Chapter One
"Sabrina Spellman, don't you dare!"
Frozen in midpoint with a magic spell on her lips, Sabrina sheepishly glanced over at her aunt Zelda. How is it that even in a crowded mall, a parent figure always knows when you're about to do something maybe a little less than right?
A tough, shop-till-you-drop Saturday morning crowd filled Westbridge Mall, circling the concourse. Most people seemed lost in the confusion. But Zelda had spotted Sabrina's slight hand movement even from the furniture shop across the mall on the other side of the spraying fountain.
Sabrina put her hand behind her head and smoothed her blond hair, trying her best to appear innocent. She wore a salmon halter top, white Capri pants, and white sandals, her hair done up in a fishtail braid. No one could look more innocent. "Me? I wasn't doing anything." See? I even sound innocent.
Zelda crossed the concourse and looked at Sabrina with disapproval. She was blond and slender, dressed in a navy blouse and khaki slacks. "And what exactly was it you weren't about to do?" She folded her arms and waited.
Sabrina felt kind of awful. Nobody did guilt better than Aunt Zelda. Where Aunt Hilda sometimes looked the other way or handed out mild punishment, Zelda practiced more along the straight and narrow.
"It's Harvey," Sabrina explained, caving.
"What about him?"
"Remember when I told you his dad's pesticide business was going through a slump and Harvey had to get a job at the mall?"
"Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with using your magic so openly in the mall."
"That's because you haven't seen the job." Sabrina pointed at the food court in the intersection ahead. Actually, she didn't think she was using her magic openly. Her spell would have been hidden. Since going to live with her aunts at the age of sixteen and learning that she was a witch with fantastic powers, she'd learned a lot about using her magic.
Especially the not getting caught part.
People filled the food court. Stands sold hot dogs, pretzels, ice cream, pizza, Chinese takeout, tacos, and more under neon signs. All the tables in the center area were filled, so most of the patrons wandered off juggling food. Kids with colorful helium-filled balloons given out by the mall remained in orbit around their parents, adding to the general confusion.
However, while most of the food stands stayed busy, Ye Olde Doges didn't. A group of boys Sabrina recognized from Westbridge High had formed a heckling ring at the corn dog stand. Their target was the food stand attendant dressed as a basset hound with an oversized head and a floppy chef's hat.
"Hey, pooch," one of the hecklers called out, "I'll bet you're really smart. Can you tell me what grows on the outside of trees?"
The basset hound's shoulders slumped, and Sabrina knew the guy inside the suit had just sighed.
"I don't think he knows, Gerry," another heckler said.
"Sure he does." Gerry smiled wickedly. "C'mon, fleabag, bark for us. The answer is bark. Bark grows on the outside of trees."
All the hecklers laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd heard. Gerry Naylor was one of the biggest and most popular guys on the Westbridge High Fighting Scallions football team. A lot of kids wanted to make sure Gerry had a good time whenever he was around. Gerry in a bad mood was a scary thing.
"Let me guess," Zelda said. "That's Harvey in the dog costume."
"Yes," Sabrina replied unhappily. Harvey Kinkle was the love of her life even though he wasn't a star football player or a great student. There was just something so ...so ...Harveyish about him. She hated seeing him treated this way, but the hecklers were merciless.
"I can understand why you'd feel like pointing up something annoying," Zelda said.
"It would only be a teeny one," Sabrina wheedled. "I wouldn't even call it annoying. Distracting, that's more like what I had in mind."
"I got an easier one, pooch," Gerry said. He was big and buff in his varsity jacket. He leaned over the counter. "Can you tell me what's on top of a house?"
Harvey the Basset Hound folded his arms, his paw gloves flopping. He shook his too-big head and looked totally mournful.
"Roof!" Gerry barked. "Roof! Roof!" He laughed and slapped the counter. "Roof! Get it? That's what's on top of a house."
The crowd of hecklers laughed again. Some of them slapped Gerry on the back and encouraged him.
"Harvey shouldn't have to go through this," Sabrina said.
"I agree." Obviously displeased, Zelda looked around. "Have you seen mall security? Perhaps they could do something."
The diners at the food court stayed away from Ye Olde Doges.
"I didn't see them," Sabrina replied.
Gerry took a fistful of mustard packages from a plastic bucket on the counter. He lined them up on the counter pointing at Harvey.
