Mixed Magics: Four Tales of Chrestomanci Read Free Page B

“It is now lighting-up time. You require headlights.”
    The Willing Warlock started the wipers, rolled down the windows, played music, and finally managed to turn on the lights. He drove back onto the big road, hating all three of them. And drove. Jemima Jane stood up on the backseat behind him. The gâteau had made her distressingly lively. She wanted to talk. She grabbed one of the Willing Warlock’s ears in a sticky chocolate hand for balance and breathed gâteau fumes and questions into his other ear.
    “Why did you take our car for? What are all those prickles on your chin for? Why don’t you like me holding your nose for? Why don’t you smell nice? Where are we going to? Shall we drive in the car all night?” and many more such questions.
    The Willing Warlock was forced to answer all these questions in the right way. If he did not answer, Jemima Jane dragged at his hair, or twisted his ear, or took hold of his nose. If the answer he gave did not please Jemima Jane, Towser rose up growling, and the Willing Warlock had quickly to think of a better answer. It was not long before he was as plastered with chocolate as Jemima Jane was. He thought that it was not possible for a person to be more unhappy.
    He was wrong. Towser suddenly stood up and staggered about the backseat, making odd noises.
    “Towser’s going to go sick,” Jemima Jane said.
    The Willing Warlock squealed to a halt on the hard shoulder and threw all four doors open wide. Towser would have to get out, he thought. Then he could drive straight off again and leave Towser by the roadside.
    As he thought that, Towser landed heavily on top of him. Sitting on the Willing Warlock, he got rid of the gâteau onto the edge of the motorway. It took him some time. Meanwhile the Willing Warlock wondered if Towser was actually as heavy as a cow, or whether he only felt that way.
    “Now go on, go on driving,” Jemima Jane said when Towser at last had finished.
    The Willing Warlock obeyed. He drove on. Then it was the car’s turn. It flashed a red light at him. “You are running out of petrol,” it remarked.
    “Good,” said the Willing Warlock feelingly.
    “Go on driving,” said Jemima Jane, and Towser, as usual, backed her up.
    The Willing Warlock drove on through the night. A new and unpleasant smell now filled the car. It did not mix well with chocolate. The Willing Warlock supposed it must be Towser. He drove and the car boringly repeated its remark about petrol until, as they passed a sign saying BENTWELL SERVICES , the car suddenly changed its tune and said, “You have started on the reserve tank.” Then it became quite talkative and added, “You have petrol for ten more miles only. You are running out of petrol—”
    “I heard you,” said the Willing Warlock. “I shall have to stop,” he told Jemima Jane and Towser, with great relief. Then, to stop Jemima Jane telling him to drive on, and because the new smell was mixing with the chocolate worse than ever, he said, “And what is this smell in here?”
    “Me,” Jemima Jane said, rather defiantly. “I went in my pants. It’s your fault. You didn’t take me to the Ladies’.”
    At which Towser at once sprang up, growling, and the car added, “You are running out of petrol.”
    The Willing Warlock groaned aloud and went squealing into BENTWELL SERVICES . The car told him reproachfully that he was wasting petrol and then added that he was running out of it, but the Willing Warlock was too far gone to attend to it. He sprang out of the car and once more tried to run away. Towser sprang out after him and fastened his teeth in the Willing Warlock’s now tattered trouser leg. And Jemima Jane scrambled out after Towser.
    “Take me to the Ladies’,” she said. “You have to change my pants. My clean ones are in the bag at the back.”
    “I can’t take you to the Ladies’!” the Willing Warlock said. He had no idea what to do. What did one do? You have one grown-up male Warlock, one