The Power of Poppy Pendle (2 page)

“Quite the show, eh!” Mr. Pendle said, brushing bits of
stardust off his suit.

“Unbelievable!” Lavinia Roach agreed. “I have never seen
anything like it. Your daughter is extraordinary. Ruthersfield Academy would be honored
to offer her a place. She is far too young now, of course, but when she’s seven we
will be expecting her.” Poppy scrunched up her face and blew a loud, windy
raspberry. Pink, berry-shaped bubbles floated into the air, and when they popped, an
overpowering stench of rotting fruit filled the room. Ms. Roach gave a nervous laugh.
“It’s a good thing your daughter’s only six months old,” she
remarked. “Otherwise, I might think she didn’t want to come to Ruthersfield
Academy at all.”

The older she got, the more apparent it became that it was cakes Poppy
wanted to make and not spells. Around her fifth birthday she discovered a cookbook,
The Art of Simple Baking
, lodged under the fridge and
covered in dust. It had been a wedding present to the Pendles and was still in its
cellophane wrapping. Poppy dug the book out and spent most of her free time studying the
photographs of tarts and cakes and rich butter cookies. At first her parents
hadn’t minded, because it kept her from staring longingly out the window, waiting
for the school bus to drive by. If Poppy had had her way, she’d be going to the
local elementary school with all the other kids in Potts Bottom. But Mr. and Mrs. Pendle
refused to send her.

“Apparently, seven is the ideal age to begin learning for a
witch,” Edith Pendle told Poppy. “They have different methods up at the
academy, and I don’t want to interfere with them, sweetheart. Anyway, I’m
not sure I want you mixing with nonmagic children,” she had said.
“You’re special, Poppy.” And Poppy certainly seemed to be. She had
managed to teach herself to read, just so she could try out the recipes printed in the
Potts Bottom Gazette
.

“All Poppy ever does is bake.” Edith Pendle said, fretting
to her best friend, Maxine Gibbons, one spring afternoon. Maxine lived next door, and
they were talking across the backyard fence while Poppy lay on the grass, reading her
newest edition of
Good Eats
magazine. She had bought herself a
subscription with her birthday money when she turned six and loved to pore over the
pictures. “I don’t know where she gets it from, I really don’t.
Certainly not me.” Edith gave a nervous laugh. “What’s wrong with a
nice box mix, might I ask?”

Maxine giggled. “Well, she was born in a French bakery.”

“Yes, but we don’t mention that in front of her,” Edith
Pendle said, lowering her voice. “Honestly, Maxine, that is not something Poppy
needs to know about. She’d want to buy bread there, or find out how they make
those fancy cakes.” Mrs. Pendle studied her daughter longingly. “I just
don’t understand it. I really don’t.” She shook her head and sighed.
“What Poppy should be doing is concentrating on her magic.”

“So when is her first day at Ruthersfield?” Maxine Gibbons
asked.

“Not till September, but I’m so excited, Maxine! You should
see the uniform, deep purple with gold trim. Poppy’s going to look so
smart.”

“She doesn’t seem very enthusiastic, does she?” Maxine
said.

“No.” Poppy’s mother frowned. “Thank goodness she
won’t have time for this ridiculous cooking nonsense when she starts
school.”

Maxine shrieked with laughter and called over to Poppy. “You need to
get cooking up some spells, my girl. Witches don’t make cakes; they make
magic.”

“But I don’t want to be a witch,” Poppy whispered,
wondering if there was something wrong with her. She wished she could stop herself from
turning seven. Unfortunately, she knew that sort of magic was impossible for her, and in
a few months’ time, whether she liked it or not, she was going to be starting at
Ruthersfield.

Chapter Two

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

No Time to Bake

T
HE NEXT THREE YEARS WERE MISERABLE ONES FOR Poppy. SHE HATED EVERYTHING
about Ruthersfield Academy. Her life revolved around magic, and with all the homework she was expected to do, Poppy had almost no time left over for the thing she really loved, cooking. She would tiptoe downstairs extra early most days, just so she could still bake. “You cannot go off to school looking like this,” Edith Pendle grumbled one morning, wiping at a butter stain on Poppy’s uniform. “I mean, honestly, Poppy, you’re almost ten years old and you still can’t keep yourself clean.”

“Oh, but, Mum, don’t those look good?” Poppy said, staring at a glossy picture of coconut cupcakes. “I had to try to make them.” Her May issue of
Good Eats
magazine lay open on the counter, covered in blobs of raw batter.

Mrs. Pendle gave an exasperated sigh. “If you insist on getting up at the crack of dawn and mucking about in the kitchen, PLEASE WEAR AN APRON!”

“I’m sorry, Mum. I forgot.”

“What I’d like to know is, how come you never forget when we run out of flour or sugar, or to reorder that cooking magazine of yours?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Poppy replied, as a blob of buttercream landed on her skirt.

