Katie and the Big Row

 

How old is Katie? Lots of people have asked us that question. She has grown up as the stories have progressed, and now she is almost a teenager. As you know, Katie is very close to her mum, but now she is a little older, they sometimes have differences of opinion.

And for those who ask what happened to Katie’s dog – we answer that question too in this story.

Story by Bertie.
Read by Natasha.
Proofread by Jana Elizabeth.

Hello,

This is Natasha, and I’m here with the latest story about Katie. As you perhaps know, Katie and her mum are witches, but they do their best to fit into ordinary life. Usually they are very close to one another, almost like best friends, but Katie, well she’s getting older, and she’s almost turned into something pretty dreadful – Uggh!

A teenager!!! Yes, I’m ashamed to say it happened to me too – I was a teenager once. I couldn’t help it. And neither could Katie.

At seven o’clock, on a cold winter’s morning, Katie’s crystal ball chimed its call to rise and shine. At first Katie buried her face deeper into her pillow, then she reached out with an arm and knocked the ball off the side-table. It carried on chiming until her cat, Solomon, jumped off the bed and whacked it with his paw.

“Thank you, Solomon,” said Katie, who turned over to face the wall.

Katie’s mum pushed open the door and said: “Come on Katie, time you were out of bed.”

“Uggh! But Mum I don’t feel well,” moaned Katie.

“Well you can’t have another day off. Miss Vile’s already written to me about your attendance. You’ve got to get up, like it or not.”

“I told you, I feel sick,” said Katie, who still had her eyes closed and did not see her mum wink at Solomon. The cat sprung back up onto the bed and stuck his claws through the blankets into Katie’s bottom! She screamed and jumped up.

“Come on, get in the shower!” ordered her mum.

Katie was still grumbling when they drove to school. “You’re so heartless Mum! You don’t seem to care about your daughter being sick, and you force me go to school when my head’s hurting and oh, hang on, I think I’m going to throw up!”

But fortunately she didn’t.

In the afternoon Katie emerged out of school with a disgruntled look on her face. She sat in the car next to her mum and asked: Can I pop over to see Paul this evening?”

“Have you done all your homework?” asked her mum.

“Yes.”

“Really, all of it?”

“Almost.” Katie replied nonchalantly.

“Well finish your homework, and then you can see him another day.”

“That’s not fair Mum! You just don’t want me to be friends with him. Tomorrow you’ll come up with another reason why I can’ see him,” moaned Katie.

It was true that Katie’s mum did not regard Paul as a reliable character. And she had good reason, because he wasn’t. But Katie liked him because he was artistic and seemed to be deep, unlike most of the other boys she knew.

They drove back in silence and when they reached home, Katie went to her room, lay on her bed, and listened to music. Her stupor was interrupted by a loud scream from her mother’s room. She dashed across the landing to see what the matter was, and saw her mum with smoke coming out of her head – in fact – oh no – part of her hair was actually on fire! Katie pointed her fingers at the ceiling and a great dollop of water – about enough to fill a bucket – fell down on her mother’s head. She wasn’t on fire any more, but she was drenched – and she was furious.

“Katie,” she screamed, “I told you not to borrow my hair straighteners. You broke them again, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t… well actually I did,” said Katie, remembering how she had got the straighteners tangled up in her hair, and then when she had pulled them out, they had flown across the room, hit the wall, and bent out of shape. “But I mended them,” she insisted.

“I knew it. How many times have I told you that it is dangerous to use magic on gadgets? You need a special certificate in electrical magic. No wonder they heated up so much. My hair actually caught fire! I could have been burnt! Now look at me?! I’m supposed to see Shumash in fifteen minutes. I’m in a total state.”

“Sorry Mum,” said Katie with a shrug. “I didn’t mean any harm.” But then she wished she hadn’t apologised because her mum said: “No iPad or TV for the rest of the week. Learn how to use your crystal ball properly.”

“But there’s nothing on the crystal ball that’s at all interesting,” protested Katie. “Just soaps about boring old wrinkly witches and wizards. Who wants to follow their stupid lives?”

“Well it was good enough for me when I was your age,” said her mum, as she gingerly picked up the hair dryer. “You haven’t sabotaged this have you?” she asked.

“No,” said Katie as she stomped back to her room. “Mum is so rude!” she said to Solomon as she sat on the bed, fuming. “You know, sometimes I wish I lived with Dad.”

In the morning, her mum was still in a rotten mood. Her evening with Shumash had not been a success. He had talked about “what a cool kid Katie was,” and that had annoyed her. They even had a minor argument. And now, although she didn’t mean to, she was taking it out on Katie.

“It wouldn’t hurt your face to smile occasionally,” she said as Katie came into the kitchen. Katie pulled a grotesque expression. “I showed my mother more respect,” said her mum. Katie did not reply, but sat at the table and ate her cornflakes quietly. After a while she said:

“I’ve done all my homework. Can I see Paul this evening?”

“No,” said her mum grumpily.

“Why not?” asked Katie.

“Because I said so,” said her mum.

“Oh I see,” said Katie. “What you really means is that you had a bad time with Shumash and now you don’t want me to have a nice evening with Paul. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Nothing of the sort,” said her mum, feeling a hot flush coming on. She was furious with her daughter. How dare she compare a grown man like Shumash to a sulky schoolboy like Paul?

It was raining at lunch time. A bored Katie looked out of the classroom window on the second floor and saw the top of an umbrella that she did not expect to see. The magic symbols on it were unmistakable. It was her mother’s.

“So Mum’s coming to see Miss Vile,” she thought. “Everyone is against me. Even my own mother consorts with the enemy!”

It was true that Katie’s mum had been summoned by Miss Vile to discuss Katie’s school record, which had slipped over the past couple of terms. But she stuck up for Katie, saying that she had had a few bad colds, and would surely bounce back. Katie did not know this. She texted Paul saying: “Mum and Miss Vile are plotting against me. I wish I lived with Dad.”

And Paul texted back saying: “Well why don’t you go and live with him? He’s your dad after all.”

Her hands trembling, Katie texted her dad saying: “Mum’s so moody these days she’s making me miserable and I feel desperate. Can I stay with you for a bit? I’d be ever so grateful. Your darling daughter, Katie XXXX.”

And a few minutes later her dad texted back.

“Well of course Katie. I can relate to that. Come on over.”

That evening, Katie packed a suitcase and a small bag, and sneaked out of the front door while mum was making supper. She met Paul at the end of the street, and he helped her carry her things to the bus stop. They took the number 94 up the hill to the part of town where her father lived. They found his flat and Katie rang the bell. She was slightly surprised when the door was opened by a woman. Had she rung the wrong bell? Or did her dad have a house maid?

“Hello, you must be Katie. I am B,” said the woman. Her hair was long, straight and blonde with dark roots. She spoke with an East European accent. “No need to look so shocked. I am your dad’s girlfriend. Ah, he hasn’t told you about me, I bet! I shall tick him off.”

