Author's Note: After a wonderful week in Melbourne, I am back and ready to write again. The egg thing actually happened to me the first - and only - time I tried to boil eggs.

Please review!

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Chapter Seven

In Which Somebody Else's Spells Go Wrong

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Peter walked into the kitchen, peering worriedly at Charmain. She looked a lot better, but she was still a bit unsteady on her feet. She sat down. "What do you want for breakfast, Peter? I haven't any preferences."

"Neither." He tapped the side of the fireplace. "Breakfast, please."

The normal floating tray appeared, but the only things on it were a piece of bread that looked like it had green and yellow sprinkles on it, which on closer inspection turned out to be mould, and a kipper that looked as though it had been sat on. Even Waif would turn her nose up at that, thought Charmain.

She hit the side of the fireplace. "Breakfast, please!"

Another floating tray appeared, this one with a very weak cup of tea sitting on it.

Peter and Charmain looked at each other in despair. They both reached for the fireplace and hammered it. "Breakfast! Breakfast! Breakfast!"

More and more floating trays appeared, pushing them towards the back door. One had a burnt piece of toast on it; another had a fried egg with a greenish yolk. The rest were totally empty.

Charmain's mouth trembled and she ran into the living room. "Morning coffee!" she said, slapping the trolley.

Food appeared. Stale cakes, a broken coffee pot with odd-smelling coffee in it, and a jug of off cream. Charmain sat on the sofa and put her head in her hands.

Peter stared at the trolley. "The spell must be wearing off," he said wearily. "I'd renew it, but I haven't a clue what book it's in. I suppose you don't either, do you?"

"No," snapped Charmain, close to tears. "And this was my best nightdress!"

Peter stared at her. "What?"

"It's all burnt!" she wailed. "And my slippers!"

He looked at her nightgown. He hadn't noticed before, but it was indeed burnt to tatters and he could see patches of pale skin through the gaps. He coughed slightly and turned away to hide both his curiosity and his embarrassment.

"Why bring that up now?" he asked, still turned away slightly. "We haven't any food, and you're worried about your nightie."

"Like I said before," said Charmain irritably, "it was my best nightie. It had pearl buttons and embroidery and everything."

"For sleeping in?"

"Yes," she said crossly. "And I'm hungry."

"And you think I'm not? Just like you to only think of yourself. We should go to your dad's bakery."

"They're busy working on a wedding cake, and the shop's shut. They won't let us in."

"Market Square?"

"I spent all my allowance on the Princess Lilac Mysteries books for my mum. D'you have any money?"

"Spent it on a new recipe spell book."

"Well!" said Charmain. "What the hell are we meant to do?"

Peter shrugged, looking sulky.

"Oh, you're useless!" she shouted. "You don't have a clue what to do!"

"Neither do you!"

She slapped him.

He shoved her away from him with one hand, holding hers in the other so she couldn't hit him again. Suddenly, he found himself supporting her entire weight, while she cried into his shoulder.

"I'm hungry!" she sobbed, "and I'm cold, and my headhurts, and there's nothing to eat!"

Peter dragged her to the sofa and sat her down, quite gently. He patted her back slightly. "I'm sure we can find something," he said.

Charmain wiped the tears away from her face and sniffled, before heading to the kitchen and opening the pantry door.

"There's a loaf of bread in here," she said, holding it out. "And butter, and eggs. We could cook those."

Peter wasn't listening. He'd gone outside and was picking a twig up from the ground by the apple tree. "Fire, light!" he said, tossing it into the fireplace. A cheery fire lit.

"How long does it take to boil eggs?" Charmain asked, holding one up to the light as though looking for flaws.

"Depends," said Peter. "Not long, I think. I'd rather fried, myself."

"Well, I want soft-boiled eggs."

"I want fried eggs!"

"That's too bad!" Charmain flounced to the cupboard and poured some boiling water into a pot. "I'mmaking boiled eggs."

She tossed about four eggs in, then set the pot on the fire. "I'll be back in a minute. I'm going to get dressed. You watch the eggs."

"No," said Peter crossly. "I'm going to get dressed. You watch the eggs."

Naturally, both of them stomped away to their rooms, and neither of them made sure the eggs were cooking properly.

The two of them came back into the kitchen ten minutes later, fully dressed. Peter sniffed the air curiously. "It stinks in here!"

"Sulphur," said Charmain. She looked at the pot of eggs, and gasped. Tossing the eggs in, along with the sudden temperature change, had made all of the shells shatter, and bits of egg white and egg yolk were floating around in the water, which had half boiled away.

Peter dipped a spoon in and sipped, gingerly. He spat it out. "That's awful! If you'd been there to make sure they hadn't broken, we could be eating by now!"

"I told you I was going to get dressed! You should have been watching!" She tossed her plait over her shoulder and snatched Peter's spoon away. "And I'm sure it tastes fine, and you're just saying that it's bad to make me feel guilty." She swallowed a mouthful of egg-and-water.

Peter watched her face changing from smugness to shock to disgust. She ran to the sink and gulped water from that tap.

"That's vile!" she gasped. "Could you make fried eggs, do you think?"

Peter stuck his nose in the air. "Better than you can boil them."

Charmain sat down crossly. "Fine. I'll make the toast. It's impossible to get toast wrong, isn't it?"

It wasn't. Four of the slices were still cool; the other four were burnt to charcoal. Peter rolled his eyes. "Trust you to get it totally wrong, Charmain." He stuck the four cold pieces of bread back over the fire until they'd cooked a bit. "Put the eggs on some plates, would you?" he asked. "I'll butter the toast. You'd manage to get that wrong, too."

"I would not!" said Charmain angrily. "Fine. I'll put your stupid eggs on some plates."

It was less than two minutes before they had demolished the eggs, the toast, and two large glasses of water. Charmain sighed and leaned back, and then – with a furtive look at Peter – muttered something under her breath.

With a sudden mist, three vicious-looking pirates appeared by the table.

"Mutiny, me hearties!" shouted the tallest one, brandishing a cutlass.

"Arrrr!" yelled the one with more tattoos than skin.

"Mutiny!" bellowed the one wearing an eye-patch, and swung a hook-hand at the table.

It didn't make so much as a dent.

Peter looked at Charmain – with an innocent smile on her face – in complete bewilderment.

Charmain muttered something else, and the pirates all disappeared.

"I told you," she said smugly, "that there'd be mutiny if I didn't have breakfast soon."