Kathleen Bullock
Copyright © 2015 by Kathleen Bullock
Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.
Spencer Hill Press Middle Grade:
An imprint of Spencer Hill Press, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
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Bullock, Kathleen, 1946
Almost Magic: a novel / by Kathleen Bullock - 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-939392-11-4 paperback
ISBN: 978-1-939392-12-1 ebook
Summary: A twelve-year old girl is plagued by visits from weird creatures.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: Cheez Whiz, Honda Civic, Mazda, Miss Piggy, Tinker Bell
Cover design and interior illustrations by Kathleen Bullock
Interior layout by Jennifer Carson
Printed in the United States of America
This book is for Anna, Beth, Maegan, and Crissy, my favorite witches in the whole world—and especially for Noreen.
Dear Journal,
My name is Apple and I am a wizard. I prefer to think of myself as a witch, but my big sister Cornelia is waging a one-woman campaign to combine all witches, warlocks, and sorcerers under the label “wizard.” She says the witch word tends to have a bad rep with Ordinary people, and wizard sounds more important. Her campaign hasn’t caught on with the rest of the Magicals yet, but knowing my sister as I do, I’m getting prepared.
My full name is Apollonia Louise Bramblewood and I’m twelve and a half years old. My mother named me Apollonia after an ancient Greek sorceress. Mom, an artist, spent the months before my birth eating apples and painting nothing but pictures of apples, so when I came along, it seemed right to call me Apple for short. Cornelia was born when Mom was painting pictures of corn. We call my sister Corny. She hates that.
Just to be honest from the start, I have to admit that I’m probably the most untalented twelve-year-old wizard girl in the universe. None of the spells or incantations I try ever work out quite the way they should. And I really, really try. It’s as if I have this space in my brain where the spell gets jumbled up every time. If I didn’t have Wanda (my wand), I’m not sure I could legitimately call myself a wizard/witch at all.
Even with Wanda’s help, things can go wrong. You see, Wanda is a very ancient, old-fashioned, and persnickety sort of wand. She’s been in the Bramblewood family for eons and was expected to go to the first-born sister, Cornelia. But Corny had different ideas. She chose Artemis, a modern, up-to-date super-wand, and left Wanda to me. Poor old thing. I’ve been a great disappointment to her. Just last week—No, I don’t think I’ll talk about that incident. There are plenty of other, more interesting things to write about. (Anyway, I’m learning to like my hair this way, even the scorched bits.)
A lot of weird and peculiar things keep happening to me. I had a talking beetle when I was younger. He lived in a crack under my bed and bugged me every night with mournful tales about his life. Apparently, he just needed someone to talk to, but it’s awfully hard to get a good night’s sleep with a sad beetle whispering in your ear. He clammed up when anyone else was around. Mom and Dad thought it was cute that I had such an interesting imaginary friend.
And then there was the ghost fox that no one else could see. He invaded our chicken coop at night, but he never caught one until Henny died of old age. Then he finally had a ghost chicken to chase. When I tried to tell my family, they thought I was just being imaginative again.
Over the years I’ve spotted many odd creatures in our forest—an Alicorn, a Barbegazi, a Fenodyree, and a Kobol. These creatures are so unusual I had to look up their names in the Encyclopedia of Magical Folklore! I think now, if I’d seen only one apparition, my family would have taken me more seriously—instead they listened with bemused grins and encouraged me to take up creative writing.
I’ve thought a lot about these encounters. Why do weird creatures always come to me?
I’ve never heard of any other wizard having such bad luck.
CHAPTER ONE
I stared at my arm. I had time on my hands. Literally.
In a failed attempt to impress my folks by shooting fireworks from my fingertips (supposedly a kid-friendly spell), I shot a backward spark that fused my new plastic rainbow-colored watch to my wrist. It stung like crazy, looked ridiculous, and made me feel more stupid than usual as we waited for Dr. DeCharmer, our family’s Magician Physician, to make a house call. I’m not really sure why he was the only one who could perform a reverse-spell to undo the damage. I suspect my mother and father were trying to make a point about the consequences of using magic without knowing how to fix the mistakes. Calling the doctor was like rubbing it in.