Katie stepped in with Paul following, carrying her suitcase. They found Katie’s dad in the living room. “Ah Katie, lovely to see you darling,” he said, as he came over to kiss her. And then looking at Paul he asked: “Who’s this?”

“Paul,” said Paul. “Didn’t Katie tell you about me?”

“Well you can’t live here. There isn’t enough room,” said her dad bad temperedly.

“He’s just a friend who is helping me bring my things over,” said Katie hastily.

“Oh, I see, well you can go now,” said her dad, who didn’t always have the most polite way of putting things. Paul gave Katie a hug and left. When the door had clicked shut her dad said:

“Is he your, er, boyfriend?”

“We are just friends,” said Katie firmly.

“Good,” said her dad.

“Unlike you and Bianka,” said Katie.

“Ah yes, Bianka, she’s very important to me, and I am sure you two will get on like a house on fire,” said her father looking at the blonde woman with a sort of gooey gaze in his eye.

Somewhere deep down Katie thought: “Hmm, I came over here for love and affection, and Dad’s clearly got only one thing on his mind and that is fake blonde Bianka who is only about 10 years older than I am.” She was far from happy.

She looked around the room and saw that there were plants in every corner and on every table. Katie was sure that they were HER influence. And on the wall there were half a dozen silver framed photographs all of HER. “He’s gone potty about her,” thought Katie. And then she asked:

“Dad, where’s Muffin?”

Muffin was her dad’s dog, whom he adored, and used to take everywhere with him, even to work at the University.

“Oh Bianka’s allergic to dogs so he went to live with Andrew,” said Dad. Andrew was his brother.

“Well,” thought Katie, “if he loves Bianka more than Muffin then he really must have gone crazy.” She looked at her dad’s love. Was she so very pretty? She wondered. Her mouth seemed way too large for her face. She was a tiny bit cross-eyed. She was even chewing gum, and that was a habit her dad hated, although he did not seem to mind when the blonde woman did it.

Katie’s phone started to vibrate. It seemed to be almost angry. She took it out of her bag and saw, as she expected, that her mum was calling. What could she say to her? She handed the phone to Dad.

“Er, hello Doreen,” said her dad sheepishly.

“Bernard! Why are you answering Katie’s phone?” asked her mum.

“Er Doreen, don’t go wild. Stay calm. She’s just come to stay with me for a bit. That’s all.”

Katie closed her eyes as she heard her mother’s voice hit a register that would have done an opera singer proud. Her dad winced and held the phone at arm’s length. Eventually, he tapped the red button to hang up. “It will probably be another half an hour or so before she notices,” he said. He set the phone to “silent” and handed it back to Katie.

“So your mum is a real witch?” asked Bianka.

“Yes, she is,” said Katie narrowing her eyes. “And so am I,” she added.

Bianka looked uncomfortable. Her dad made an attempt at a friendly smile.

“Are you hungry? Bianka has cooked some delicious goulash,” he said. Katie went into the kitchen and Bianka ladled some of her lumpy stew into a bowl for Katie. Katie tried to eat it, but suddenly she did not feel hungry any more. She pushed the bowl away. “I’m sorry, I feel sick,” she said.

“It is because you are anxious,” said Bianka.

“No it’s not! How do you know how I feel? You’ve only just met me,” snapped Katie. And she made haste to her room to unpack.

Later, when she was lying in bed, she thought: “Oh poor Mum. I know she’ll be really upset. But if I call her, she’ll go ballistic.” And it was a long while before she fell asleep.

She was roused to semi-consciousness by her dad thumping on her door: “Wakey, Wakey, Katie,” he called out. She looked at her crystal ball. It was half past six.

“But it’s so early,” her voice creeked sleepily.

“It’s a long bus journey into school from here,” replied her father. “And besides, you need to jump in the shower before Bianka gets up.”

“Can’t you drive me?” asked Katie.

“I don’t have a car anymore,” replied her dad – who had lost his licence for dangerous driving.

Katie found herself standing by the bus stop on a dark and frozen morning. The first bus was so packed that she could not get on. She thought of her dad making toast and butter for Bianka.

At lunchtime, she was again gazing out of the school window, this time wondering how her mum was getting on without her, when she saw her dad walking up the drive.

“Dad!” she thought. “What’s he doing here?”

There was only one reason he could have come to her school, and that was to see Miss Vile. Her teacher was no doubt poisoning his mind against her. That evening, she was not surprised when her father gave her a lecture:

“Katie, this year your attendance record has fallen to 80%, which put another way means you’ve missed one out of five days at school. And your grades have suffered – not surprisingly. It’s a good thing you’ve come to live here, so I can get some strict routine back into your life. You must do two solid hours of homework between five and seven o’clock, have supper, read a book, and be in bed with lights out by nine o’clock.”

“But Dad, when will I see my friends?” she pleaded.

“And no boyfriends,” said her dad. “They are too much of a distraction.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend yet. Isis is my best friend. She has top grades. She’s practically perfect. And she’s a girl. What reason can there be for me not seeing her?”

“You can invite her to Sunday lunch after church,” said her father firmly.

Katie normally went riding with Isis on Saturday morning, but there was no way to get to the pony farm without a car, besides, her dad made her stay at home and do her homework. He and Bianka went to the designer shopping centre and came back in the early afternoon laden with shoes, handbags, and clothes – none of them for Katie. In the evening they went out to an Italian restaurant, and Katie had to watch her dad and Bianka gaze into each others eyes. On Sunday, Isis could not come over because she was having lunch with her family. Katie had the most boring weekend of her life. But she couldn’t call her mum yet, because, well, she had her pride. Instead she texted Paul.

“Dad only has eyes for his woman. He hardly takes any notice of me,” complained Katie.

And Paul replied:

“She’s just a gold digger, and your dad’s gone soft in the head for her. I’ll come round and we’ll play some tricks on her. We’ll see her off – no problem.”

After lunch, Dad and Bianka went out for a walk over the common. Paul was already lurking around the corner: “The coast is clear,” texted Katie, and he hurried round to the flat.

The first thing they did was to make a list of possible tricks they could play, ranging from silly to outrageous. Finally they whittled the plan down to three ideas:

Put used chewing gum under dad’s pillow. He would think Bianka had left it there and would surely see that she was disgusting.
Put a spell on Bianka’s shampoo to make her hair fall out after she used it.
Rub stinging nettles on her underwear to make them itchy.

They giggled as much as they plotted, and just had time to put the tricks into action before they heard the door latch. There was a moment of panic. Paul had to climb out of Katie’s window and swing onto the branch of an apple tree. The branch began to creak, and finally break. Katie just had time to magic a big soft pillow onto the ground to provide a soft landing.
“Who is in the flat?” asked Bianka as she came in.

“Only me,” said Katie with her most innocent expression on her face.

“Funny,” said Bianka wrinkling her nose. “I was sure I could smell a boy for a moment.”

“And she thinks I’m the witch.” thought Katie.

