The Longest Halloween, Book Three: Gabbie Del Toro and the Mystery of the Warlock's Urn. Frank Wood

came over to Gabbie. “No hard feelings there, Gabbie,” he offered. “I sometimes like to stir things up a bit—just to see where people’s mettle truly lies. I hope you don’t mind.”

      “You had me worried there for a moment, Oliver,” Gabbie said.

      “Well, you’re a good debater. I’d hate to come up on your wrong side.”

      “Let’s go, Gabbie,” Neville said, pulling her away.

      “Neville, that was rude. What’s the rush?”

      “No rush,” he said, “just wanted to get away from him.”

      “Oliver?”

      “I don’t trust him, I guess. Nigel never liked him; he thought he was a bigot.”

      “Neville, that’s a hard word.”

      “Maybe, but didn’t you notice? He had no problem clearing the air with you but didn’t say a word to Grawl, whom he probably offended more with all that talk about the Troll Nation massacre essentially not happening.”

      “That was a good class, Professor,” Oliver said to Renard as the last of the children filed out.

      “Thank you, Mister McTavish,” Renard replied, “though it’d be advisable that you modulate your passion a bit from here on out.”

      “I’m sorry about that.”

      “No, boy, don’t be sorry; be careful.” Renard pulled his robe from the small closet in the back of the room. “Now, if you don’t mind, apparently I have an inspection to attend.”

      In the Dining Pavilion

      “So, Beast, tell me: How does it feel to know that your father and his cronies will be the ones to let the Dread Ones back among us all?” Florinda asked Gabbie as they were in line for lunch. Cauldrons simmered in the background.

      “That’s not true, Florinda! My father is innocent. Now you take that back.”

      “Or what, stripeless wonder?”

      “Better a stripeless wonder than a flatulent, frizzy topped boor!”

      “Flatulent! That's a good one, Gabbie,” Grawl said at her side.

      “I know you’re not talking about anyone’s body odors, troll,” Florinda rounded on Grawl, “though you’ve definitely smelled no worse this year than your normal putrid self. And as for what happened earlier, Beast, that was a spell, and don’t think I didn’t know it was Neville and you who probably cast it,” Florinda barked."It's not surprising that the two of you stick together. Why, with your hoodlum, troll-loving father and Neville's absentee father and crazy dead mother, it's no wonder you live to make life miserable for the rest of us more normal witches and warlocks!"

      “Oh, whatever!” Gabbie turned her back on Florinda, who responded by raising her hand to levitate a large jug of Baby’s Ale over Gabbie’s head.

      “Gabbie, look out!” Grawl pulled Gabbie out of the way, ready to take the dousing, as Florinda jerked her hand backwards and the liquid began to pour out—but was stopped midair by Grace Johnson, who had been watching the exchange.

      “Back off, Florinda.” Grace stepped between them. She waved her hand and righted the canister and the frozen-in-space liquid. “No one here has time for your special brand of foolishness.”

      Florinda knew better than to challenge Grace, who was older and probably could give her what-for if it came down to it. “Another time, then.”

      “Or not,” Grace retorted.

      Florinda marched away with her tray of food following behind.

      “Thanks, Grace, but you didn’t have to do that,” Gabbie said.

      “Just doing a favor for a friend, Del Toro. Nothing more.”

      “But you’ve taken from your cache.”

      “No worries, I can make it up.” Grace smiled and added, “Stay out of trouble!”

      “That was strange,” Gabbie remarked. "When did I get in her good graces, excuse the pun?”

      “It’s not a big deal,” Grawl said. “You know Florinda’s a bully. As for Grace, she’s probably after brownie points.”

      “Brownie points? With who?”

      “Neville, of course. She’s nuts about him.”

      “Neville, really? Since when?”

      “Since for a long time now.”

      “That’s ridiculous! What on earth do she and Neville have in common?”

      “Never can tell. Opposites attract, after all.”

      “Whatever,” Gabbie snorted. She was still dealing with the fact that Neville had been less than forthcoming with her this year and now to have this dropped was a little much. Gabbie sighed and pulled herself together. Always trace back frustrations to their core, Mother would say. She thought that these days, when so much had been taken from her, knowing that her friends were still her friends and that she could rely on them became all that much more important.

      Back Home

      The end of the school day finally came, and Gabbie and Grawl made their way back to the tall corner home that now basked in shadows. Seen from this vantage point, it wasn’t quite the edifice it had once been when Barister Del Toro had been a tenured professor at the school. The yard was in disrepair more often than not, and the windows could use new sashes and the roof a thorough cleaning. With Mother now working full time at the Witches’ Mission, it often fell to Gabbie, Grawl and Grandmamma to do what they could to keep the place in order. Given the limitations placed on their household by the Ghoulsville police, they often weren’t able to tidy as they’d like.

      Two dark automobiles were parked outside of the home. As most everyone in Ghoulsville traveled by broomstick, it was rare to see automobiles anywhere, let alone parked in the driveway of the Del Toro home. Someone must be calling, Gabbie thought, someone of an official nature, as it was officials who often travelled by auto.

      Gabbie and Grawl could smell delectable dinner scents wafting through the open storm windows as they made their way to the front door, which was held ajar. Graymalkin bounded up to them.

      “Graymalkin, you good boy!” Grawl fell to one knee to greet the energetic, huge animal.

      “Attack phase!” came a rakish voice from above. Perched atop the staircase was a small, dark-haired boy armed with a fierce-looking crossbow. His adversary was a similar boy crouched just outside the vestibule, carrying a spherical shield that emitted conical projectiles.

      “Down, Gabbie!” a voice screeched across the room as an older woman, short as a fire hydrant, came barreling down from above. “I’ve got twins to fry!”

      “Oh, hello again, Grandmamma,” Gabbie said nonchalantly.

      “Hello yourself, darling,” she replied. “Now watch me throttle your brothers!”

      “Well, there you two are,” Abigail Del Toro said, coming into the room. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party.”

      “Hi Mom,” Gabbie said.

      “Hello, Gabbie. So, how was the first day of school?”

      “Oh, Mother,” Gabbie answered, “where to begin?”

      “I do want to hear all about it, but time is against us for the moment. Your father’s here on furlough to meet with his legal team, and we’ve got the