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whimpered, but the guard slowly nodded his head.
    “What you see there is a witch who went over to the dark side,” he told them. Poppy stared at the photograph. The witch was wearing a purple boilersuit with a large black number ten printed on the front. “She wasn’t always like this,” the guard said. “At one time she was just like you lot, a good Ruthersfield girl. Head girl, if I’m right?” And he looked at Miss Corns for confirmation.
    “Yes, indeed,” she acknowledged in a quiet voice. “And believe it or not, one of our finest students.”
    “What did she do?” Megan whispered.
    “Speak up,” the guard barked. “I can’t hear you.”
    Megan cleared her throat and tried again. “What did she do to end up in Scrubs?”
    “She brewed storms. Powerful storms.” The guard thumped the picture with his fist. “Whole bottom half of Italy is underwater because of her.”
    “Not Madeline Reynolds,” Poppy gasped, trying to connect the wistful, smiling girl she had seen pictures of in books with this scary-looking creature.
    “That’s right,” the guard said, striding right over to Poppy’s desk. He smelled of tinned stew. “An A plus for the correct answer. You’re a bright girl.”
    “I did a biography project on Madeline Reynolds,” Poppy mumbled, looking away from the blackboard. Even though it was just a photograph, the witch appeared to be staring straight at her, and Poppy felt her face flush with heat. “Madeline Reynolds had a beautiful voice,” Poppy said. “She loved opera, but her parents didn’t want her to have a singing career.”
    “So what?” The guard shrugged. “That’s not important. We’re here to talk about the fact that she’s evil, which is why she ended up in Scrubs Prison. No exercise allowed for this one. No freedom at all. Fed right through those bars like the wild creature she is.” Pulling a bottle of water out of his pocket, the guard unscrewed the lid, tilted back his head, and proceeded to gulp down every last drop. He burped, wiped a hand across his mouth, and carried on speaking. “All prisoners at Scrubs get two meals a day, and it’s always the same thing: water, porridge, and grapefruit.”
    “Why grapefruit?” one of the girls asked timidly.
    “So they don’t get scurvy. Nothing worse than a witch covered in scurvy. Their skin cracks and they get these awful bumps.” The guard shivered. “Can’t stand the sight of them, so we make sure they eat their grapefruit.”
    “How terrible,” Poppy whispered. Then unable to stop herself, she asked, “Doesn’t Madeline Reynolds ever get let out of her cage? Not even for a few minutes?”
    “Nope, not that one, but she’s a ten, one of our worst offenders,” the guard said, gesturing at the photograph. “You see, we have a numbering system for all of our prisoners. If you’re in for a more minor infraction like forecasting the stock market or fixing a football game, well, that makes you anything from a one to a five, depending on the severity of your crime. Those witches have more freedom. We let them out of their cages twice a day for job duty.”
    Fanny Freeman raised her hand. “What kind of jobs?” she asked.
    “Sorting out the moldy grapefruit from the good grapefruit, peeling the grapefruit, and grinding up the rinds for compost with their fingernails.”
    “Oooh.” Fanny made a face. “That’s disgusting.”
    “Well, they’re the lucky ones,” the guard sneered. “If you’re a six or higher, then you don’t get to leave your cage, ever.”
    “What number would you get for turning someone into a toad?” a voice from the back of the class piped up.
    “Depends.” The guard cleared his throat. “We’ve got a witch in Scrubs at the moment who turned a whole family into hamsters. She’s a seven, but it’s the court’s job to decide what number to give them. Our job is to make sure they don’t escape. And in case any of you were wondering,” he added, “all of our