The fun began that evening. Katie had to go to bed at nine o’clock, but she made sure she stayed awake. She smiled broadly when she heard raised voices from her dad’s bedroom. She pressed her ear against the wall. Bianka was saying:

“Bernie, I swear to you, I would never park my gum under the pillow. It’s horrid. Katie must have done it.”

And her dad’s disbelieving voice said:

“But Katie doesn’t chew disgusting gum, and she doesn’t come into this room.”

Katie fell asleep a happy witch..

It was a shame that she was the first to leave the house on Monday morning, but she fully expected to return to a bald Bianka who was itching and scratching herself like a mad woman. “Dad’s sure to dump her faster than I can say abracadabra,” she thought with a sense of evil satisfaction. She stopped on the landing, hoping to hear an early morning scream from the shower, but Bianka was still fast asleep.

When she did come home, she was surprised to see a man with a shiny head sitting in a chair and reading the news on his tablet. It took her a moment to realise that this was her father.

“Dad, what happened to your hair?” she asked. Normally he had a silver mop of the stuff that often grew a bit too long and covered his forehead.

“I was going to ask you that?” said her dad.

“Me, why?” replied Katie.

“Because this morning I used Bianka’s shampoo, and ended up soaping a smooth pate where before there was a thriving growth. I just wondered if it was sabotage intended for someone else?”

“Of course not,” said Katie. “Why are you accusing me of such a thing?”

“And you wouldn’t have left chewing gum under my pillow?”
“No,” said Katie, as she walked across the room to close the window. Her dad liked fresh air, even in winter, but the rich smell of burning leaves was coming in through the window. She looked out to see if there was a bonfire in the communal garden and saw Bianka standing by an incinerator, and throwing her underwear onto the flames.

“What on earth is your girlfriend doing?” asked Katie.

“She’s burning her undergarments,” said her father. “Because somebody made them itchy.”

Katie went into her room, changed out of her school uniform, and tried to read a book. She could not concentrate. Her mind kept wandering anxiously about the trouble she was in. She was not entirely surprised when somebody pushed the door open and screeched:

“You Witch! Why did you make me itch like that?!”

“Who are you calling a witch?” asked Katie. “You smell like one, I don’t mean you pong, I mean only a witch could have such a heightened sense of smell.”

“I don’t do magic tricks, I have always had a highly sensitive nose, that is all, besides are you admitting that your boyfriend was here on Sunday?”

“Yes, and no,” said Katie, glad that the subject had changed. “Yes because he was here, and no, because he’s not my boyfriend.”

“So you say,” said Bianka, twirling her hair. “I am fortunate not to be bald right now. Your poor father is not so lucky.”

“I think it suits him,” said Katie. “He’s a proper smoothie now.”

“Why are you trying to split me up with him? I love him and look after him, unlike your mother.”

Katie went red with anger and seethed like a kettle: “You leave my mother out of this!” She might have flown at Bianka, and even scratched her face, but her father came in, holding some shopping bags. He glared at Katie and she stopped in her tracks.

“I thought you might like to see these,” he said, and threw the bags to Katie. “Bianka bought them for you on Saturday, but I said she shouldn’t give them to you until you have finished your school project.” Katie looked inside the bags. There was a sparkly top, a pretty cosmetics bag, and some cosy winter socks. They were just right. There was no way her father could have chosen them.

“Oh,” said Katie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Thank you Bianka.” And she gave her a hug.
Everyone was quiet that night. The emotions had made them all tired. But the next day, when Katie was at school, she texted her dad to say:

“Thanks ever so much for having me to stay. I think it’s time for me to go back to Mum now. Love to Bianka. XXX Katie.”

And that was the story of Katie and the Big Row. What do you think? Will Katie be best friends with her mum again? I think she will be, but do drop by soon to find out, here on Storynory.com.

Story Books for Kids

Katie and the Unicorn

 

Do you like mysteries?

Do you think unicorns are super-cute?

Yes? Well, you are going to love this story in which Katie and Isis turn detectives when a very rare animal is stolen.

Story by Bertie
Read by Natasha
Proofread by Jana Elizabeth

Hello,

This is Natasha and I am here with a Katie story that features a very rare animal. According to official records there are precisely zero of them left in the world, but we know differently.

You may recall that Katie has a great aunt who is of course a witch. Her name is Chloe, and despite her advanced years, she is still very sprightly and not at all lacking in energy. A few years ago, she invited Katie to come and stay with her to witness a very special event. The horse who lived in the field next to her cottage was due to give birth to a foal. When Katie heard about this invitation, she immediately asked if she could bring her best friend Isis with her. You see, Isis loved horses, and she even owned a pony, which she often let Katie ride. Aunt Chloe agreed, and the visit was arranged.

The two girls spent Saturday lazing around and chatting, and taking the next door neighbour’s dog for a walk on the heath. The big event happened late on Saturday night. In fact, Aunt Chloe had to get the girls out of bed to see it. When they reached the barn, they saw the beige mare was lying on her side in the hay and her body was already heaving with contractions. She neighed and grunted but seemed to understand what was happening and was not at all stressed. Nor was she bothered that four people were watching her, although she turned her head to look at Katie and Isis as if to say, “Come in. You are just in time to see my foal being born.” Her thick tail swished and some water gushed out of her. And then a translucent white sac started to appear. It was slightly torn and they could see a horse’s hoof inside it. Katie felt a special thrill. She thought:

“I’ve seen plenty of magic, but this is different. This is life. This is a miracle.”

The farmer went over and started to gently tug the hoof to help the foal emerge. Quite soon his head and shoulders were out in the open and the rest of his body quickly followed. He lay on the hay while his mother licked his damp and mottled hair. He did not remain still for long, and started to wriggle. In fact, he had only been born a few minutes before he tried to stand up. His gangly legs splayed wide apart. He staggered forward, fell down in the hay, and got up again.

“Oh he’s just been born and he wants to walk! He’s so sweet!” exclaimed Isis. She already loved the little foal so much she wanted to hug him and take him home with her.

“Do you notice anything unusual about him?” asked Great Aunty Chloe.

“Er, his legs are very long,” suggested Katie.

“No, it’s quite normal for horses to be born with long legs. In the wild they have to be ready to run from predators.”

“Oh, look, he has a perfect white star on his nose!” exclaimed Isis. It was hard to see because the rest of him was a light fawn colour.

“Yes, he does,” said Chloe, “But it’s more than that. Can’t you see there’s a little stump growing out of it?”

Actually, it wasn’t really visible, not unless you had eyes like Aunt Chloe, but Isis said:

“You mean like a unicorn?” She was joking of course. Chloe replied:

“Not like a unicorn, he is a unicorn my dear.”

Was Great Aunt Chloe joking? It was hard to tell. Isis giggled.

Later on, when the girls were back in bed, Isis asked Katie: “What was all that about a unicorn?” And Katie, who was tired after all the excitement, yawned and said, “Anything is possible in this world. Let’s see in the morning.”

Over breakfast, Aunt Chloe explained that the foal’s father was a unicorn, which meant that there was a 50-50 chance that his offspring would be one.

“You don’t see many unicorns about these days,” said Isis dryly.