"Hey," Harvey said, stepping forward. "Don't do that, Gerry."
The big football player only laughed. "Fire one!" Then he brought his hand down hard on the back of the mustard package.
The mustard squirted through the other end of the package like a cannon blast. Gooey, yellow mustard sprayed over Harvey's hound dog face and dripped from his muzzle. He rushed forward, holding his hands up. "Stop!"
Gerry hit the next mustard packet. The contents squirted the soda machine beside Harvey.
"Enough is enough," Zelda said, pointing.
The next mustard packet Gerry slapped exploded under his hand and splattered all over his varsity jacket. The yellow looked garish against the green and white team colors.
"Oh man," one of the other guys said. "Look at your jacket, Gerry."
Mortified, Gerry grabbed a napkin from the counter and wiped at the mustard furiously. The wiping only spread the mustard. He threw the napkin down. "This is all your fault, Kinkle! Now you're going to get creamed!" He put his hands on the countertop, ready to jump over.
Sabrina pointed at the line of mustard packets. She murmured,
Okay, this has gotten out of hand,
And now it's really scary.
Fire one, fire two, and fire three
To splatter the hecklers and Gerry.
The mustard packets suddenly erupted like popping corn. Lines of mustard shot through the air like Silly String and coated Gerry and his buddies. There was a stunned moment of silence, then the hecklers wailed in angry disbelief.
"You're going to get it now, Kinkle!" someone roared.
The crowd at the food court backed away. Parents grabbed their small children and hustled them back into the main mall area. Balloons that escaped from the startled kids' hands shot up like emergency flares.
Harvey raised his paws as the hecklers started for him. "Hey, I didn't do anything."
Sabrina knew that was true, but it wasn't going to matter. She looked around desperately, hoping for some inspiration.
"You boys hold it right there!" a stern voice commanded.
Sabrina recognized the voice at once. She glanced up the escalator that led down from the main mall floor. "Mr. Kraft."
Willard Kraft was the principal at Westbridge High. He wore a brown suit jacket and slacks, but sported a chocolate turtleneck instead of a shirt and tie. Fair-haired and sallow-complexioned, Mr. Kraft didn't look like much of a threat, but he handed out detention slips with a speed that beat most fast food drive-thrus.
"Miss Spellman," Mr. Kraft acknowledged as he stepped off the escalator. Then he caught sight of Zelda. His shoulders squared, and he gave her a jaunty salute. "Zelda."
"Hello, Willard," Zelda said warmly.
"It's good to see you, Zelda," Mr. Kraft said, his eyes twinkling. "I'll speak further to you in a moment. As soon as I attend to this ruckus." The principal squared his shoulders again and walked through the food court crowd to the mustard-spattered hecklers.
"Of course, Willard." Zelda had a goofy smile on her face that made Sabrina queasy.
I do not know how she can care for someone so obnoxious, Sabrina thought. Mr. Kraft's relationship with her aunt was a mystery to her and Aunt Hilda. Hilda had dated Willard first, but they'd had absolutely nothing in common. However, now that Mr. Kraft was interested in Zelda, Hilda was a little jealous of the attention he paid her sister. Their dating made nights at the Spellman household a little uncomfortable at times.
"What's going on?" Hilda asked as she joined them. Where her sister was notoriously conservative in appearance and opinion, Hilda was a free spirit. She wore a brightly colored gypsy dress with a long hem and a matching kerchief around her hair.
The ensemble fit Hilda's flashy personality perfectly, but Sabrina knew she'd also worn it to annoy Zelda. The sisters were at the mall to look at new living room furniture, and their outfits represented the opposite taste they had in furniture as well.
Sabrina pointed at the basset hound at Ye Olde Doges counter. "That's Harvey."
"Oh." Hilda took in the mustard-speckled football players. "And the crash-course in condiments?"
"Me," Sabrina admitted.
Hilda smiled, deepening her dimples. "Not bad." She started to point. "But you could have used a little -- "
Zelda grabbed her sister's finger. "No."
"No?" Hilda frowned.
Zelda still wore her goofy smile. "No, Willard's got everything well in hand."
Mr. Kraft strode through the food court diners. "Excuse me, excuse me. Principal coming through."
"Oh," Hilda said with a total lack of enthusiasm, "so Willard the Wonder Boy is going to play the hero."
