The Whizz Pop Chocolate Shop (4 page)

Demerara growled crossly. “These children should know about their heritage! The Spoffards reached the giddy height of their success in 1931, when Pierre made a waterproof chocolate boat and rowed it across
the Serpentine—with chocolate oars, naturally. Afterward he washed off the pondweed and gave it to an orphanage—your great-great-uncle Pierre was a very kind man. And so was Marcel, your great-great-grandfather. If only Isadore had been more like them!”

“He was a nasty piece of work,” said Spike, shaking his greasy head (the human movement looked extremely odd on a rat).

“The trouble started,” Demerara said, “when Isadore fell in love. Unfortunately, the young lady didn’t like him.”

“She said he gave her the creeps,” said Spike.

“Shut up, Spike—I’m getting to the important part. Isadore decided to make a very special kind of chocolate that contained a love potion.”

“Did it work?” Lily asked.

“Dear me, yes—Isadore’s parrot ate some, fell in love with a blackbird in the garden and was never seen again. But the love chocolate didn’t work on the young lady because she was already in love with Marcel. She married him, and Isadore never got over it.”

“That’s what turned him wicked,” said Spike.

“He started doing some very dodgy experiments,” Demerara said. “That’s why this rat and I are immortal—Isadore tested his chocolate on us. So did Pierre, but we didn’t mind Pierre’s experiments.”

“No, his experiments were always kind,” Spike agreed. “Like the chocolate that made us talk.”

“That must have been a huge success,” Lily said. “Everyone would love to talk to their pets.”

“Unfortunately,” Demerara said, “Pierre was still working on it when he died, and the secret died with him. But the immortality chocolate sprang from Isadore’s twisted brain. He knew that rich and powerful people would pay a fortune to stay young forever, and was determined to keep all the money for himself. That’s why Isadore survived and the others didn’t.”

“The tram accident—” Oz said.

“Isadore arranged it all.” The cat’s strange, yowly voice was full of bitterness. “He murdered Pierre and Marcel and sold the immortality chocolate to the Nazis.”

“You mean the German Nazis who started World War Two? Well, that didn’t work. The Nazis all died.”

“Ha!” squeaked Spike. “That’s because Isadore couldn’t do the spell on his own!”

“He’d already taken a down payment,” Demerara said, “and hidden the money away in a Swiss bank account. But he couldn’t deliver the magic chocolate.”

“So the Nazis killed him,” suggested Lily.

“No, dear,” Demerara said. “He pretended to be dead and went into hiding.”

“But—but—hang on.” Oz was struggling to take this tall story seriously. “Why couldn’t he do the spell by himself?”

“Well, Pierre got suspicious, and that’s when he made
this safe. He put the recipe books in here and Isadore didn’t know a thing about it—that was the advantage he had because he lived above the workshop. And he put his mold in here too. Spike—wipe your paws and get the mold.”

“OK.” The rat darted across the floor and dived into a pile of musty-smelling rubbish in the darkest corner—squirming about near Oz’s sneaker, which felt very unpleasant.

“And try not to breathe on it.”

“Ha ha, I won’t fart on it either!”

“Must you be so coarse? Oh Lily, what a joy it will be to have some ladylike company!”

Spike dragged something heavy out of the heap and Oz picked it up. It was a small, round metal mold, like a mold for jelly or Play-Doh, in the shape of a blazing sun with a smiling face.

“Thanks, mate,” said Spike. “It weighs a ton.”

“It’s solid gold,” Demerara said proudly.

Oz tilted the smiling sun toward the light. Lily crowded close to him to look. The solid gold chocolate mold was a beautiful thing.

“There were three molds,” the cat said. “A sun for Pierre, a star for Marcel, and Isadore had the moon. Isadore only had his moon and he needed his brothers’ molds to complete the immortality spell. My goodness, he was furious when he couldn’t find them!”

“Livid,” said Spike. “He was supposed to be dead, but he kept coming back here to look for the stuff—me and the old girl used to watch him and laugh ourselves silly.”

Oz yawned. He’d spent the day shifting boxes and he was very tired. “Well, it’s been great to meet you both, but I think I’d like to get back to bed now.”

“Excuse me,” Demerara said, “I haven’t finished!”

“Oh—sorry.”

“I haven’t even told you why I had to bring you here.”