Aunt Chloe nodded as she spread her jam made from very special berries on the toast. She said:

“Unicorns were very common in King Arthur’s time but now they are rare indeed, which is one reason why they are so valuable. The other is that their horns can be ground into powder and used in magic spells. Unfortunately there are bad people, witches mostly, who steal unicorns and sell them on the black magic market. That is what happened to the father, and I very much fear that the same thieves might come back for the foal.”

“Oh how awful!” exclaimed Katie. “He’s just been born and he’s already in danger.”

“Well, I think he’s safe for now,” said Chloe, “but in about a year’s time when he’s ready to leave his mother, and his horn is showing, we shall have to move him somewhere secret that the thieves don’t know about.”

“I know,” said Isis. “He can come and live in the same stable as my pony. Nobody would think of looking for a unicorn there and Katie and I – oh how we would just love to take care of him! In fact, Katie needs a pony and she could ride him when he’s old enough. Oh let’s do that Aunt Chloe! Please say you’ll let us look after him.”

“Well, thank you,” said Chloe. “I may take you up on that when the time comes.”

Eight months later, the unicorn, who now had a name, “Cupid,” came to live with Katie’s pony. He had grown quite a bit but he was still a baby and was tossing his head because he did not know where he had come to.

Isis rubbed his neck and said soothingly: “There, there, Cupid, you are going to have a lovely life with us. I know you miss your mother, but this is Hera. She’s my pony and she’s going to look after you.”

And Katie spoke to Isis’s pony saying: “Now, you be super-nice to Cupid because he’s only little and he misses his mummy,” and Hera nodded because she understood Katie perfectly, and she remembered the day she left her own mother.

Cupid’s horn was still a little stump, and if anyone asked about it they replied that it was a growth and the vet had said it was harmless.

As Cupid grew older, they took him out more and more, letting him play in the meadow, and sometimes leading him around the pen. Although they tried to keep him away from the other horses, over time more and more people saw him and commented on his horn. By the time he was three years old, there was no hiding the fact that he looked just like a unicorn. Katie and Isis were starting to ride him. If he ever tried to kick or bite, Katie spoke to him in his ear, and he liked that so much that he promised to be good.

One Friday morning, Isis’s mum took the two girls to the pony farm super-early before school. They went into the stable and could not quite believe their eyes. Cupid’s stall was empty. They knew that the stable girl, Emma, sometimes took the ponies out to exercise them, but she usually came in the evenings. The empty stall was truly puzzling, and worrying.

Katie spoke to Isis’s pony: “What happened?” she asked.

“Prrrrrr,” said Isis’s pony. “A man and woman came in the middle of the night and took her.”

“But you promised to look after her!”

“I neighed and whinnied and kicked my stall but there’s only so much I can do when I am boxed up in here.”

“Well, I suppose you did your best,” said Katie. Now they felt desperate.

They went outside.

“Shall we call the police?” asked Katie.

“Not likely,” said Isis. “If we say our unicorn’s missing they will probably lock us up for pranking and wasting their time.”

“So what are we going to do?” asked Katie.

Isis’s eyes brightened.

“We’d better solve this mystery ourselves,” she said with determination, “because we promised to look after Cupid, and so it’s up to us to get him back.” And suddenly Katie felt better. She pressed her hand against her friend’s. They would do this together.

The two girls looked around and found some heavy track marks. They might have been left there by a horse van. Katie took a picture of the marks with her phone. It was great to find a clue, but it did not really get them much closer to discovering who the criminals were.

All day at school, Katie turned the problem over and over in her mind, when she should have been concentrating on things like her maths and her geography. But she drew a blank. She felt more and more down. It seemed like the thieves had got clean away.

On the way home, she sat next to Isis on the bus. Her friend said: “What do you think they will do with Cupid?”

“Sell her, I suppose,” replied Katie. And then it hit her. Yes, it was one thing to steal a unicorn and get away with it, but it was quite another to sell it and make a profit. How many people have a unicorn for sale at any one time?

“That’s it!” said Katie. “We have to find out who is selling a three year old unicorn.”

“Do you mean we should search eBay?” asked Isis.

“I don’t think he’ll turn up there,” said Katie, “but we could look in my mum’s crystal ball in her shop. Any witch who has something special to sell lists it on the magic market.”

And so they got off the bus at the shopping precinct and dropped into the magic shop that Katie’s mum owned.

“Can I show Isis your crystal ball?” asked Katie.

“Sure,” said her mum, “but be careful not to buy anything by accident.”

Katie held the ball in her hands and whispered to it “I want to buy a three year old unicorn.” Colours swirled around inside the sphere and within a few seconds there he was, a three dimensional image of Cupid inside the ball with a price tag of 10 million pounds.

“That’s incredible,” said Isis.

Katie spoke again to the ball: “Message to seller; we would like to view unicorn tomorrow. Please make an appointment.”

A few minutes later, a message came back and the ball’s mysterious voice said: “12 noon tomorrow.” A map and image showed them where to go. It appeared to be a house in the countryside, not too far from where Great Aunt Chloe lived.

The next day, Katie and Isis felt like real undercover detectives as they sat on the train. They discussed their cover story. Isis would say that she was the daughter of a Russian oil billionaire and that her name was Yelena Babiova. Katie was her equine adviser which meant that she knew a lot about horses. But how would they actually rescue Cupid if they found him?

“This is just a fact-finding mission,” said Katie. “We’ll get away safely and decide what to do later. We probably need help for the next stage because it will be even more dangerous.”

Isis agreed.

When they reached their stop, they called a taxi to take them to the sellers’ house. The driver had trouble finding it, because it was really off the beaten track. When they found the turn-off, they went down a long, winding drive. There were fields, hedges and trees all around. Eventually they came to a large white mansion with a fantastic view over the valley. Everywhere you looked the landscape was lush and green. Several expensive cars were parked in front of the house. The girls got out, and Katie rang the doorbell. A butler answered.

Isis spoke in her best phoney Russian accent.

“We are here to view the, er special pony.”

“Come in,” said the butler, and he showed them into a conservatory and brought them tea while they waited.

In due course, a young woman dressed in a tweed suit came to meet them. She said her name was Eleanor.

“That is like me, I am Yelena, that is Russian for Eleanor,” said Isis, not forgetting her Russian accent.

“Have you come by yourselves?” asked Eleanor in a decidedly English accent.

“Yes, my father is in Moscow,” said Isis. “I am studying at boarding school on the South Coast.”

Eleanor looked at Katie. “And this is Violet,” said Isis. “She knows everything there is to know about horses, and er, of course about unicorns.”

Katie could feel a tingle in her spine that told her that Eleanor was a witch. Presumably Eleanor could sense that Katie was one. In fact, the way she looked at Katie said it all. It takes one to know one, as they say.

“Good,” said Eleanor. “I am certain you will like the unicorn. Let’s go and see him.”

They went out to the stables. And yes, joy of joys, there was Cupid. He snorted and did a little dance when he saw his friends. “Oh Cupid, stay still,” thought Katie, “don’t let on that you know us.”

