The Broomstick Collection: Books 1–4. Nathan Reed

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      “Hey,” people shouted, “mind where you’re going.”

      “No need to push!”

      “Ouch, get off, that’s my foot.”

      Just as Jessica thought she was going to go into orbit, she came to a complete halt and fell over.

      “Oops,” she said to a luminous green skeleton who kindly helped her up. “Sorry. Terribly sorry.” And she scuttled off before she could get into any more trouble.

      Hiding behind the goblins’ burger stall, she peered into the spikes of the broom. She turned it upside down and round and round. She pressed her fingers along the handle and tweaked the twigs. It certainly didn’t look as if it could fly. It was just a plain old-fashioned broomstick.

      “But,” said a voice inside her head that sounded very much like Miss Strega, “flying is not as easy as it looks. Even one lesson can make all the difference.”

      “That’s silly,” said Jessica, “brooms can’t fly. They can’t drag people around the place.”

      At that moment, the ghost came around the corner with the gorilla. “There she is!” she shouted. “That little witch is a troublemaker.”

      “Oh dear,” muttered Jessica, “I wish I was back home.”

      The words were hardly out of her mouth when the broom began to buck like a rodeo horse. It took off at a gallop, with Jessica hanging on to the handle. It soared up over the bandstand, over the duck pond and the tennis court.

      “Stop!” she yelled, but the broom took no notice. It hurtled on, faster and faster, heading straight for the houses at the top of the hill.

      “Help!” she yelled as it skimmed over tree tops and rushed past chimney pots with only inches to spare. “Help!”

      At the corner of Jessica’s street, the broom stopped sharply. The twigs twitched to the right and left, like a dog listening for a signal. Jessica clung on grimly, hanging motionless above the orange glow of the streetlamp. She closed her eyes.

      Then the broom started to move forward again. She could feel it dropping down gently and gliding up the street between the houses like a small plane approaching a runway.

      Bump, bump, bump.

      Jessica opened her eyes. She had landed on her bottom on the grass in her front garden.

      “Bother,” she said, and looked at the broom lying beside her. “Flying Lessons are extra.”

      

      “I knew you would be back,” said Miss Strega, hastily covering her mouth to hide a giggle, when Jessica appeared at the hardware shop after school the next day.

      Jessica turned a little red.

      Miss Strega raised an eyebrow. “Did you have any trouble?”

      “Well,” said Jessica, “I made a wish and …”

      “Moonrays and marrowbones!” Miss Strega clapped her hands over her ears and shook her long chin from side to side. “You young witches are always very careless about wishes. Wishes are very powerful, you know.”

      Jessica stared at Miss Strega open-mouthed.

      “What did you call me?” she stammered.

      Miss Strega appeared not to have heard her. “Never waste a wish on something you’re perfectly capable of doing for yourself. Like flying, for instance. And frankly,” she went on briskly, “we should start the first lesson right away. We don’t have very much time if you’re to be ready for the annual show.”

      This time, it was Jessica who wasn’t listening. The letters on the drawers behind the counter were swimming around. “Grate Polish, Ten-amp Plugs, Ten-inch Nails,” Jessica read. “Mmmm. Grate Polish must be Gnats’ Spittle. Ten-amp Plugs, perhaps they’re Teenage Slugs. And the Ten-inch Nails are Snails’ Antennae. It’s quite clear really.” She gave a little chuckle. “Perhaps I really am a witch!”

      “Of course you are,” agreed Miss Strega, climbing down off her stool. “Your birthday is at Halloween. Now, let’s get started. Flying Lesson Number One. Pop up on your stick, my dear.”

      Jessica sat astride her broom.

      Miss Strega tut-tutted. “There you are, you see. An elementary mistake. You have to sit with the birch twigs in front of you, not behind. Sitting like that is like trying to drive a car with your back to the steering wheel. Unfortunately, it’s a common mistake. I blame those pictures in children’s books. Now turn it around the other way, then we can start.”

      Jessica did as she was told.

      Miss Strega pointed at the twigs. “These are your controls,” she said. “Each one helps you to do different things.” She touched the one on the far left. “That’s the Ignition. Squeeze it very gently.”

      Jessica gave the twig a little tweak. The broom handle quivered.

      “Now the second one, that’s Forward. Gently, gently, no hurly-burly!” she cried out in alarm as Jessica shot across the floor and collided with a pile of silver tin buckets. “The merest touch is enough when you’re indoors. This isn’t the fast lane on the Milky Way.”

      Jessica picked herself up, climbed back on to the broomstick and pressed the twig lightly between her fingers.

      “Much better,” said Miss Strega approvingly as the broom carried Jessica forward. “Now, the third. That’s Lift”

      As Jessica touched the third twig, the broom rose gently and carried her above the high counter so that her head was almost touching the ceiling. The ginger cat looked up at her and winked an orange eye.

      “You see how perfectly simple it all is,” said Miss Strega. “The next twig is Reverse. And the very long one beside it is Pause.”

      Jessica reversed slowly towards the wall of drawers and hovered in front of the labels. “Wasps’ Stings,” she read aloud. “I suppose an ordinary person would think that says Washing Pegs.”

      “Jessica,” Miss Strega said sternly, “that’s another day’s work. Flying Lessons before Spelling, Brewing and Charming. Now, Descend. Tweak the long twig next to Pause.”

      Jessica СКАЧАТЬ