“You have a special job for us,” Lily said.

“Not me, dear.” The cat was solemn. “The government.”

Oz was too tired to stop himself from laughing. “What—we’re doing a job for the government, like James Bond?”

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Demerara said stiffly. “As a matter of fact, I work for a secret government department. Three magical humans are needed.”

“There’s only two of us,” Oz pointed out.

“I know!” Demerara hissed. “I can COUNT!”

“She can’t,” said Spike. “She thought you were triplets, like the Spoffard brothers.”

“Shut up, Spike! Didn’t I tell you there’s a government witch living across the road? That makes three. We’ll start tomorrow morning.”

“This is daft,” Oz said. “Whoever heard of a government witch?”

Demerara gave him a look of withering scorn. “Whoever heard of a talking cat?”

“What are we starting tomorrow?” Lily asked eagerly. “Do you want us to meet you somewhere?”

“I’ll come and fetch you, dear.” The cat rubbed her soft body against Lily’s knee. “And could you leave your tub of disco body glitter open tonight?”

“OK.” Lily stroked her. “I’m so glad you’re here—thanks for dealing with the wallpaper.”

Demerara was nearest the door and wriggled out first. Oz followed, and was very glad to get back into a proper-sized room again—he could hardly breathe in Demerara’s smelly “flat.” He glanced behind him and blurted out, “Hey—the door’s gone!”

They both stared at the blank white wall.

“Wow,” said Lily. “No wonder Isadore couldn’t find the safe.”

“Let’s go to bed,” Oz said, yawning again. “We’re working for the government tomorrow.”

“An early start,” said the voice of Demerara, “is always best.”

To the astonishment of Oz and Lily, the immortal cat strolled into the kitchen the next morning while they were having breakfast with their mother. To their even greater astonishment, her golden-brown fur sparkled with glitter, and the room was filled with a strong smell of chemical perfume.

“Good grief,” Mum said, glancing up from her newspaper. “What on earth is that smell? Lily, have you been slathering on that body cream again?”

“She can’t hear or see me,” said Demerara. “Your parents will be happier if they don’t know anything about me.” She walked into a shaft of sunlight, glittering all over like a Christmas card, and Oz and Lily both had to struggle not to laugh. “Hurry up—we’ve a very important meeting, and the local witch is waiting for us outside.”

They were both very curious to see this witch.

“Mum, do you need anything from the supermarket?” asked Oz.

“No, thanks.”

“Mind if we go out?”

“No—but try not to spend all your money on fizzy drinks.”

The twins followed the glittery behind of Demerara outside into Skittle Street. There was no sign of any witch. The only other person in the street was the kid from across the road, still practicing on his skateboard.

“Well?” The cat’s mouth was stretched into a smirk. “How do I look?”

“Wonderful!” Lily declared quickly. “Doesn’t she, Oz?”

“Er—what?”

She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Doesn’t Demerara look beautiful this morning?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Thank you so much for the body glitter,” Demerara said. “The only problem is that it tastes horrid, and I have to keep remembering not to lick myself.”

Oz snorted with laughter, but Lily nudged him crossly.

“It so suits you,” she told the cat.

“I wanted to make an effort; I’m not allowed to be invisible in the office and I like to look smart. Lily, dear—could
you paint my claws later with some of your lovely nail polish? I promise not to scratch you.”

“I’d be happy to,” said Lily.

“I can’t decide between the gold and the bright pink.”

“Excuse me—” Oz didn’t want to spend the whole morning talking about makeup, and he didn’t want the boy across the road to think they were crazy for talking to a cat. He lowered his voice. “What office? And where’s this witch?”

“Over there.” Demerara nodded calmly toward the skateboarding boy.

“Him?” Oz had been waiting for an excuse to talk to this boy, but he didn’t look the slightest bit witchlike—weren’t witches always old ladies? “He can’t be a witch!”

Demerara strolled calmly across the road. She jumped gracefully onto the low wall beside the path and stared at the boy as he whisked past on his skateboard.

“Good morning, Caydon,” she said.

The boy—Caydon—looked thunderstruck and immediately fell off.

Oz and Lily ran over to the boy now lying in the path, gaping at Demerara.

“Are you OK?” Oz asked.

“I don’t know,” Caydon said faintly. “Is that—your cat?”

