The Trouble with Secrets Read Online Free

inlaid with silver and gold letters and glistening gemstones. She couldn’t wait to read them all. But where to begin?
    “Potions,” she said, surprising herself with her decision. What could be more witchy than potions?
    “Good choice.” Mr. Bishop clapped his hands.
    “Potions, from Latin ‘po-tar-e,’ to drink
,
    Will challenge my pupil to learn and to think.”
    The magical cyclone formed again and carried Mr. Bishop and B to a huge laboratory with shelves full of jars and bottles of colorful concoctions lining the walls. At individual workstations, witcheswere tossing a pinch of this and a fistful of that into shiny copper cauldrons, or frowning over tubes full of bubbling solutions. Every now and then somebody sneezed, or something popped, or someone’s hair turned pink.
    “Welcome to the Magical Rhymatory,” Mr. Bishop said, “where new rhyming remedies are brewed up daily.”

Chapter 5
    They found an empty workstation. Beneath a gleaming stone countertop were rows of drawers and cupboards, and along the wall were more shelves of colorful bottles and jars.
    B stroked her finger along a row of shiny bottles. “So, are potions essentially recipes? Cup of sugar and teaspoon of salt, that kind of thing?”
    “Yes and no,” Mr. Bishop said. “Recipes are the simplest kinds of potions. We’re going to start in with the potions that really require magic.”
    “Sounds good,” B said, still exploring the shelves. “Mr. Bishop, what is this stuff? It’s not scorpion blood or salamander eyeballs or anything like that, is it?”
    Her teacher laughed. “Once upon a time it was,” he said. “But not now. What you’re looking at is a collection of Slushy-Ice Flavored Syrups that one of my former students made last year. They give you a little energy boost, using magic instead of caffeine. She earned high honors for her mocha butterscotch.” He opened a small freezer door that B hadn’t noticed, scooped out a cupful of shaved ice, poured a shot of syrup over the top, and handed it to B.
    “This is fantastic!” B said, chomping the ice. “It tickles.” She giggled and felt a surge of energy shoot from her head to her big toe.
    “She works at Enchanted Chocolates Worldwide now,” Mr. Bishop said, “inventing all kinds of treats. But here’s the thing: The ingredients in a potion are only a small part of what makes the potion magical. The real power comes from the spell the witch casts as she’s brewing it. And powerful spells are made when the witch’s mind is strongly focused on what she’s doing, and how she wants it to work, and why.”
    B nodded.
    Mr. Bishop pulled up a stool, and gestured for B to do the same. “B, how do you focus your magic in your head? How do you know what your spell will do?”
    “Well,” B said through a big bite of mocha-butterscotch ice, “I’m still trying to figure that out. I guess it’s whatever the last thing was I was thinking of before I spelled a word. If I thought of the water in a pan and spelled ‘boil,’ I’d better make sure I don’t start thinking about anything else, you know? It’s really important not to let my mind wander.”
    “Exactly!” Mr. Bishop said. “Whether you make magic with rhymes or with spelled words, focus is the key.”
    “Then why do we even need potions?” B said. “Wouldn’t spells alone be just as good? If we want someone to be happy we can just perform a spell to make them happy.”
    Mr. Bishop started opening cupboards and taking out equipment. “Sometimes that works,” he said. “But what if you want to make the spell now, and use it later? Or give it to someone else to use at theirconvenience? Or ship it to Milwaukee for someone there to use?”
    “Ah,” B said as Mr. Bishop put a copper cauldron on the counter. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
    “Potions are portable,
potable
magic,” Mr. Bishop said. “Know what ‘potable’ means?”
    B frowned. She hated not knowing a word.
    “It means