“Well, in case you’ve FORGOTTEN, it’s the Step-Up Ceremony next week, Poppy, and you’ll become an Intermediate Witch. That means you’re going to have to start to focus on your work more.” Poppy’s stomach flipped over. She hated thinking about the Step-Up Ceremony. It was an event anticipated with much excitement by most of the fourth formers, because they would now be old enough to take flying lessons. Poppy had no desire to “Step Up.” School was awful enough as it was without having to worry about climbing onto a broomstick.

“Oh, Mum, that reminds me,” Poppy said, sniffing the air and pulling a tray of cupcakes from the oven. “Can you sign my report card, please? It’s in the side pocket of my backpack, and I’ve got to take it back to school today.”

“Your report card! Come on, Poppy! Why on earth didn’t you give it to me last night?” Mrs. Pendle crouched down by the table and rummaged around in Poppy’s backpack. It was slumped on the floor, and she huffed in annoyance as she pulled out a long, crumpled envelope. “These things do matter.”

“I’m really sorry, Mum.”

“I know, I know, you just forgot. Oh my goodness though, will you look at this!” Poppy’s mother clapped a hand over her mouth. “Six As and two Bs. B in spell chanting and B in chemistry.”

“I can’t sing, Mum. That’s why Miss Robinson gave me a B for spell chanting.”

“And what about this B for chemistry?” Mrs. Pendle glanced at her daughter.

“Mum, I hate chemistry. It’s my worst subject.”

“Isn’t it rather like cooking? You’re good at that, Poppy, mixing ingredients together.” And then unable to stop herself, she added, “If you put as much time into chemistry as you do baking, you’d be making the honor roll.”

“But I love to cook,” Poppy said softly, “and I really don’t like making spells.”

Mrs. Pendle ignored this. “Still, considering all your classes are advanced, you’ve done very well. I think this calls for a treat!”

“Really, Mum? Thanks! There’s a new book on cake decorating that sounds great. Could I have that?”

Mrs. Pendle did not reply. Instead, she called out, “Six As, Roger!” waving Poppy’s report card at her husband, who had just walked into the kitchen.

“Well done, love! That’s fantastic!” Roger Pendle smiled at Poppy. “Although it doesn’t surprise me one bit. You’re as smart as your great-granny Mabel.”

“Oh, I know what we should do to celebrate. We should take Poppy to the Museum of Magical Discoveries,” Edith suggested. “That would make a lovely treat, wouldn’t it?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather have the cookbook,” Poppy said, but Edith Pendle was already hurrying out the back door, clutching Poppy’s report card. She couldn’t wait to show it to Maxine.

It wasn’t that Poppy tried particularly hard to do well at school, but magic just happened to be something she was extraordinarily good at. Even when her mind drifted in class, which it tended to do rather often, she was usually able to keep up. In math they were learning how to divide large quantities of spell ingredients and add different potions together to make a spell balance correctly. Geography was all about studying the best places in the world to practice magic. “Location, location, location,” Miss Higgle, their geography teacher, was constantly telling the fourth formers. You didn’t want to practice magic in the desert: too hot, not enough water, and it was almost impossible to keep your ingredients from drying out. Hilly areas were fine, but mountainous regions like the Swiss Alps were terrible. Spells ricocheted about off the rocky walls and ended up in all the wrong places. Not that Poppy had the slightest interest in any of these things, but she did try to pay attention, even when she was thinking about new cookie recipes.

The day before the Step-Up Ceremony, Poppy celebrated her tenth birthday. She had invited Megan Roberts, Fanny Freeman, and some of the other girls in her class to a party, but apparently none of them could come, which didn’t surprise Poppy one bit. She had only invited them to please her mother. These girls weren’t real friends. Not the sort of friends you could laugh and share secrets with. In fact, most of them teased Poppy because she liked to read cooking magazines, and sometimes called her “cake head,” since her hair always smelled of baking. So it was only Auntie Viv coming for tea. Poppy preferred it that way.

As soon as Edith’s sister arrived, she wrapped Poppy up in a perfumey hug and planted sticky pink kisses all over her niece’s face. “Wait till you see what I’ve bought you, Poppy. You’re going to love it.”

“Is it a new muffin tin like I asked for, Auntie Viv?”

“Don’t be silly!” Auntie Viv chuckled, watching Poppy unwrap her present. “It’s a briefcase for all your important spells and things. Now that you’re going to be an Intermediate Witch, you’ve got to look the part. No more scruffy old backpack.” While Poppy’s parents oohed and aahed over the real leather briefcase, Poppy opened up the rest of her gifts. She got a new wand case, a miniature practice cauldron, and a DVD about famous witches. There was a picture of a scary-looking woman on the front cover, peering out from behind bars. It was called
Witches Who Strayed Off the Magical Path
—
A Close-up Look at Some Famous Witches Who Let Their Magic Lead Them Astray
.