“Yes,” said Lily.

Painfully he stood up and dusted himself off. “I must be hearing things—I swear it spoke to me—its mouth moved and everything—”

“Of course I spoke!” Demerara snapped impatiently. “You’re the witch I requested.”

“What? What’s going on?” Caydon looked at Oz and Lily. “This is a trick, right?”

“There’s no trick,” Oz said. “It’s—well, you see—”

“It’s magic,” said Lily. “And apparently you’re involved.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about magic!”

“Haven’t you had your orders?” Demerara asked. “Oh bother, I was hoping they’d send someone more experienced.”

“This is too weird,” Caydon said. “I think I must be dreaming—or maybe I’m ill—”

Oz was starting to worry that they’d got the wrong person, until Demerara said, “If you weren’t dripping with magic, young man, you wouldn’t be able to hear me.”

Caydon was bewildered. “Of course I can hear you—someone please tell me what’s going on!”

“Look, sorry about this,” said Oz. “I didn’t believe it either, not at first. But she really does talk.”

“You’re Oz, right? I heard your dad calling you when you moved in.”

“Yes, and this is my sister, Lily. We’re twins.”

“Cool,” said Caydon. “Wish I had a twin. I live with my mum and my gran—that’s our flat, with the purple door. Which one of your parents plays the violin?”

Oz wasn’t sure he wanted to admit to this, but before he could say anything, Lily jumped in with “That’s Oz.”

Caydon was impressed. “You’re seriously good.”

“He’s a genius,” said Lily.

“Shuddup.” Oz was embarrassed.

It didn’t seem to put Caydon off. “How old are you two?”

“Eleven,” Oz said.

“Me too. What school are you going to in September?”

“Sir Richard Whittington.”

“Great,” said Caydon, “that’s where I’m going too. A lot of places round here are named after him—my gran works at the Whittington Hospital.” He turned to Lily. “Are you a genius too?”

“No,” she said stiffly. “Oz got all the talent. I’m rubbish at everything, because I’m dyslexic.”

“A boy in my class had that,” Caydon said. “He set fire to a shed in the playground.”

Lily scowled at him. “You might think I’m weird, but I don’t go round setting fire to things, thank you very much. The boy in your class was probably angry because he was sick of not understanding, and not being able to make things stick in his head.”

Her voice was fierce, and for a moment Caydon was startled. “I don’t think you’re weird.” He smiled suddenly. “But your cat is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Her name’s Demerara,” said Lily.

Caydon was starting to get over his shock. “Why’s she covered with glitter?”

“It’s to make me look elegant,” Demerara said. “Now, let’s stop this chitchat and get to our appointment.”

“Where’s this appointment, then?”

“It’s in the MI6 building beside the river,” said Demerara.

Caydon burst out laughing. “Yeah, right—so you’re a secret agent.”

“Yes, but I can’t talk about my work here.” The cat’s bright green eyes glinted crossly at the “witch” from across the road. “We’ll go on the bus.”

“Hang on,” said Oz. “We don’t know the right buses to get to MI6.”

“Caydon does.”

The twins looked at Caydon.

“Matter of fact,” he said, “I do know a lot about buses. It’s a hobby of mine. My mum’s a driver on the 390.”

“Are cats allowed on buses?” Lily asked.

“I’ll be riding in a pet carrier,” said Demerara. “Caydon, go and get it and we’ll be off.”

Caydon was surprised. “We do have a pet carrier—our cat died last year, but we haven’t chucked it out yet—wait there.”

“You believe in magic now,” said Lily.

“Since I’m talking to a cat,” Caydon said cheerfully, “I don’t have much choice, do I? And I don’t have anything else to do today.” He picked up his skateboard and ran into the flat on the ground floor with a purple front door. A moment later, he emerged with a large plastic pet carrier.

“Open the little door, please,” Demerara said.

Caydon opened the end of the pet carrier and the fussy cat trotted inside.

Lily bent down to look at her through the bars. “Are you comfy in there, Demerara?”

“Yes—if nobody swings me about too much. Now, let’s get moving.”

“Well,” said Caydon, “I didn’t expect to spend my day taking orders from a cat.”

Oz thought it was nice of him to be so calm about it. “Sorry you had to get involved.”

“Sorry?” Caydon grinned. “Are you joking? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages!”