire with relief as she leaped through the door and shinnied into her seat, feet up with her back against the window. She pointed. “Go across, not next.”
“Duh-uh.” Luna huffed as she took her seat across the aisle. It was too hot to sit next to her sister, or anyone else. She put her overnight bag in the empty seat, so that nobody else would make the mistake of sitting
next
, either.
“Whew!” Claire lolled her tongue and panted like a dog. “I’m glad our trunks were sent ahead to Virginia. I would pass out if I had to pick up anything heavier than a glass of iced tea.”
“Think of poor Justin,” Luna reminded her. Their older brother, Justin, had been hired for his very first summer job working as a grocery delivery boy. He told them he needed to gain some muscles if he wanted to try out for eighth-grade football next year. So far, Justin had lost two pounds. He blamed it on too much sweating.
“I’ll get it back in million-dollar biceps,” he told his sisters. “When you come home from your girlie-girl camp next month, you won’t even recognize this guy. And it’ll cost each of you five bucks if you want me to carry up your junk from the car.”
Five weeks was such a huge amount of time to be away, Luna thought. Justin probably would be unrecognizable when they returned. The longest she and Claire had ever been away from home had been last summer, when they had gone fishing with their father on Orange Clam Island for two weeks. Even then, they’d had at least one parent, in case of emergency.
Camp Bliss had no parents. Just kids and counselors.
“I hope Mom won’t be too lonely without us,” Luna said quietly. “Maybe one of us should have stayed in Philadelphia.”
Claire looked at her, puzzled. “She’s got Justin.”
“Well, but poor Dad doesn’t have any one.”
“Dad’s in California,” Claire reminded her. “And when he comes back, he’s got Fluffy.” Fluffy was Claire and Luna’s brand-new step-mother. Her real name was Edith Hortense. Fluffy was just one of those terrible childhood nicknames that had stuck into adulthood.
Now Claire leaned forward and wagged a finger at Luna. “You don’t really want to go to camp, do you, Luna? Crumbs, I knew it! You’ve got no zest for adventure!”
“Whatever!” Luna answered, but then she couldn’t think of what else to say. She turned her head toward the window and listened to the conductor call the names of the stops that led all the way out to Bramblewine, the thirteenth stop, which was where their grandparents lived.
Maybe Claire was right. It was true that Luna did not like being caught by surprise. When she checked out a sad or scary book from the library, she read the last chapter first, just to be prepared. When she took a test, she made sure that she read the directions twice. When a spell called for a pinch, she measured out an eighth of a teaspoon. And she always, always liked her pencil to have a fresh eraser on one end and a sharp point on the other.
She liked to think of herself as careful. Cautious. Not zestless.
“Bramblewine!” shouted the conductor. As usual, Claire and Luna were the last two passengers left on the train. Nobody ever came all the way out to Bramblewine. In fact, most people did not even know there was a thirteenth stop. That’s because Bramblewine was a rather mysterious place. And their grandmother, Five Star Head Witch Arianna of Greater Bramblewine, was one of Bramblewine’s most mysterious residents.
“Hello, twinsicles!” Grandy called now, leaning out the window of her dusty old Lincoln Continental. She was wearing her green-quartz-and-blue-topaz necklace and she’d had her hair beauty-parlorized, but her eyes looked a little squidgy.
“I’m still recovering from our Fourth of July party,” she explained with a yawn as the twins climbed into the car. “We had almost a hundred people over. Your grandfather must have flipped two hundred soy burgers. You’ll both have to sit in back, since Wilbur needs to stretch. Last night he swallowed a champagne cork, and he hasn’t been himself since.”
Wilbur was Grandy’s cat, who often ate things he shouldn’t. Grandy said the inside of his stomach probably looked like the bottom of the sea. Right now, Wilbur was asleep in the front passenger seat, snoring peacefully on his traveling cushion. He did not even twitch when Claire poked him.
“Hey, why weren’t we invited to your party?” asked Claire.
“No kiddies allowed. Which reminds me, girls, how are your kittens?”
“They just had their shots,” said Luna. “Mom promised that she would take good care of them while we’re gone.”
“Mom says kittens are too much effort and she wishes you hadn’t given them to us,” said Claire. Luna elbowed her. Claire never knew when to keep her mouth shut.
Grandy did not seem to care. “A witch needs a cat,” she said. “Your mother is not a witch, so she can’t be expected to understand.”
“Hey, Grandy, when did you know Mom wasn’t a witch?” Luna asked.
“I knew the minute she was born, because she started to cry,” said Grandy. “When a witch is born, she sneezes.”
Claire, who (like Luna) was a one-star witch, faked a sneeze, and then fake-sneezed all the way to their grandparents’ house. She was really getting on Luna’s nerves today.
“She’s just excited about camp,” said Grandy, after Claire had jumped out of the car. Following the sound of Grampy’s tractor, she sped down to the garden. “Claire has a love of adventure.”
“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.”