“Can I ride him?” asked Isis. This was not part of the plan, and Katie wondered if it was a good idea. She thought they should make their excuses, leave, and come back with help. But Eleanor agreed. She asked the groom to saddle up Cupid. Isis climbed up into the stirrup, and started to walk Cupid around the ring, and then to trot, and all of a sudden she kicked her heels onto his sides. The unicorn, with a little magic as well as horsepower, broke into a canter, took off, and cleared the fence.

“What are you doing?” cried out Katie in dismay. She realised that she was in a fix, ran for the gate, and climbed out of the pen. Eleanor was on her phone. Katie looked around for somewhere to hide, and dodged behind a barn. From there ,she saw two four-wheel drive cars chase Cupid and Isis across the meadow. Cupid was young, and not used to going fast. The cars had caught up with him and were circling round and hooting their horns. Isis had no choice but to pull the reins up to halt Cupid. Just then Katie felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Both she and Isis were prisoners, not to mention Cupid.

The two girls were escorted back to the conservatory. The door shut firmly behind them and they heard it lock. Isis tried the glass door that led into the garden. It would not open.

“Can you use magic to open it?” she asked Katie.

Katie concentrated on the task, but it was no use, the door had been locked by an enchanted combination, and she could not crack the code.

Isis looked pale with fear. She sat down on a wicker chair.

“Oh dear, we should have told our mothers where we were going,” she said forlornly.

“Fat chance they would have let us come,” said Katie, “it would have been all right if you had stuck to the plan.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” said Isis. “I suppose it was just seeing Cupid. It’s so outrageous that they just, you know, stole him.”

Katie shrugged and sat down. This was the worst fix they had ever been in. It was far, far worse than any trouble at school.

Soon they heard a loud juddering sound. They looked out of the window and saw a helicopter land on the lawn.

It was not long before they heard the lock turn in the door and a frowning Eleanor came in, accompanied by a crew-cut young man in a sharp suit and silk tie. He looked like he had just flown in from the city.

“Well, now, Miss Yelena,” said Eleanor. “We have done a little investigating. It turns out that your real name is Isis, as in, the Egyptian goddess I presume?”

“You know your mythology,” said Isis pertly.

“I know a myth is a mixture of truth and fiction, but you are just one big lie” said their captor.

“Who are you calling liars?” said Katie. “Is Eleanor your real name? I don’t think so.”

The lady who claimed to be Eleanor blushed slightly.

“And at least we don’t go around stealing other people’s unicorns,” said Isis.

“Is that so?” asked the man, “then what exactly was the meaning of today’s escapade?”

“I was only taking our unicorn back, because you stole him,” said Isis.

“Well, I see,” said Eleanor, “in that case we shall have to think about what to do with you two. And what is your friend’s name?”

“Violet” said Katie. She did not see why she should give any information away for free.

The unicorn thieves left the girls alone again. Isis began to cry. Katie hugged her friend and said: “There, there, you’ve been incredibly brave and I’m so proud of you. Don’t worry we’ll get out of this.”

Isis felt comforted. They would escape, even if it was hard to see how.

About half an hour later they heard a sound at the the window. Tap Tap. They looked round, and there, on the other-side of the glass door stood a delightful figure: Cupid!

He nodded his shaggy mane at them in acknowledgment, and then he started to back away, before lowering his head and charging at the door. His horn went straight through the lock. He pulled back and shook the splintered pieces of wood off it. Katie easily pushed the broken door open.

“Quick, come on,” she called. She grabbed a chair so that they could easily climb onto Cupid without stirrups. Isis sat in front, because she was the best rider, and she held onto his yellow and purple main. Katie clung to Isis, and off they rode across the meadow. When they reached the road they trotted into the village. Fortunately there was a gymkhana going on, which is an equestrian event including competitions and races on horseback. There were lots of ponies and riders spruced up to look their best. Katie, Isis and Cupid blended into the crowd like a sort of fun and amusing entry. Nobody assumed that Cupid was not a real pony.

“We need somebody to help us,” said Katie.

“How about those two?” suggested Isis,

She was looking at a pair of burly fellows – both farmers sons. They summoned up their courage and went up to them.

“Excuse me,” said Katie, “there are some bad people after us. If they come, will you see them off?”

“Sure,” said one of the boys, who looked like he might enjoy a fight.

“And there they are!” exclaimed Isis, pointing at a black four-wheel drive. The boys gave Eleanor and her male companion evil looks. They wisely stayed in the car.

“Do you want us to call the police?” asked one of the girls’ chivalrous protectors.

“Er, better not,” said Katie, “But can I use your phone to call my aunt please?”

The girls’ phones had been confiscated when they were captured. The boy handed his to Katie. Katie dialled the number. Aunt Chloe was rather old fashioned and preferred crystal balls to phones. Would she pick up? It rang and it rang. And then a voice said:

“Hello”

“Aunt Chloe, we need your help,” said Katie.

“I’ll be there in a jiffy,” said her aunt. A few minutes later they saw an elderly but straight-backed lady riding a white horse. He was, of course, a magic horse who had flown to the village with Chloe on his back. Aunt Chloe took risks like that. She thought that everyone would be concentrating on the ring at the gymkhana, not looking up at the sky, and if anyone did see her, the country cider would probably take the blame.

When the horse-nappers in the black car saw her, they started up their engine and drove off. Chloe glared at them.

“I know that witch,” she said. “She’s dangerous. You two girls have taken a very silly risk.”

But Katie and Isis both had their arms around Cupid’s neck, and the three of them looked so sweet, that she could not be cross for long.

And that was the story of Katie and the Unicorn.

And Bertie would like to thank Kiki who left a comment on a story at storynory.com saying,

dear Bertie
umm… I LOVED The Story. I got the most AMAZING IDEA
Katie finds a unicorn and keeps it with Isis’s pony.

So thank you Kiki. And thank you to Milly who told us that she loves horses and would like a story about a unicorn.

We can also see from some of the names you choose for yourselves that a unicorn story might be popular, so thanks to Awesome Unicorn, Steve the Unicorn, Pretty Pink Unicorn, I Love Unicorns, and all the other unicorns who listen to Storynory and leave comments.

Story Books for Kids

Katie and the Other Witch Part Two

We know you can’t wait to here part 2 of this story about the “other witch“, Agrippina Crompton, who has set up business in Katie’s town. Is she a fake witch? Listen on to find out.

Katie and the Other Witch Part Two

Hello, This is Natasha, and I’m back with the second part of our story about Katie and the Other Witch. The Other Witch is a lady called Agrippina Crompton whom Katie and her mum know is a fake. It seems that she is charging people loads of money for fake spells. How can Katie prove that she is a con-artist?

Story by Bertie.
Read by Natasha.
Proofread by Jana Elizabeth.

When Katie has some interesting news, she always shares it with her best friend who is called Isis. It was only natural that she told her all about the fake witch, and how she had conned Isabelle’s mum out of all her money.