"Yes," Zelda replied, holding her hands together. "He has such a commanding presence, don't you think?"
Actually, Sabrina thought the diners looked at Mr. Kraft like he was an alien.
"Pardon me if I gag," Hilda stated. "It's just one of those automatic muscle reflexes. Like applying electricity to a frog's leg."
"Principal," Mr. Kraft blustered again. "Principal coming through. Thank you."
Gerry and his fellow hecklers stared at Mr. Kraft in disbelief. The principal halted in front of the boys. He looked small against the football players. The diners cleared out around Mr. Kraft and the football players as if an Old West gunfight were about to start. Mr. Kraft watched them go, then suddenly looked a little nervous.
Gerry glared at the principal. "It's Saturday. School's out."
Swallowing hard, Mr. Kraft waved a finger in Gerry's face. "You listen to me, young man. Don't think I can't hand out detention on a Saturday."
Gerry brushed at the mustard on his jacket. "I'm the leading defensive linebacker in our division. Coach wouldn't think much of you giving me detention for something I did on a Saturday."
"Your coach," Mr. Kraft declared, reaching inside his jacket and taking out a detention slip pad, "will listen to me."
A sarcastic smile on his face, Gerry shrugged and said, "If Coach does, I bet my dad doesn't."
Mr. Kraft's pencil lead broke, and he swallowed hard. Gerry's dad was a well-known criminal lawyer.
"I don't know law like my dad," Gerry went on, "but I bet there's some kind of law against principals stalking students."
Mr. Kraft's hand shook a little. His smile suddenly looked way too tight. "Perhaps I was just a bit hasty."
"You think?"
Mr. Kraft held his thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart. This time his smile looked painful. "Maybe a little."
"Hero to zero," Hilda whispered, "in under three seconds. It's a new record."
"His heart was in the right place," Zelda said, shooting her sister a reproachful glare. "He's just a little out of his depth. He needs a little support."
Hilda raised her finger, ready to point.
"No," Zelda said, starting through the crowd that was watching the spectacle. "Not a spell. He needs someone at his side."
Going over there is not a good idea, Sabrina thought, but she knew she couldn't stop her aunt.
Harvey took off the basset hound head. "Hey, Gerry, Mr. Kraft was just -- "
"Who said you could get out of your kennel, Fido?" Gerry demanded.
"Nobody," Harvey said. "I just think that talking to the school principal like that is kind of rude."
Sabrina felt a flush of pride. "That's my Harvey," she told Hilda. "Always thinking of other people." It was only one of dozens of things she liked about him.
"That," Hilda pointed out, "is a personality defect that will get your head put on the chopping block with everybody else's. Vengeance the stealth-point way is best."
Zelda made her way through the crowd and was closing in on Mr. Kraft.
"I think the way he talked to me is kind of rude. I mean, he did admit he was being hasty. Or was that" -- Gerry grabbed the ketchup squirt bottle from the corn dog counter -- "tasty?" He squeezed ketchup from the bottle, hosing Mr. Kraft's face and jacket.
Mr. Kraft froze, his face livid enough to almost match the ketchup. Both his glasses lenses were covered.
"Willard!" Zelda gasped as she reached the principal's side.
"Look, Gerry," one of the hecklers said, laughing as he pointed at Zelda. "Bonus points!"
Gerry turned the ketchup bottle toward Zelda and grinned menacingly. Zelda stopped at Mr. Kraft's side.
Hilda shifted at Sabrina's side. "Well, this should certainly be interesting."
"Shouldn't we stop this?" Sabrina asked.
"No," Hilda replied. "I think we'll let Zelda handle this. She did tell us to stay out of it. More or less. And Harvey's safe for the moment."
Zelda stood at her full height and took Mr. Kraft's arm. "I don't think you want to do that."
Gerry pulled the ketchup bottle back and looked at it more closely. Then he shook his head. "Nope. I'm pretty sure I do want to do it." He pointed the ketchup bottle again and prepared to squirt.
A sudden, thunderous voice filled the food court. "Avast there with that bilge, ye knock-kneed, pigeon-toed landlubber! If'n ye touch a hair on that girlie's fair head, I'll keelhaul and feed ye to the fishes, I will! I give ye me promise on that!"
Gerry froze and looked up.