My sister Corny smirked (but only behind our parents’ backs). She, of course, would never cast a spell that left her wrist deformed for a whole week. Cornelia, it must be said, is practically perfect. (I said practically.) Not only is she smart, but she’s tall and beautiful—the total opposite of me. The definition of perfect in the Compleat Sorcery Handbook (pub. 1432 AD) describes Corny “to a nicety,” as my great-aunt Wisteria would say. “P.E.R.F.E.C.T—Perseverant; Evenhanded; Resourceful; Faithful; Empathetic; Courageous; and Trustworthy.”
Cornelia has never messed up (at least publicly) in her entire life. Because she’s so capable, my parents allow her to go to high school in town with the Ordinary kids. Following in her footsteps has become the most passionate goal of my life. Some wizards think mixing with Ordinaries (as we call them) is a horrible mistake. But the alternatives for me are dreadful—either perpetual home-schooling and isolation on Cashel Mountain (meaning no friends), or Miss Ridingcrop’s Boarding School for Refined Young Witches, an institution that hasn’t changed since tall pointed hats were in style.
“If Corny gets to go to school in town, why can’t I?”
“Your sister Corny is an expert in the many intricacies of Spellcraft and has proven herself to be an extraordinary scholar as well. She earned the right to go to a non-magical high school. You, my beloved younger daughter—” Grizzwald, my dad, always smiles patiently at this point and looks at me with loving acceptance. “You have other gifts. We may not recognize them yet—but I guarantee you have them. All the Bramblewoods do.”
I was tired of waiting for my Bramblewood DNA to kick in. I was already at an age where my magical gifts should be making themselves known. Not only am I without any particular talent, but every loud, messy, stinky, unusual, or clumsy thing that can find me usually does. My mother and father promised that I might get to go to a real school in the fall if I study hard enough to pass the state’s Academic Requirements test and master at least one Level-A wizarding skill to perfection.
With a deep sigh, I checked my wrist. At least the watch still worked, and it was time to take a break from my home-school studies. I grabbed an apple from the basket on the kitchen table and strolled out of the house and down through the woods to my private spot on Trickle Creek.
It was a quiet day. My father was busy in his workshop inventing something. Most wizards are impressed to learn that he was the one who invented the retractable wand—everybody has one—and the napkin tie (not quite as popular). Mom was
in her studio finishing a painting for the new wing at Rest-A-Spell, the old witches’ retirement home. My mother, in addition to painting fruit and vegetables for pleasure, does portraits for other wizards and the occasional Ordinary person. Corny, naturally, was off having fun at school with her millions of friends.
I sat on a log near the water’s edge and dangled my feet as I munched my apple. Sunlight streamed through dappled leaves, and insects droned a late-spring song. With heavy-lidded eyes, I watched the minnows play. The world seemed so calm and serene in our forest. Would anybody notice if I played hooky and stayed there all day?
A glimpse of purple flashed in the distance. I flipped my head to the right. No one was there, and yet I was sure I’d seen something.
Then I heard the giggles.
Ah ha! Someone was in our woods. The noise had come from around the bend.
I plopped into the water. The cold river was shocking at first, but the goose bumps didn’t last. I snapped an overhanging branch to use as a walking stick as I waded.
When I rounded the bend, I found a little girl sitting on a grassy bank serving tea to china dolls. Her dark hair was bobbed, and she wore a huge purple bow on top of her head and a delicate white lace dress and button shoes. Her outfit seemed sort of old-fashioned to me. Cute, though. “Hello,” I said.
The child looked up and giggled. She clapped her small plump hands. “Goody! We have company, daughters. And just in time for tea.”