“Poor Isabelle,” texted back Isis on the chat-app. “I mean she’s a bit of a…” (she was going to call her something rude, perhaps a farm animal, but was too well brought up, so she just wrote three dots). Then she added: “But it’s totally wrong to cheat people.”

“What we need now,” replied Katie, “is proof.”

Isis thought about the problem all evening, and the next day at school she said to Katie:

“I’ve got a plan to nail that fake witch, and it’s pure genius. This weekend I will fill in one of those silly personality tests. I’ll get a free appointment with Agrippina, tell her that I’ve lost my beloved boyfriend, cry a bit, and let her know that I’m very rich and spoiled and my mum will pay any price to make me happy. Let’s see what she comes up with?”

It was such a brilliant idea that Katie and Isis slapped hands together. And Isis was as good as her word. Instead of going to the pony farm on Saturday morning, she walked past the shopping centre and met Paul.

“Hi Isis,” said Paul. “Do you want to fill in a free personality test?”

“Why should I?” said Isis not looking very interested. “It can only say that I have star quality.”

“Oh, it can help you in all sorts of ways,” said Paul. “Everyone says it’s worthwhile, and it only takes five minutes.”

And so Isis filled in the test answering seemingly pointless questions like:

– Do you browse through railway timetables, directories or dictionaries just for pleasure?

– Do you enjoy telling people latest scandals about your circle?

– Would you rather be an astronaut or a dustman?

– Do you make tactless remarks at parties?

When she had completed the questions, Paul tapped on his iPad and booked Isis in for a free appointment at 4.30 that afternoon.

The witch’s office was in a large terraced house along with some lawyers, accountants and a taxi company. Isis went up the stairs into the reception room where a receptionist, who was dressed like a fashion model, asked her to take a seat.

Isis looked around the room: “Well you’ve got to hand it to Agrippina,” she thought to herself. “The fake witch has got a cool witchy style.”

Everything was minimalist, and very high quality. The floor was solid oak. The subdued lighting came from side lamps and some small spotlights in the ceiling. Behind the receptionist’s desk hung two enormous tribal masks, triangular faces, with orange and white face paint, and dried grass for hair. They were extremely striking. A couple of statues about waist height were more grotesque, with horrid faces and carved monkeys sitting on their heads. The whole effect was of a very up-market art gallery in somewhere like Mayfair.

After a little while, the receptionist said: “You may go in now.”

Agrippina was looking out of the window towards the park. She turned around and said:

“Come in Isis. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Isis settled down on a sofa, and Agrippina sat on an office chair behind a table. The fake witch wore a smart professional suit and her hair looked like it had been expensively done. Gold bangles dangled around her wrists. You might have taken her for a businesswoman. Isis thought: “If Katie’s mum smartened herself up like that she might get more customers.”

Agrippina looked through her notes with a serious expression on her face.

“Well I don’t mean to alarm you,” she said, “but I have read your test results and I am very concerned about your personality. You really don’t love yourself, do you Isis?”

“Should I?” replied Isis.

“Yes, you should,” said Agrippina. “Loving yourself is the first step to health, wealth and happiness.”

At which point Isis began to sob and say: “How can I love myself when nobody else does? My boyfriend’s dumped me, and my mum never wants to spend time with me. She’s far too busy shopping and going on luxury holidays. She thinks all she has to do is throw money at me to make me happy. But love means nothing to her. When my dad divorced her, he gave her millions and millions of pounds and now she thinks money is the solution to everything.”

“Oh dear,” said Agrippina. “That is sad. But all is not lost. If you come and see me twice a week, I’m sure I can help you find yourself.”

“What can you do?” asked Isis.

“Well I always say it is important to treat the whole family” said Agrippina. “It seems that your mother’s emphasis on money and material things is the cause of your unhappiness. Yes, I can see this coming through in your test results. So what we need to do is for me to meet your mother, and to suggest that she makes a little sacrifice.”

“UGH! What kind of sacrifice?” asked Isis. “Do you mean like killing a chicken on an altar? I saw that in a film about vampires.

“Oh Goodness Gracious no!” exclaimed Agrippina. “We don’t do horrid things like that these days. I mean, well you’ll see, more of a financial sacrifice to prove that love is more important than money.”

“Oh I see,” said Isis. “That make sense. She could easily afford that. Well I’ll ask her if she’ll come and see you.”

“Tell her to call Lizzie my secretary and make an appointment. My time is very booked-up, but I’ll treat your case as top priority and urgent,” said Agripina.

Isis stood up looking very serious and left the room. It was only when she met Katie outside on the pavement and they had walked around the corner that she burst out laughing:

“I did my poor little rich girl act and she bought it 100%. You should have seen her eyes light up when I told her that my mum is filthy rich. She was planning so many greedy deeds that she could hardly stop herself drooling all over her designer suit.”

For the next stage of the plan, they needed the help of Isis’s mum. Katie’s mum rang her up and explained what they needed her to do:

“Oh I don’t know,” said Isis’s mum. “I never was any good at acting, and what if anyone heard that I was consulting a witch? I’m sorry Doreen, I don’t mean any offence, but it’s not the done thing around here.”

But Margo the Vicar was more persuasive. Isis’s mum agreed to help after she had spoken to the Reverend. In fact, it turned out that she was very good at playing the part of a woman who had loads and loads of money, so much, that she could not find enough time for all the luxury cruises, safari’s, and health spa treatments that she wanted to buy. Secretly it was a bit of a fantasy of hers. She also had to pretend to be gullible.

She made an appointment with the witch. Agrippina told her how concerned she was about her daughter – how she did not love herself enough – how she put too much store by her schoolwork, and as a consequence was destined to be unhappy.

“I’ve always taught her to love herself above all else!” exclaimed Isis’s mum (which of course was not true). “In fact, I teach her to worship herself like a god.”

“That’s very good,” said Agrippina. “We all have the divine within us. But clearly something is not working. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but perhaps she puts too much emphasis on material things like luxury and money. This is where I can help you. To treat Isis, we need to treat the whole family. I’m afraid it will be expensive, but you only want the best for your Isis.”

“Oh indeed, the best of everything,” said her mother.

“The most powerful magic comes from Irian Jaya. I have exclusive access to an ancient money tree that grows in a remote Indonesian village. You must make a sacrifice, and my porters will carry it to the tree and hang it on the branches.”

“What kind of sacrifice?” asked Isis’s mum.

“Mmm, I would suggest about 100,000 to begin with, and if that does not fully work, we can always step up the dose.”

“A hundred thousand what?”

“Pounds,” said Agrippina gravely.

“In weight?”

“No, money.”

When Isis’s mum left the office, she couldn’t wait to listen back to the secret recording to make sure that she had heard correctly. She sat in the car with Katie’s mum and Margo and pressed the play button. Yes, she had heard correctly. Agrippina really had suggested that she sacrifice £100,000 in money so that it could be hung on the branches of a magic tree in the Indonesian jungle.

“Could anyone be so stupid as to fall for that?” she asked.

“I think Isabelle’s mum did,” said Katie’s mum.

