Chapter 2
Chapter Two
A sneak peek of the first two chapters of Cursed Witch!
Crap. So much for the grand exit. I have to wait for my mum to finish in the office. I can’t sit. I’m too wound up. So I stand in the corner by the window with my back to the room and the still smiling secretary.
Outside, it’s a perfect winter’s day, cold but with a bright blue sky. My eyes are drawn to a robin sitting on a fence post. His red chest is puffed with pride as he guards his territory. A gentle breeze ruffles his feathers.
With the way I feel inside, shouldn’t it be raining? I sniffle and use my sleeve to wipe my nose. The burned bit scrapes my face.
I felt guilty for so long. It’s the first time I’ve ever said no, the first time I’ve stood up for myself. I swallow as I remember the expression on my mum’s face. I think people don’t like it when you tell them no, especially parents.
I lean my head against the cool glass. I had to say something. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t keep spectacularly failing. What about my self-esteem?
What everyone seems to forget is this is my life and I need to live it my way.
I’m sixteen, so it is not like they are going to let me stop my education.
I am not that na?ve. But everything here is set up for me to fail.
This path that everybody wants me to take isn’t my path.
I know it deep inside; I can feel it in my bones.
Every time I attempt a spell, a rune, or try to do an incantation, it feels wrong… like I’m on a greasy tightrope wearing shit shoes without a safety net. Splat. I fall to the ground every damn time.
They flush my self-confidence down the drain over again as they try to make me into someone I am not. Just once, I needed to be honest with myself, to be honest with them, even if I fail and they ignore me. Please don’t let them ignore me.
I might as well flush my entire head down the loo. It would feel the same.
I’m drowning.
Fate must be pushing me to do something else—something I can actually do. One single thing I can excel at… Just one small thing. This can’t be my life, forever the disappointment, forever on the outside. I have to believe there is something more. Some kind of purpose.
It’s not giving up if your time could be spent doing something better.
Right?
I sigh and close my eyes.
Ten minutes later, the office door opens behind me and my mum exits the room. The little hairs on my arms rise as a wave of anger radiates from her. Her heels clack ominously towards me.
Oh no. I duck my head and hunch against the glass. I know there is no getting away from her. I gather the remaining scraps of my tattered courage and when I turn to face her, she glares. Her violet eyes are spitting mad.
“You’re excused for the rest of the day,” she snarls, and with stompy heels, she strides away. “Come on.”
I nod, and like a good little girl with my eyes fixed on the floor, I scuttle behind her as we head outside to the car.
I sit with my arms wrapped around me as we drive home in uncomfortable silence. Wow, I suddenly understand the expression, “you can cut the air with a knife.” My mum is livid.
With a sharp “go to your room” when we get home, I leave her at the front door, and hurry upstairs.
I strip out of my uniform and throw the whole thing in the bin before getting into the shower.
Hours later, when Dad gets home from work, I sit on the stairs and listen to them whisper-argue about me as I fiddle with a piece of burned hair.
I don’t know why they don’t use a privacy potion.
I guess they don’t care. After about twenty minutes of heated debate, I am called downstairs.
I take each step as if I’m on my way to face a firing squad.
I peek into the room and my heart drops into my stomach as I take in Mum’s still angry body language. Looks like she hasn’t calmed down, and from what I’ve already overheard, it appears she also hasn’t understood a word I’ve said.
“Matthew, tell your daughter that she will not be leaving school,” my mum says as I enter our bright yellow kitchen.
With a shaky hand and fortifying breath, I pull out a chair and sit at the table. I’m getting a headache from the stress.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t say that, Mum. I know I can’t just leave school. I am asking not to do any more practical magic classes. It’s for everybody’s benefit, for everyone’s safety.”
“So, you’ve decided you don’t want to do magic classes.
Explain to your father that you, in your teenage wisdom, have also decided you are no longer a witch.
” I purse my lips and sensibly keep my mouth closed.
“No longer a witch,” she scoffs. “Have you ever heard of such stupidity? Did you blow that potion up on purpose?” she asks.
I flinch. Wide-eyed, I shake my head. “No. No, Mum, I did not.”
Mum harrumphs. “What is wrong with being a witch? What’s next? Are you going to decide you want to be a vampire?” She throws her hands into the air. “Your sisters are all outstanding. They are incredible. If you would just try harder—”
“Carol,” Dad quietly reprimands. “That’s unfair.” He watches me with sad eyes as I hunch in the chair. “You know she didn’t do it on purpose.”
My mum sniffs and rubs her face. “Do I? Well, she has lied before. We have spoken about this, Matthew. She is not leaving that school. She doesn’t get to do what she wants. What would the community think?” Her eyes widen.
Fuck the bloody witches.
This time, I say nothing. Acting out won’t win me any prizes, and they have already made up their minds.
Familiar frustration bubbles in my chest and makes my heart hurt. It makes me dizzy. I take a deep breath as I battle with the overwhelming need to throw myself on the floor like a toddler and sob my heart out.
“No. It’s not happening. It’s. Not. Happening. Tuesday, I am your mother, I know what is best for you. One day, you will thank me.”