I climbed onto the bank beside her and stretched. A fresh breeze tickled the tiny wet hairs on my legs as I twisted excess water from the hem of my shorts. I wondered how the little girl had gotten here.
“My name is Apple. What’s yours?”
As expected, my name set off a fresh bout of giggles. “Mine is Norafina Nebb. But you can call me Nora.”
“That’s a pretty name. Where’s your mom, Nora?” I looked around. “She must not know this is private property.”
The little girl blinked and the corners of her mouth drooped. “My mama passed when I was born.” Her eyes were huge and hazel-green. “And I know better than you whose property this is. My Granny and I live in the blue house yonder with the steeple and the dragon weathervane.”
I laughed. “Try again. That’s my house.”
Nora jumped up and stamped her foot. “No, it isn’t–isn’t–isn’t! That’s my Granny Nebb’s house.”
I started to argue, but then I remembered—our house had once belonged to a family named Nebb. I snapped my fingers—the old witch who sold the house to my father was probably the little girl’s granny.
“I’ll bet you used a Wishing Spell to get here, thinking this was still your granny’s house, right?” Nora didn’t look much older than six, an age when anyone can get confused. I remembered it well. But there was something odd about the little girl showing up in our woods—I couldn’t quite figure it out. “Granny Nebb doesn’t live here anymore. Can you remember where you live?”
“Silly! I told you, I live here, of course.” She started to giggle, but changed her mind and narrowed her eyes. “And you don’t!” Then she erupted in smiles again and held up a doll-sized dish. “Did you know that I’m very good at conjuring macaroons and peppermint sticks?” The treats magically appeared on the plate. “But Granny says I’m never to talk to strangers in our forest, and never to use magic without a grown-up near.” Her eyes grew round with worry and the treats disappeared.
“Delores, Esmeralda, Delphinia—we’d better go.” The little girl stood up quickly and the dolls flew into her arms. The picnic cloth folded and the tiny dishes stacked themselves inside her basket.
“Where are you going?” I didn’t like the thought of little Nora transporting home alone—magic or not.
“I’m going the way I came.” The little girl fiddled with the white stones on the necklace she wore. “She’s waiting.”
“Who’s waiting?” I gestured through the trees at the peaked roof of our hilltop home. Corny’s pet pigeons circled against the blue sky. “My mother is Magdella Bramblewood. She’s a sorceress. She’ll know how to send you home.”
I turned back toward Nora, but the tiny girl had vanished. Hmmm. Well, she was quick and efficient, wasn’t she? A pang of jealousy made my stomach churn. Even Nora could perform magic better than I could. Glancing at my watch, I saw my free hour had flown away.
“A little Witch, you say?” My father nibbled at the drumstick Cornelia had made of soy, twelve vitamins and minerals, corn meal, and magic. She had recently converted to vegetarianism and our parents always indulged her whims. We’d all be vegetarians for as long as she was.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a lost Ordinary child?”
“Emphatically!” (My vocabulary word for the day—I liked the sound of it.) “Only a witch could have conjured a macaroon. And peppermint sticks. She was dressed in an old-fashioned costume—like for a play. But she was emphatic that our house belonged to her Granny Nebb.”
My mother raised a finger. “Believe it or not, old Witch Nebb is still alive, and coincidentally, she lives at the retired witches’ home where I’m going to hang my new painting. Why don’t we visit her tomorrow afternoon, Apple, and ask about her granddaughter? I suspect the child may be suffering from Wish Delusions and could need our help.”
I nodded. It sure sounded better than the math quiz she’d promised. Maybe Mom would forget all about it… Yeah, like the day three little pigs fly.
My dad finished off his soy drumstick and twirled eggplant pasta around his fork. “Very tasty, Corny. Those home-ec classes at the high school have really served you well. Ha! Ha!”
I tried not to snort pasta up my nose. My father loves silly puns.
Corny tossed her long golden curls and licked a crumb from her little finger. “I added my own secret ingredient, of course, Pop.” She winked. “Miss Stirwell thinks I’m a shoo-in to win first prize at the County Fair Cook-off this summer.”
