Magic Hidden, Magic Found: A Cozy Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Wyrd Words & Witchcraft Book 1) by Jessica Rosenberg

Author:Jessica Rosenberg [Rosenberg, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Octopus Press
Published: 2023-06-05T16:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

“Come on, you have to admit that's a stretch. You didn't find her sister. You found a picture of her,” Crystal said with her mouth twisted skeptically. She squealed and glared at Cassie, then leaned down to rub her leg. “Ow! Come on, someone had to say it. Tell me I'm wrong.”

“No, no, you're right. I haven't found her sister, but if Miss Sadie had come to me last week asking me to find her, I wouldn't have known where to look. This photo and locket are a place to start.”

“Wait, so you're sure your powers are growing? Is that normal for a witch who tapped into her witch abilities as a child?” Amy's frown was more concerned than condemning, but it still made me want to squirm.

It wasn't normal. I'd sent Miss Bitsy the librarian a nicely worded request to check. She had replied that she'd never heard of it happening, and she couldn't find any trace of it in the witch history books available to her. As a general rule, magical abilities emerged within the six months following the first flicker of magic in a child. Witches could strengthen their abilities through hard work and regular practice as they got older, but witches didn't develop new powers thirty years after they first sparked.

Rules existed for a reason. They kept chaos at bay. Being an exception to a rule made my stomach hurt.

“I've heard of witches who had latent powers they weren't aware of,” Hattie said, leaning forward to grab a second croissant off the platter in the middle of the table. She sat back and peeled off the top. “This ability to find things isn't new, is it?”

Her question made a faint memory bubble up. I had been four, or maybe five. I didn't quite remember, but I looked young and my hair was tied back in twin braids that ran down my back. I loved those braids. They made me feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder. Not that I ever got to skip through fields of wildflowers. I remembered Mrs. McCormick, our neighbor, standing over me, shaking a fist clenched around the handle of a whisk. The tool had been missing for days, but the instant I walked into her kitchen, I'd known exactly where it was. When I told her that she would find it behind the pitcher of cream in the refrigerator, she'd scoffed at my suggestion. To prove me wrong and demonstrate to everyone what a little liar I was, she stormed to the fridge and moved the cream aside. She'd stared at the whisk, then rounded on me, accusing me of hiding it there to make her look like a fool.

Every time I opened my mouth to tell her she was wrong, she'd yelled louder until I stopped trying. It only reinforced what I had already known at such a young age. Adults only believed the truth to be what they thought it was, no matter how many explanations children offered to prove them wrong.

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