Sabrina looked up, too. The speaker had the attention of everyone in the food court, as well as several of the people standing around the railing on the floor above.
The speaker leaned over the railing and glared down with one eye. He looked like a giant, easily topping six and a half feet in height. A black patch covered the other eye. Beneath his dusty tricorn hat, his face was craggy, partially covered by the thick black beard and mustache, and it looked like it had been chopped into shape with a dulled axe. He wore stained cream-colored leather breeches tucked into knee-high rolled-top boots and a ratty-looking crimson blouse with a ruffled front and sleeves hacked off at the shoulder. A ragged black cape hung to his boot tops. Bold dark blue and black tattoos covered his sun-browned arms. Gold hoops hung from his ears.
"Wow," Hilda said, smiling.
Sabrina looked at her aunt. " 'Wow'? Wow is all you have to say? Westbridge Mall has just been invaded by pirates, and all you can say is Wow?"
"Wow," Hilda repeated. Her grin had gotten bigger. "You know, I'd forgotten how cute freebooters could be."
"Cute?" Sabrina exploded. "May I remind you that this is the mortal realm. We don't have pirates here."
"We have hackers," Hilda argued. "They're cyber-pirates."
"We don't have pirates like that," Sabrina said, pointing to the big man.
"No," Hilda said wistfully. "They don't make them like that anymore, do they?"
Sabrina blew out her breath in exasperation. "Aunt Zelda must have pointed him up. What could she have been thinking?"
Gerry looked sullen by the corn dog stand. "Who do you think you are, tough guy?" He waved the ketchup bottle menacingly. "Why don't you come down here and say that?"
Quick as a wink, the pirate threw himself over the railing's edge. His cape fluttered behind him. His boots smacked when he landed in a half-crouch.
Sabrina couldn't believe it. A normal guy would have broken both legs with a jump like that. Then again, dressed like that, he can't be a normal guy.
The pirate grinned, lips rolling back to expose a gold capped tooth in the form of a skull. "I'm Black Edwin Peas, ye little gout o' foul air, fiercest pirate in these here parts. Ye'll do well to remember that." He strode forward, drawing a curved cutlass from his broad belt. Silver and gold bracelets gleamed on his forearms and biceps. A belt across his chest held a brace of flintlock pistols.
Gerry stood his ground, but his friends all backed away. He wasn't even aware of it.
The pirate swung his cutlass in a glittering arc. The halves of the ketchup bottle fell in different directions. Red tomato slime covered Gerry's hand as a look of terror filled his face.
"If'n I can do that to that jug of yers," the pirate roared, brandishing his cutlass, "imagine what I can do to that great melon of a head ye got."
Gerry backed away, trying to save face. "Hey, pirate dude, just take it easy. My dad's a lawyer, and he won't -- "
"A lawyer, is he?" the pirate roared, then guffawed. "Why, ye see, I don't much care for lawyers, ye little obnoxious squirt. Last one I met, why, I left him a-hangin' from the yardarm of my ship till the gulls picked his bones clean. They ain't as partic'lar as me."
Yuck! Sabrina thought, instantly losing the snack appetite she'd been building up.
Gerry paled. Then he turned and ran, and his crowd ran after him.
"That's right, ye ungainly little popinjays," the pirate taunted. "Run them stumpy little legs of yers afore ye really make me mad."
Thinking about the long jump the pirate had just done, Sabrina had to wonder what the big man was capable of when he was angry.
The pirate sheathed his sword, the keen edge rasping against his leather belt in the silence that covered the food court. He glared, narrowing his one good eye at the diners. "Well, ye great lummoxes, ye a-gonna stand there or are ye a-gonna eat?"
The food court cleared as quickly as the escalators and stairways would allow.
Then the pirate turned back to Zelda. "Well blow me down and call me an old salty dog. If'n it isn't me old shipmate, Zellie Spellman. I knowed it was ye. Woulda knowed ye if it'd been six hundred years instead of the last three hundred it's been."
Zellie? Sabrina thought. Shipmate?
"Well, don't ye remember me, girlie?" the pirate demanded. "Or are ye a-gonna tell me ye plumb forgot me after all them times I saved yer life?"
Zelda smiled. "Hello, Eddie."
Sabrina's jaw dropped. Eddie!?
Copyright © 2000 by Viacom Productions Inc.
