Suitcase S(witch), page 1
CONTENTS
Title Page
1. The Accidental Switch
2. A Surprise Visit
3. A Cluster of Cats
4. The Forgotten Sonnet
5. A Dancing Disaster
6. Night Flight
7. A Useful Spell
8. Meeting a Witch
9. The Poetry Competition
10. When Magic Follows You Home
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
The Accidental Switch
I love riding the train. I love the sound of the wheels chug‑chug‑chugging along the tracks. The feeling of the carriage swaying left and right. The fun of trying to walk up and down the carriage without toppling over.
But mostly I love the way the world outside blurs past in a haze of colour. It’s like one of those landscape paintings you see in galleries, where trees are made of dozens of different shades of green.
I just wish there was a whistle that blew whenever the train slowed down and sped up, like the old trains had. Instead, there’s a robotic voice over the loudspeaker saying we’ve arrived at our weekend destination. A little town by the sea!
We don’t often go away for the weekend, because Mum works a lot, but this weekend is extra special … On Sunday I’m entering a SCARY competition.
Out of everyone in my year, I’ve been selected to read a series of poems I’ve written. If I win the competition, I’ll get a £500 voucher for books for my school library, which is a BIG DEAL. But I’m going to have to read them in front of hundreds of people, which is terrifying. Here’s the first one:
There once was a green crocodile,
Who swam the full length of the Nile,
While journeying back,
They met a great yak,
Who talked for a rather long while.
It’s a limerick, which is a type of poem that comes from Ireland. They’re meant to be funny and sometimes rude. Mine isn’t rude, really, unless you count the insult to the yak. And personally, I like people who talk a lot.
I wrote a haiku too, which is a Japanese poem made up of three lines. The first line has five syllables, the second seven, and the third five again.
My third and final poem I’m supposed to read out is an Italian sonnet, which is the longest and most difficult to remember. The theme for my collection is “Poems from around the world”, because that’s like me, sort of.
“We’re nearly there now, Zahra,” Dad says.
I was hoping I’d be able to practise my poems on the train, but I felt a little sick, so I put my notebook in my suitcase to keep it safe and spent most of the journey staring out of the window and listening to music with Dad.
He puts his headphones away now, while Mum slams her laptop shut. She promised she would only work on the train journeys there and back – it has taken four whole hours from where we live in the Midlands. But I bet she’ll sneak in little bits of work when Dad and I are asleep.
I’ve never seen Mum sleep, and I have this theory that she’s actually a vampire, so she doesn’t need to. Mum is always awake when I go to bed and when I get up in the morning. But she’s not pale, like the vampires you read about.
Mum has brown skin which she inherited from her mum, who was from Kuwait. Mum also inherited other things, like a red cardigan she always wears and a pair of gold earrings in the shape of a leaf. She says they keep her connected to her past despite her mum being gone.
Dad has white skin and his mum is very much still around. He inherits lots of things from her all the time, including weekly homemade cakes and flowers from her garden. Unlike Mum, Dad likes to sleep in, so I know he’s not a vampire.
I’m not sure what I inherited from my parents, but I hope I work hard like Mum when I’m grown up but still get to sleep as much as Dad does.
I wobble down the carriage towards the luggage rack to collect my suitcase, which is bright purple with orange polka dots on it. A girl about my age is coming from the other direction. She’s wearing a witch’s hat. It’s not Halloween but, looking at the rest of her outfit, she’s definitely in some sort of fancy dress. Maybe she’s going to a party?
The girl grins at me and takes her suitcase, which looks exactly the same as mine. Once the train has stopped, she turns elegantly, steps out of the open train doors and glides away. By saying “glides”, I’m not just using a fancy word to describe the girl walking. I’m pretty sure she actually glided.
“Hurry up, Zee,” Mum says, helping me with my suitcase. “Or the doors will shut and we’ll be carted off to the next station!”
I got so distracted by the girl that I’m just standing there while everyone bumps around me. An old lady tuts until Mum glares at her, which makes the lady apologise. See? Vampire. Mum can make people do things too.
We make it off the train just as the doors start making that beep‑beep‑beep noise that they do and slam shut. The train begins chugging away to its next location.
*
The flat we’re staying in is on the top floor of an old building with creaky stairs and tall ceilings. I can see the sea when I walk up to the window in the living room.
There’s a fire escape out the back – a metal staircase that runs down from the window of my bedroom all the way to the ground. It creaks in the wind.
Dad tells me to unpack and hang up all of my clothes before we go out for fish and chips on the beach.
I do as he says and open my suitcase on the floor of my bedroom. But I notice almost at once that something is wrong. I can’t see my jeans, T‑shirts, chequered shirts and trainers. Instead, there are black dresses and striped trousers, purple velvet boots and a cloak.
I frown, wondering for a moment if I’d somehow packed all of these unfamiliar clothes without remembering.
But then I realise what must have happened, like a wave from the ocean has swept over me. I accidentally swapped suitcases with the witch!
