Wishful Witch

Prologue

Winifred

“Do you think the curse has skipped her?” my mother asks, a hopeful smile plays at the edges of her mouth as she hands me a bright pink feather to levitate.

“I don’t know,” my grandmother answers. “We lost our powers during our thirteenth year. My mother, too.”

“I’m fourteen ,” I chime in. “I think it's safe to say your little curse is broken and I am going to have my powers forever!”

The pink feather floats so high it reaches the ceiling in seconds. The moment lasts but a few seconds before the feather appears to do what can only be described as exploding, creating pink dust that floats slowly down over us.

Grandma dusts the pink fuzz from her shirt. “Well, I guess that answers that…”

“No,” I snap, frustrated, and run to grab another feather. This time it’s a blue one. “I can do it!”

“Oh, dear, maybe we shouldn’t —” my mother says, reaching to stop me, but I am already levitating the blue feather.

“See it was just a fluke,” I say.

The blue feather begins to spark until flames start licking at its edges, consuming it. Ashes rain from the ceiling. Tearful, I go to grab yet another feather, but my mother stops me.

“That’s enough, Winifred.” She picks up the tote holding the feathers that she often used for crafting. “Be grateful, little heart. You had your magic for longer than any of us. Maybe that means one day, we’ll have our magic back again.”

“No!” I scream, desperate to try once again.

Grandma stands up from her rocking chair.

“I am certainly not going to risk you setting my home on fire. Now apologize to your mother.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I say, my eyes falling to look at the tote.

“Good girl. Seems the only fluke here is you.”

I flinch at my grandma’s words — I know she doesn’t mean it to be mean, but it hurts.

I’m not special.

I’ve never been special.

But I wanted to be.