They were tempted to go straight to the police with the evidence, but they wondered why Isabelle’s mum and Margo’s parishioner had not done that themselves.

“I have spoken to both of them” said Margo, “and they are too embarrassed to admit how foolish they have been.”

“I can understand that,” said Isis’s mum. “I heard that Isabelle wanted to win a TV Talent Show and Agrippina persuaded her to hand over all money to make it possible, but then Isabelle didn’t even make it past the first audition.”

“That’s awful,” said Katie’s mum. “We must stop her!”

They dropped Margo off at the church and Katie’s mum said to Isis’s: “Have you got time for coffee?”

They decided to go back to Katie’s house because they could talk more privately than in a coffee shop. And that’s how they planned what to do next. Isis’s mum was cast in the starring role of the plot, but the main thing she had to do was not be scared, what ever happened.

“We’re just going to spook her,” said Katie’s mum. “Nobody can get hurt.”

Two days later, Isis and her mother were back in the reception room of Agrippina’s white witch surgery. Another client; a middle aged woman with pearls, was sitting on the sofa opposite them. Suddenly she said: “Oh!” and then: “Dear me, did you see that? It gave me a fright!”

The receptionist looked over and said softly, “Excuse me madame, is anything the matter?”
“Oh,” she said still a bit flustered: “It’s just that the mask on the wall winked at me! I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Surely not?” said the receptionist.

Isis piped up: “Anything can happen here. It’s a witch’s surgery.”

The lady reddened a little and said:

“Mmm, I suppose I must have imagined it.”

A little later the receptionist looked up said: “I hope you are feeling alright now Mrs Crawford. Agrippina is ready to see you.”

Mrs Crawford’s consultation with Agrippina did not last much more than about ten minutes. She came out looking more confused than ever.

The receptionist asked: “Would you like to book another appointment?”

“Er no thank you,” said the lady. Then she turned to Isis’s mum and said in a low voice:

“That was the strangest conversation of my life. She confessed to being a fake witch, a cold hearted con-artist, and trying to fleece me of all my savings,” and then she walked out of the surgery.

When she had gone, Agrippina came out of her office looking rather pale and shocked. She walked over to Isis and her mum and said: “I am very sorry, I am going to have to reschedule your appointment. I’m not quite myself today.”

“Is that because you are telling the truth?” asked Isis.

“Well yes,” said Agrippina. “It’s not like me at all. I can’t understand why I keep doing it.”

“Poor you,” said Isis’s mum sympathetically. “It must be most embarrassing.”

“Well it is rather,” said Agrippina.

“Especially as you are a con-artist,” added Isis.

“That’s right,” agreed Agrippina. She looked startled at her own words and added: “Oh my God, why do I keep doing that?!”

It was then that one of the giant masks on the wall explained in a deep, scary voice: “Because you are a fake witch who has been bewitched by a real one.”

The receptionist stood up and looked round at the mask. It said to her:

“And you are guilty too because you know exactly what she’s up to.” The receptionist screamed and accidently knocked over a vase of flowers.

Then a mask shaped like a fruit bat flew off the wall and started to buzz around her hair. “Ugh, get off me,” said the receptionist, waving her arms at it, and making for the door.

Agrippina spoke in a cracked voice: “Are you witches?”

Isis stood up and waved her finger at her:

“If you were a real witch you would know we aren’t,” said Isis. “But this is the work of a real witch, and if you don’t want to be haunted by wooden statues for the rest of your life, you had better give back all the money that you’ve stolen.”

“But I can’t, I’ve spent most of it!” complained the fake witch, now looking very alarmed. One of the slightly gruesome wooden statues with monkeys on its head started to walk towards her. It said:

“Sell your house. Sell your car. Sell your works of art. Pay back the people you tricked!”

Agrippina cowered behind the sofa, while the masks joined in saying: “Pay them back. Pay them back!”

“You’re lucky we haven’t gone to the police!” said Isis. “But we will do, if you don’t repay the people you cruelly tricked!”

“Alright, alright, I will!” shrieked Agrippina from behind the sofa.

And Isis and her mum knew she really meant what she said, because Katie’s mum had put a truth spell on her. Their work was done and they left Agrippina and the talking statues to get on with the rest of their day.

Of course the news travelled fast around town that the “other witch” was closing her surgery and selling up her house. There were rumours that Katie’s mum had put a spell on her. Some people said that the rival witches had battled it out with magic wands and flying broomsticks over the common at midnight on Friday 13th. It was all nonsense of course. The truth was even stranger. And the gossip took a more positive tone. Shumash reported that Isabelle’s mum seemed to have got over her financial troubles, because she was able to move back into her old house. The vicar said that her parishioner was happy that his mother had got her money back.

As for Katie’s mum – she was used to rumours and gossip. It was part and parcel of being a witch. But she had the satisfaction of knowing that she always used her powers responsibly and to help people, not herself because, as she always said to Katie:

“Real magic is the opposite of selfish. It’s about understanding other people’s feelings.”

And that was the story of Katie and the Other Witch. I do hope that you enjoyed this Katie story in two parts. There are loads and loads more Katie stories that you can find at Storynory.com. All of them are written and narrated for free. If your family has enjoyed them, please consider making a donation. Details can be found on Storynory.com.
Thank you for your help.

Story Books for Kids

Katie and the Other Witch Part One

Story by Bertie.
Read by Natasha.
Proofread by Jana Elizabeth.
Part Two is here.

Katie lives in small town where certain people always keep up with the latest gossip. There’s Margo, the vicar of St. Mary’s, Chris, the landlord of the King’s Arm’s, Angelina, the receptionist at the doctor’s surgery, and Shumash, the managing partner of Krish Estate Agency. If there’s an interesting new person in town, or somebody’s leaving, or having a baby, or having a family problem – these are the people who always know about it.

Fortunately, Shumash is going out with Katie’s mum and so she hears the most interesting news pretty fast too. And then if it’s really interesting, she tells it to Katie. And so, one evening, when they were in the kitchen eating witch’s broth, she said to Katie:

“I had coffee with Shumash this morning, and he told me that there is a new witch in town. He helped her find her house. It’s a really swish place up on the hill apparently.”

“Ooh,” said Katie. “That’s exciting. Shall we invite her over?”

“Well I tried to see her,” said Mum. “I dropped round at her so called ‘surgery of white witchcraft’, but her secretary told me I had to make an appointment and pay money up front just to say ‘hello’. I didn’t think that sounded very friendly. So I looked her up on my crystal ball and couldn’t find her.”

In case you don’t know, just about every witch in the world keeps a profile on the crystal ball network known as ‘The Coven’. It’s a bit like Facebook; only it’s been around for centuries and you have to be a witch and have a crystal ball to use it. Katie obviously knew this and so she said:

“How can she be a witch if she’s not on the crystal ball?”

Mum shrugged and handed her a business card that read:

‘Agrippina Crompton,
White Witch’.

“That’s strange,” said Katie. “Nobody calls themselves a ‘white witch’ these days. It sounds sort of yucky.”