CHAPTER 2
A Surprise Visit
“She’s not a real witch,” Mum says in her know‑it‑all way when I tell her about the suitcases.
“That’s not really the point, Mum,” I remind her. “What am I going to wear?” I shriek. This weekend is going to be a disaster!
“Hmm,” Mum says, thinking about it. “We’ll get you some clothes tomorrow, don’t worry.”
“And I’ll wash the clothes you wore today when we get back,” Dad says, “so you have something for the morning.”
That solves my immediate problem, but I’m also a bit sad because I packed all of my favourite clothes for this weekend, including a super‑special dress to wear to my poetry reading. And – OH NO! – I’ve just realised ALL of my poems are in my book, which is also in my suitcase.
I start crying softly on the floor, like a little kitten, with the witch’s things all around me. I still can’t believe we switched suitcases.
I decide to check the girl’s suitcase in case there’s a tag with her address on it. Before I know it, I’m looking inside. The first thing I notice is a leatherbound diary, hand‑stitched, a maroon purple colour. The pages are made of really thick paper, and it has the feeling of being something really old and special.
I open it to the first page, and it says:
Property of Daria Foxglove
That must be the girl’s name, but sadly there doesn’t seem to be an address.
The inner pages are all laid out kind of like my homework diary at school, which has days of the week on the right where I’m meant to put down my homework deadlines and any school activities. And on the left is a blank page for making notes. My blank pages are full of doodles because I find it hard to just listen in lessons without doing something with my hands. Luckily, my teachers are really nice about it as they know it helps me concentrate.
Anyway, the pages in Daria’s book are filled with what look like spells. One that catches my eye is:
Hair of dog, string of gum
Make this icky meal taste yum
I glance at all of the pages, which is kind of naughty, but I’m hoping it might help me work out a way to find Daria and get my suitcase back. Instead of the boring classes I have, she has things in her book like: “Broom‑making workshop” and “How to groom your familiar”. But then I finally see something that might help!
My poetry competition is in a place called the Grand Hotel, and it looks like the witch is going to be there at the same time. How lucky! But she’s not going to the competition; she’s attending a group called the Miraculous and Great Ideas Club. It looks like she goes to it every week, which means she must be from around here. I wonder if she was coming back from a holiday?
At first, I think the group sounds a bit random, but then I realise it spells out the word “Magic”. It’s clearly a secret code.
This is good and bad news at the same time. Good because it means I’ll be able to meet Daria and swap our suitcases back. Bad because I won’t have my notebook of poems for the whole weekend, so I will have to practise them by heart.
Dad pops in a few minutes later. “Ready to go?” he says.
“I found a way to get my suitcase back,” I say, and then I grab the diary. “Look!”
Mum stands next to Dad as they peer at where my finger is pointing. “It’s rude to pry in other people’s things, Zahra,” says Mum, frowning. “But, oh, is that the same hotel?”
“Yes!” I say. “She’s going to be there at the same time too. How lucky is that?”
“See?” says Dad. “No need to panic.”
I smil
We have a lovely time at the beach until a seagull snatches half my fishcake. But it’s OK because Mum and Dad each give me a bit of theirs and take me for an ice cream too.
*
Back at the flat, I’m wearing one of Dad’s T‑shirts to bed. He’s put my clothes in to wash overnight. But I do something VERY SILLY.
I’d been writing my poems out to practise them, and I got really annoyed because I couldn’t remember the sonnet I’d written. So I decided to take a break and get some water, since my mouth had gone dry from whispering the poems aloud.
Anyway, that’s not the important bit of the story. I tiptoed quietly to the kitchen to fill a glass, but when I got into my room, I had to use both hands to shut the door. Instead of putting the glass of water down, I balanced it on my arms and spilled water ALL down Dad’s top. So now I’m soaking wet, and I can’t wake Dad up because he gets really grumpy without a proper night’s sleep.
So I do the only thing I can think of … I change into the witch’s pyjamas. To be fair, they’re really nice and silky, like grown‑up pyjamas. They’re lilac with black cats drawn on them and jangling bells all around the cuffs and sleeves.
When I put them on, I feel different. As if I could float. It’s sort of like when you sit with your head upside down for a minute before going back up the normal way. I’m all light‑headed and dizzy. But that’s not even the strangest part of it.
I’m finally settled in bed, nice and dry, giving up on the idea of drinking any more water. The jangling bells, I quickly discover, are a bit annoying because they make a noise whenever I move. But then I hear a faint but clear miaow coming from my window. And when I peer outside, I see a black cat on the fire escape!
It must have climbed up and up and up. I look beyond it, and there’s another black cat on the step below, followed by a third and fourth.
“What’s happening?!” I squeal, confused and a little afraid.
Things get even more confusing when the first cat answers, “Oh, hello, am I late for the audition?”
CHAPTER 3
A Cluster of Cats
“Audition?” I ask the cat, confused. “What audition?” But then I remember the question I should be asking, which is, “Why can you talk?”
