The Little Witch sprinted toward the car parked at the curb in front of the pet shop, where the house owner and her two boys were picking up their freshly groomed pet dog. The Little Witch didn’t see the point of it. If nature had given the animal that length of hair, he must be okay with it. Still, it was a hot summer, she had to admit that sporting a fur coat in this weather might be a challenge—even for a dog.
The dog’s haircut, however, presented her with an opportunity: a ride home after dropping off her broom at the broom mechanic. Its Closed Thrill Circuit motor—more about the CTC Motor later—needed some fine-tuning. Something in the Thrill-Energy Exchange wasn’t working right, and she preferred instant, full-power takeoff, not the splutter-and-cough performance she was getting now.
For about thirty or forty years, witches had been expected to be trained mechanics, capable of handling broom motors and computers themselves. With the introduction of the CTC motor, brooms could travel ten times faster than before. The Little Witch supposed that was good. She wasn’t sure.
Now she had one task: to slip into the car while the door was open. If she missed the chance, she wouldn’t get a ride home. Only three inches tall—and invisible to humans—she couldn’t open the door for herself once it closed.
Of course, she could use her wand. A shrinking spell on the car and its occupants would do the trick, but that came with a certain level of risk—especially when human beings were involved—due to its unpredictability. On the other hand, she could freeze the car in time and take her time to hop in and find a comfortable seat. But that spell, too, was risky. Occasionally, things—or people—didn’t restart properly after the spell ended. Children under ten years old were particularly problematic in that regard, and there was one of those on hand. A witch had to be careful when casting spells on humans.
All these thoughts flew across her mind in about one second as she sprinted toward the open door. The curbside passenger door had just admitted the older boy, age twelve, the family dog, and the younger boy, age nine—who now had his hand on the armrest, pulling the door closed.
She was about five feet away —too far.
She wasn’t going to make it. Ka-chunk.
The sound of a closing car door met her ears. She slowed down to a discouraged stop, watching and expecting the car to pull away. It looked like she was in for a two-hour walk on a hot summer day. “What did witches do before they had brooms?”, she wondered.
Suddenly, from inside the car, came a shrill shriek. It sounded like the older boy yelling, “Shotgun! I get shotgun!” He threw his door open, leapt out, slammed it behind him, and ran around to the front passenger side—just as the younger boy realized he wanted the same seat. Desperately.
Or so it seemed. To the Little Witch, it looked like some incomprehensibly strange ritual, absurd in the eyes of the uninformed yet utterly serious to those involved.
Fortunately for her, the younger boy had jumped out in pursuit of the “Shotgun,” leaving his door open. The Little Witch strolled casually to the edge of the curb and hopped into the backseat area easily. Her only concern was the dog, who was still there. Luckily she was invisible to that particular breed; she just didn’t want to be stepped on. She maneuvered carefully around him to the far side of the seat, climbed up the backrest and perched on the headrest, happy with her view of both the car inside and the world outside.
As she looked ahead through the windshield, she saw the house owner reach back to close the open door. Just before she reached back for the door, the Little Witch would have sworn she looked directly at her and their eyes locked for about half a second, but the house owner continued her task, to close the door. She somehow managed to quell the civil war that had erupted between her two boys, and started the car for the drive home.
Which was the Little Witch’s home, too.
But perhaps we should start at the beginning.
Once upon a time—not so long ago—there was a Little Witch.
And when I say little, I mean really little. Like about three inches tall.