Witch by Fiona Horne

Author:Fiona Horne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781742695327
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2012-08-20T04:00:00+00:00

Sunday morning arrived – the day we’d decided to do the ritual – and I still hadn’t written the spell. If I was honest, I’d been having some doubts about our cool spell. What if becoming cool did make Bryce want to be with me as I’d hoped? A chill had run through me – if he was into me only because of magic then it would be an enchanted attraction. What if it backfired and I had to reverse the spell? I wouldn’t even exist to him anymore! And I’d been also hoping that the spell might help encourage Mr Barrow to ease up on me. But what if rather than helping him like me, it made him hate me even more?

My mind was spinning like a clothes dryer – all tangled up. I needed to snap myself out of this unproductive train of thought. I reminded myself we weren’t doing this spell so that Bryce would like me. We were doing it to subvert the current climate of bitchy oppression and subjugation – we should concentrate on making everyone equal. That was a noble act, so surely nothing would go wrong?

I went to the bathroom and splashed my face with water. When I got back to my room I looked at the blank page, but I was still stuck. In the hope of conjuring a profoundly awesome magical epiphany, I had bought myself a quill pen with a feather tip and a bottle of ink. It looked archaic and gothic. According to a new book I was reading called A Magical Life, feathers represented air and air was the element of inspiration. I twirled the feather in my fingers. Why did I want to be cool? I wanted people to like me, especially Mr Barrow. I wanted everyone to get along. And I wanted Bryce to fall in love with me. I rolled my eyes.

How did I put all that into words without sounding like a dork? And that was just me – I was supposed to be writing this spell for everyone. Why did they want to be cool? I shook my head in frustration; it felt like it was full of cottonwool. I was majorly regretting suggesting this whole thing. I’d gone from living a relatively uncomplicated life as a loner to being part of a thriving hub of magic devotees who were relying on me to write a spell that would work and bring positive results – and not backfire.

What was cool? It couldn’t just be about how you looked or what you did or how you fitted in. It had to be about something deeper – a feeling of being satisfied, a feeling of knowing yourself, of liking yourself. A feeling that made you smile when you looked in the mirror in the morning, instead of frowning.

I dipped the quill in the ink – and promptly tipped the bottle over, the thick black ink splashing over the paper and the rug. Great.

It was too much.

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