“I agree,” said Mum. “She’s a fake witch if you ask me.”

Katie held the card between her fingers. She could not feel any magical energy in it. “Yes,” she thought, “this is an imposter witch.”

Of course lots of people whisper that Katie’s mum is a fake witch. She runs a magic shop, but ordinary people can’t buy spectacular tricks there that would astonish their friends. Witches have learned the hard way that it’s best to keep hush about their special powers. She sells products to the general public that are mildly magic. For instance, she has anti-wrinkle creams that actually work. Of course, if you are a real witch who is on the crystal ball, she can sell you no end of powerful stuff – but that sort of business is all done behind the scenes.

It was rather annoying when a week or so later, Katie was coming out of Mr Old’s history lesson and Isabelle said to her: “My mum’s been to see a real witch, not a fake one like your mum. She’s truly powerful and can completely change your life for the better.”

“If you mean Agrippina Whats-her-name,” said Katie, “she’s the fake witch. My mum’s the real one. But your mum can’t tell the difference, so she’s got them the wrong way round.”

“I don’t think so,” said Isabelle.

And Samantha, who was Isabelle’s friend, walked behind Katie saying: “Fake, fake, fake.”

But Isabelle and Samantha were Katie’s enemies. She expected them to be nasty. It was much more annoying when Katie called her friend Paul, and learned that he was actually working for the fake witch. He had just a little bit of wizardry in his blood, and was always fascinated by magic. Now he was excited because he had a Saturday morning job with an actual witch! His first role was to push marketing literature through letterboxes. Some of this had already arrived at katie’s house. They included postcards with pictures of oceans, mountains and forests that were overwritten with commandments like:

‘Be Bold, Be Free!’

and

‘Love Yourself!’

And

‘The whole secret of happiness is to think happy thoughts.”

And

“Each and every moment, of each and every day, do exactly what you want.”

When Katie had first seen them she thought: “That makes life sound nice and simple. It’s kind of the opposite of what they say at school.”

She could see how some people might pin these cards on the kitchen wall or the back of the loo door to give them inspiration. And they could find contact details for Agrippina’s surgery of white witchcraft on the back of the cards.

After Paul had done a stint of handing out this psychic propaganda, he had been allowed to mix some potions and bottle them up.

“How can you do that?” exclaimed Katie. “No real witch would let you mix her potions. She’s a complete fake and she’s conning people and giving magic a bad name.”

But Paul laughed and said: “You’re just saying that because she’s a rival to your mum and taking business off her.”

“No I’m not,” said Katie. “She’s not even on the crystal ball!”

“So what?” said Paul. “The crystal ball is old-school. Agrippina would rather be on Facebook and Twitter. That’s where the customers are.”

Later that day Katie told her mum about Paul. Her mum looked quite angry behind the eyes. She took a deep breath and said:

“I know now for sure that Agrippina is a fake.”

“How?” asked Katie.

“She came into my shop. I did not feel any magical energy coming off her at all. In fact, Paul has more energy than she does. She came over, and introduced herself. I laughed and said:

‘Well I ought to charge you £50 for saying hello.’

She said: ‘That’s not very friendly,’ and I said: ‘It’s what your secretary told me when I came by your surgery.’ Then she apologised for the misunderstanding, and tried to be nice. She had come to buy some things off me. She had a whole list – Aletris Root, Coltsfoot, Brimstone Powder, Hazel, Yarrow… all prepared with readymade spell-power, so that she would not have to do any magic of her own. I asked for her call sign on the crystal ball, and when she admitted – as I knew anyway – that she wasn’t a member of the Coven, I told her that I could not serve her magical ingredients. She looked very put out and left in quite a huff.”

“Great,” said Katie with a laugh. “I’m glad you sent her off with a flea in her ear. She just wants to use your magic. In fact that’s probably why she set up her office near your shop … so she can charge huge fees to her customers while buying spells off you for next to nothing.” And then she remembered something: “Did I tell you that Isabelle’s mum is a client of Agrippina and swears by her?”

“Really?” said Katie’s mum.

“Yes, really,” said Katie.

“That’s a coincidence,” said Katie’s mum. “Because Shumash told me today that she’s taking out a big new mortgage on her house. She came into his office to ask his advice.”

“What does that mean?” asked Katie.

“That she’s borrowing loads of money – hundreds of thousands of pounds.”

Katie’s eyes opened wide: “You don’t think Agrippina is charging her that much?”

“No,” laughed her mum. “It’s probably just a coincidence.”

Agrippina might not have any magic powers, but she certainly had some slick marketing skills. On Saturday morning, Paul and some other young people hung around the town centre offering shoppers ‘free personality tests’. All they had to do was fill in a questionnaire about their lives, and then they could have a free consultation with Agrippina. Most of them came away having bought Agrippina’s book.

‘The Magick Path to Happiness, Health and Inner Harmony’.

She spelt Magic with a ‘ck’ on the end, as most fake witches do, because it looks sort of ancient and occult.

The book cost £15. If they bought a treatment, that cost a lot more. And if they booked another appointment, that was even more expensive.

In fact, it seemed like Agrippina was everywhere. At school on Monday, Katie’s friend Isis heard that a girl called Skye had gone to see Agrippina and asked her for a love spell to get her boyfriend back.

“There’s a fat chance,” said Isis. “Because he told Samantha that Skye has bad breath, and now he’s going bowling with Samantha on Friday.”

“Trust Samantha to steal somebody’s boyfriend,” said Katie. “Do you know how much Skye paid Agrippina for the fake spell?”

“I don’t know,” said Isis. “But her dad’s really rich. He’s a plumber and Mum says he charges a fortune just to turn up with his tools.”

And then a few days later Margo the Vicar came into the magic shop and asked if she could speak to Katie’s mum in private. Katie’s mum closed the shop, put on the kettle, and got her best biscuits out of the tin. The Reverend Margo said:

“Have you come across a witch called Agrippina Crompton?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” said Katie’s mum. “But I have nothing to do with her.”

“I am glad to hear that,” said Margo. “I’m very concerned about her. One of my parishioners claims she is conning his elderly mother out of all her money.”

“Really?” exclaimed Katie’s mum. “Well I’m not entirely surprised. I knew she was a fake as soon as I met her.”

Margo and Katie’s mum agreed to exchange information about the fake witch.

When Katie came home, she had more news – Isabelle and her family had moved out of their large and lovely house and into a tiny flat. Isabelle was pretty unhappy about it. All she would say was that her mum had made a big mistake with money.

“Well, well well,” said Katie’s mum. “I strongly suspect that this has something to do with Agrippina. But how can we find out?”

That was something that Katie began to ponder.

And that was the first part of our story, Katie and the Fake Witch. It seems like Agrippina is a ruthless con-artist who is giving honest witches a bad name. What do you think Katie can do to stop her?

By the way, did you know that Agrippina was a Roman name? For instance, the Empress Agrippina was the wife of the Emperor Claudius and some people say that she poisoned him. Her son was the Emperor Nero who famously played his violin while Rome burned.

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