Puddlebrain

Chapter Four

Seventy-five years later, while Gemini was repeatedly moaning about whether the soup was ready, their powers had still not returned. From the day Edna had faced Mayor Harper and turned a partying family of silverfish green, the only thing the witches could turn was the air blue with their curses and arguments. The cauldron, big, black and a shining example to cauldron-hood everywhere, had been Edna's pride and joy but was now nothing more than a soup pan. Their brooms, streamlined for better aerodynamics during flight, were relegated to hunting out stray bits of dust that had forgotten to clean themselves up.

Their fingers, those finely honed tools of hexing flexing, were about as much use as, well, a normal person's. They were only good for picking the nose, scratching the head or waggling at each other in the heated midst of yet another argument. Occasionally one of the sisters might manage a weak fizzle at their fingertips, a hint that somewhere inside still hid their magic. This would undoubtedly result in a frenzy of finger flicking, as if they had suddenly formed a band and were madly playing some weird kind of invisible piano. The sisters were, however, about as musical as a brick, and as magical as one too.

In other words they weren't.

Edna, Gemini and Puddlebrain were witches in name only. Their magic seemed to have fled faster than Mayor Plumpalump and they could not get it back. Did they try? You bet your sweet potato they did.

Edna did her very best to mix together various potions in an effort to regain their powers, but managed to concoct only a chicken curry at best and rancid batwing broth at worst. Gemini, who at one time could charm the cheese from a cow, had no better luck, but at least her efforts didn't leave a nasty taste in the back of the mouth.

Puddlebrain was different. Puddlebrain was always different.

Edna was, basically, the boss. By virtue of being the oldest, she almost always made the decisions. Gemini was the inbetweeny. She had struggled to find her place in the grand scheme of witchiness and had settled for not being able to tell Edna what to do, but at least being more than able to pick on Puddlebrain. Not being the brightest bulb in the flowerbed had its disadvantages, but she coped, although it was sometimes difficult to see just how she managed to manage. The time she wanted to make it thirteen o'clock all day because she was particularly hungry, but instead made it half past midnight for a week still made her wince.

Puddlebrain was the baby. Even at three hundred and fifty two, which seems so much older than if you write it like 352, she was still mothered by her sisters (in between being picked on by Gemini). She seemed to have been made up of all the bits that had somehow dropped off her sisters. She had the calmness and thoughtfulness that Edna had mislaid and possessed the intelligence and tenderness that Gemini had somehow forgotten even existed. This, in the eyes of her sisters, made her a great big soft Ya-Ya.

None of them actually knew what a Ya-Ya was, but Edna and Gemini both agreed that Puddlebrain was a prime example, and had Ya-Ya-ness in spades. Puddlebrain didn't mind. If this was being a Ya-Ya, then Ya-Ya she was. As far as hexing and charming went, she was a quiet, considerate witch. She preferred to boil a kettle over a flame than wiggle her finger at it. She occasionally, without her sisters knowing it, swept up herself rather than just leave it to the broom. The doors had handles and she actually used them instead of simply expecting the door to open for her.

She could walk out in the pouring rain and not get wet, but that was because the rain liked her and parted as she passed through. If she fancied being soaked, as she did sometimes (splashing in puddles while getting drenched from a downpour was a particular favourite) then the rain would gladly fall on her, occasionally even going out of its way to soak her. Puddlebrain kept most of her powers to herself. She didn't show off like the others often did and even they didn't know exactly what she was capable of, so they chose to think she wasn't very good at anything. A Ya-Ya.

But she was the baby, so it was expected. She'd learn. She'd grow into her finger. Maybe she was just a late developer.

Well, thanks to Edna's little escapade with Mayor Harper, she'd never get the chance.

In the seventy-five years since then, they had tried everything they could think of and nothing had succeeded. If it wasn't for the fact that they had lived for so long and the spice jars in the kitchen kept themselves topped up and in a neat order, you'd think the witches were simply normal people.

Eventually, that's how the villagers came to think of the three strange women who lived at the far end of Shadowmoss Lane. Not quite normal, but getting there. Sort of 'normal' with a side salad of a little bit weird. Mayor Harper had claimed a victory after his encounter, but it didn't fool anyone. He ended up retiring from office only a few weeks later, saying that he had reached the pinnacle of his career in his triumph over the witches, and it was time to pass the mantle of Mayorship on to someone else. A collective sigh of relief was breathed from the village folk and Burner, the donkey, stepped into Harpy's generous boots.

Edna made the move from potions to pancakes (and all manner of other fine delicacies), and Gemini... Gemini stayed pretty much the same. She was basically harmless anyway. Once the witches had accepted that they had to do things the 'proper' way, the villagers warmed to them. Gemini and Henry Pesterdear became close friends and lunch-buddies, and even Edna mellowed. Puddlebrain remained quiet and unassuming and the 'baby'. Bless her.

The arguments had been there beforehand, and they were still there, only more pronounced and over even sillier things, afterwards. A cough, a sneeze, a thank you or please could set off a squabble that would send spiders and bats scurrying for cover as the air turned thick with curses. In fact, a murder of crows that had nested for many a year in the loft had packed up and left without so much as a goodbye note because they just couldn't take it anymore. Puddlebrain knew just how they felt. If she'd been tethered, she'd be at the end of it. But such was life in the witches' household. If you didn't like it, you were more than welcome to lump it.

At Halloween it was worse. Halloween was when a witch's powers were at their strongest. The problem was, you had to actually have powers in the first place. Edna, Gemini and Puddlebrain didn't. Each Halloween, they hoped something would somehow happen to return their magic. They didn't know what or how or why, but that didn't matter. Halloween was Witch Time. Surely something must happen? But it didn't. The three gathered around their cauldron each year, after Gemini had more or less (more rather than less) licked it clean, joined hands, and hoped. They hoped, wished, begged even, for whatever spirits that might be listening to take pity on their plight. It didn't work. By midnight the begging turned to bitching and the hoping to harping.

The Mayor would have been proud.

Once a vague mist had arisen from the cauldron causing the sisters to catch their breaths in anticipation, but it proved only to be a bit of untimely flatulence on the part of Gemini from consuming just a little too much spicy hogwort pie. Granted, flatulence from Gemini was untimely on any occasion, but that didn't seem to matter. Luckily she could run faster than Edna.

Amazingly, no one blamed Edna for their predicament. Well, they blamed her, but didn't come right out and slap her across the face with it, something they certainly felt like more often than not. They never spoke of the mishap again, at least after they were able to string a complete sentence together that didn't include the word 'Ribbit'. While they were still speaking in froggy language, they could have been saying anything.

So.

Gemini had whined about the soup and Puddlebrain had gone for a lie down. Edna was serving up, slopping the chicken and bladderwrack soup into large bowls. The rain was sleepily tapping against the window and the sky was sulking.