The cat lets out a wheezy laugh, sort of like he’s coughing up a furball. “Whatever do you mean?” he says. “We could always talk.” He looks over to a kitten next to him, who also has black fur. She’s smaller and fluffier, and has a small white patch on her chest.
“Mhm, yup, he’s right,” says the kitten. Her voice is much more high‑pitched. “It’s just that humans don’t listen. Or they can’t, I guess, unless they have a little help.”
“Help? How?” I ask.
“Spells, enchanted items,” says one of the cats from the crowd that’s gathered behind. “Things like that.”
I frown. “But I haven’t …” I start to say. That’s when I peer down at the pyjamas I’m wearing. The cat pattern has disappeared and been replaced with stars instead. The bells all along the sleeves and cuffs are gone too. Could the pyjamas have done this? Are they enchanted? “Hang on. What are you auditioning for again? You never said.”
“To be your familiar,” says the first cat. He must have realised now that I’m very new to all of this, as he explains, “A familiar is a witch’s companion. Cats are the most common, of course, but other inferior animals can be considered.”
It takes me a while to process what the cat’s said. “Oh, this is a misunderstanding …” I reply. “I don’t need a familiar.”
“You don’t?” says the first cat, surprised. “All witches need familiars. Who else will offer you advice and help you practise spells? Who else can keep you company when you have to hide who you are because humans are ignorant—”
“Ahem!” says the kitten. “You’ve gone on a bit of a rant again.”
“Oh, sorry,” says the first cat. “But you get the idea, don’t you?”
“Yeees,” I say, stretching the word out, because I’m not sure I do. “But you see, I’m not really a witch …”
I let the cats into my room and wait for them to gather round my bed. Then I perch on the end and explain the situation to them. Their ears and whiskers twitch at different points in my story.
I tell them about switching suitcases at the train station, spilling water down Dad’s T‑shirt and changing into Daria’s pyjamas. I explain my plan to meet her at the Grand Hotel, right before I’m to perform on stage. For some reason I also tell them how nervous I am. They’re very easy to talk to.
While I’d been speaking, a few of the cats climbed onto my bed and are now curled up comfortably, showing off their grooming skills. Are they already auditioning? I feel bad they’ve come all this way for nothing. Some of them are even balancing on one leg or chasing their tails at lightning speed.
“Do you know if Daria needs a familiar?” asks the white‑chested kitten in her whispery voice. “Or maybe she already has one?”
“Oh,” I say, not expecting the question. “Well, I didn’t see one with her. Would Daria’s familiar have been on the train?”
“Oh yes,” says the first cat I’d spoken to, while a few others nod. “Witches never go anywhere without their familiars. They have a very strong bond. It’s every witch’s duty to find their familiar once they’ve turned thirteen.”
“Daria’s just turned thirteen!” I say, turning to her diary to find her birthday was this week. That could be why she went away. “Maybe she got these pyjamas to call her familiar?”
“That does make sense,” the first cat says, and I’m pleased to have solved the mystery.
I wish I was a witch. I’m turning thirteen soon, like Daria, but Mum and Dad would never let me get a cat because they’re too busy. They say I have to be more grown up before I can look after a pet myself. I’m not really sure what you have to do to be grown up besides doing the food shop every week and cleaning and cooking all the time.
Anyway, I don’t say this to all the cats. Instead, I tell them exactly where the witch will be so they can audition to be her familiar instead.
“Thank you, Zahra,” says the first cat, and I wonder how he knows my name because I definitely didn’t tell him it.
“Would you like to practise your poems on us?” chirps up the kitten. “You mentioned you had a competition and that you were afraid of speaking to a big crowd of people … Maybe we could help?”
I laugh and say, “But you’re not people, you’re cats!” And then I think that actually it might be helpful, so I do. I recite my limerick and then move on to the haiku:
Frost‑tipped blade of grass
The crunch of snow underfoot
A winter greeting
When I’m done, the cats cheer so loudly I hear Mum and Dad stir. I end up having to rush them all down the fire escape. I just manage to get back into bed and pretend to be asleep before Mum and Dad pop their heads in.
“What was that?” asks Mum, fully alert. Vampire, I told you.
Dad on the other hand is more like a zombie, his hair a mess, barely opening his eyes. He yawns. “Sounded like a hundred cats were yowling in your room,” he says.
“HA … HA …” I say, a little forced, after pretending to wake up too. “That’s ridiculous. Why would that be happening?”
Dad shrugs and heads back to bed.
Mum is watching me, narrowing her eyes. VAMPIRE, see? Then I think that a vampire being the mum of a witch would be kind of cool … “What are you wearing?” she asks.
“Oh, I spilled water on Dad’s top,” I say. “So I put on the witch’s … I mean the suitcase girl’s pyjamas.”
Mum nods, accepting this explanation. “We’ll have to make sure to wash them before we give them back to her. I’m sure she’ll understand. She’s probably gone through your stuff too.”