I fiddled with my pasta and mumbled. “Sounds like cheating to me.”
“What?” my dad asked.
“A-hem.” I cleared my throat. “I said, sounds like good eating to me.”
The next day at noon, I ran down to the creek, hoping to see the little girl again, and wasn’t disappointed. Nora appeared dressed as before, with her dolls and her tea things around her. The child giggled (what else?) and clapped her hands. “Goody! We have company, daughters,” she said. “Just in time for tea.”
A feeling of déjà vu swept over me. “Hello, Norafina.”
The girl tossed her silky brown bobbed hair. “How do you know my name?”
“We met yesterday. Don’t you remember?”
“Yesterday was my birthday. Granny Nebb gave me a wonderful party. And you were not there.” She dropped her chin and touched the necklace at her throat. “Look what she gave me! Isn’t it bee-yoo-tiful?”
“Yes, very.” The string of white stones glowed when the girl touched them, and I felt that tingle you get around powerful magic. “Perhaps you shouldn’t wear it when you play?”
“I will! I will. I will—if I want to.” Her eyes teared and her body shook.
“Whoa, settle down.” I put up my hands. “It was just a suggestion. I’d hate for you to lose it.” I squinted over the treetops at the roof of my house. Maybe Nora would come up to the house with me if I asked her in the right way. “Is Granny Nebb at home today? Will you take me up to meet her?”
I wasn’t trying to fool her; I just wanted to help break the Wish Delusion spell she was under.
Nora jumped to her feet. “No time! I have to go. She needs me!” She packed her things magically fast and disappeared into the thick brush of the forest.
“Well!” I rubbed my nose. Mother and I were going to visit Granny Nebb at the home that afternoon. Maybe we’d learn something helpful.
The corridor at the Rest-A-Spell retirement home was eerily quiet. I peeked around the open door at the still figure on the bed. Old Witch Nebb seemed to be sleeping.
>
Nurse Clarian clasped her hands sadly. “I’m so sorry you won’t be able to talk to her. Nebby’s been in a transcendent state since last Thursday. She mutters in her sleep sometimes, but never wakes.” The nurse sniffled into a tissue. “She’s already started to fade. The toes are nearly gone! The poor old thing. Always a joy to be around. Doctor thinks she’ll fade out altogether in a few days.”
I was surprised by the nurse’s emotion. Granny Nebb must be special.
My mother patted the young nurse’s hand. “I know it’s hard, Nurse Clarian, but you’re doing the best you can for her. Tell me, does Witch Nebb have any relatives? A granddaughter, or great-granddaughter, perhaps?”
“Oh dear, I couldn’t say. No one ever visits, that’s for sure. I assumed she was alone in the world, but I know very little about her past.”
I was puzzled. What could have happened to separate Witch Nebb from her family? Somehow, I knew I was meant to find Nora in the forest and bring the two together again—before it was too late.
“May I go in and see her for a minute?” I asked. “I’ll be very, very still.”
Mom looked reluctant. “Oh, I don’t know, Apple. Maybe you shouldn’t.”
Nurse smiled. “Of course she can. Take her hand and let her know you’re here. Deep down, she’ll appreciate it.”
The room was full of shadows, the kind that danced around the walls and made a person feel there’s something hovering just out of sight. I put up the window shade and let sunlight fall across the sleeping witch’s toeless feet.
After a moment of hesitation, I picked up the cool, frail hand.
The old woman’s lips moved. Her eyes bounced around behind closed lids. She was dreaming. Suddenly, she began to speak in a rusty old voice. “Delores, Esmeralda, Delphinia, more tea? Look what Granny gave me for my birthday! I wasn’t s’posed to wear it, but I must, must, must! We’ll take very good care of it, won’t we?”
A wild notion that little Nora wasn’t what she seemed to be bounced through my brain. I leaned very close and whispered. “Who is Norafina Nebb?”
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