I doubt it.
Come on, you ninny, say something. I try a different tack. “If you want to keep paying for me to go to school for the next four years to learn nothing, that’s your choice.”
She slams her hand onto the table and growls like she has a shifter trapped inside of her.
Both Dad and I jump. “You are a witch. You will have a witch’s education.
” The violence she excludes makes me wish I could take my words back.
Pull them back from the air and let them dissolve on my tongue.
“I cannot deal with her when she is like this.” Her chair scrapes against the tiles with a screech as she gets to her feet and storms away.
The cupboard doors open and slam closed.
Normally I’d get up off my butt and help her. But I’m not going anywhere near her today, not with the mood that she’s in. The anger coming off her in waves makes me want to curl into a ball and protect my squishy bits. Oh, she’s never hurt me physically—no, my mum’s weapon of choice is her words.
The plates clack together as she shoves them down on the dining table in front of me.
“No daughter of mine will quit.” I cower.
My dad winces, but he doesn’t say anything to contradict her.
When my mum has her back to us, he leans across the table and sketches a rune onto my hand. My eyelids tingle.
“To fix your hair and eyelashes,” he explains.
“Thanks, Dad,” I mumble.
Magic fixes everything, doesn’t it? The bitterness I feel is like a rolling blackness inside me.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “So, I must keep going to school, keep taking the magic classes that I can’t do.
Okay…” I nod. Oh heck, I am nuts. I don’t know when to shut up.
“If I sit there and refuse to do the practical lessons, what then, Mum?”
Mum stops viciously chopping up a carrot and points the knife at me. I sink further into my chair. “That is down to you, Tuesday. If you do not try, you will fail, and I will never forgive you.”
Then I will fail.
It’s going to be a long two years.
Thank goodness witches are legal adults at eighteen. As soon as I hit that birthday, I am out of here. Independence starts with money. This weekend, I plan to get a part-time job.
Fuck you, Mum.
“Another thing—your swearing.” Uh-oh, it’s like she can read my mind. “She said the F word, Matthew. At the headteacher. The F word. I have never been more embarrassed in my life.”
“I didn’t swear at her. Well, not really.” I cringe and rub my mouth. “I’m sorry, I was upset. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”
“Upset?” Mum huffs as she throws the knife down on the chopping board and storms toward me.
“You were upset? What about me?” She prods her chest. “I am upset. You—you do not know the meaning of the word. But I will give you something real to be upset about.” She pulls something from her pocket.
A potion vial clacks on the table and with her index finger, she pushes it towards me.
“While I was waiting for your father to come home, I made this just for you. Drink up.”
Made it with love, Mum?
The purple liquid inside sloshes. Purple is… I mentally flick through the catalogue of potions in my head. Mind control? A blocking potion?
Uh-oh. Purple is not good.
“It’s an anti-profanity potion. I told you I would wash your mouth out with a potion,” she says smugly. “So here it is.”
Horrified, I stare at Dad for help. “Dad?”
He shrugs.
He shrugs. Thanks, Dad. I shake my head. No, this isn’t happening. It’s not bloody happening. I didn’t think she’d—
In the past, she’s always threatened me and my older sisters. But that’s all it’s ever been—a threat. An empty threat.
I swear a lot. It’s a Northern English thing.
Where we live in Lancashire, we practically use swear words as punctuation.
I’ve never used a bad word in the presence of anyone distinguished before today.
I’m not normally that much of a heathen.
I understand why she is upset. But to magically gag me? She has finally lost the plot.
Mum impatiently taps her fingernails on the table and the expression on her face makes my hands tremble. Looks like I don’t have a choice. I don’t even bother to glance at Dad again—there will be no help from him.
I pick up the bottle.
“How long will it last?” I rasp.
“A few weeks. Just long enough to get through the winter solstice celebration. I do not trust you to behave and your father’s job with the Hunters Guild is far more important than you, your potty mouth, and your silly tantrums.”
Silly tantrums? Wow. Nice.
At school, was I really being dramatic? I don’t think so.
Damn it, I should never have spoken up. I should have just kept my head down and my stupid fears to myself. Let the grown-ups sort things out.
I cannot believe I felt guilty all this time about hiding my problems with magic. Now I see my younger self was the smart one—smart to keep my issues to myself. All Mum cares about is her reputation. She doesn’t care that, each day, I am dying a little bit more inside.
“I will not ask again. Drink the potion.”
My eyes flick to Mum and then Dad. This is both my parents breaking my trust on a whole new level. I promise myself here and now that I will never ask for their help again.
I am done.
The vial in my hand is warm from being in her pocket. I roll it between my fingers, and with a sad sounding sigh, I dig my thumb into the cork. It comes out with a slight pop. Without preamble, I tip it to my lips and drink.
I gag when the liquid hits my tongue. It is vile. Potions do not have to taste bad, which means Mum has made it taste awful on purpose. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. She has gone out of her way to make it extra gross.
Made with hate, right, Mum?
The potion will only last two weeks. It will not be that bad.