Witch Magic (The Cindy Chronicles)

by RaShelle Workman

  From a seemingly insignificant word comes the most magical of fairytales.

  Witch Magic (The Cindy Chronicles, Book One)

  Copyright © RaShelle Workman

  Polished Pen Press

  Digital Edition

  This book in its entirety is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the author, RaShelle Workman, P.O. Box Bountiful, UT. 84010.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by: Regina Wamba @ Mae I Design

  Design copyright @2013 RaShelle Workman

  Interior design by Novel Ninjutsu

  Cover

  Start Reading

  Afterword

  Additional Works by RaShelle Workman

  Indelibles Link

  About the Author

  Contact Information

  Copyright Information

  Table of Contents

  Even though this series is separate from Blood and Snow, I highly recommend you read that series first. Some of the same characters show up in the Cindy Chronicles, and I would hate to give anything away.

  If you haven’t read Blood and Snow, click HERE.

  Thank you!

  There are many people to thank: My critique partners, my fantabulous editor, MJ Heiser, those who’ve taken the time to be a part of creating Cinderella’s world with me and especially my husband and children.

  Thanks you! Thank you!

  A special thanks goes out to Cynthia Ann Powell and Kristie Davis Zapf. They had some great ideas with the creation of Leo, the gorgeous prince of Polonias.

  Another special thank you to Regina from Mae I Design for taking the vision for this series from my mind and making amazing covers.

  And last, but certainly not least, a thanks goes to Ali Cross for doing the brilliant formatting work. It adds more magic to the Cindy Chronicles world.

  If the world was created with a bang, then magic began with a whisper.

  The utterance of one word.

  Bloomous.

  That single declaration, articulated softly, started it all.

  Bloomous.

  It’s the reason I’m bound to a stake, fire licking at the tips of my shoes.

  Know this. I didn’t ask to be a witch. Up until three years ago I had no idea witches really existed. Turns out they do, and I am one. And that’s not even the weirdest part of my story.

  It all began with my best friend, Snow White. A Hunter bit her a few years ago. She was transformed into a revenant and finally became a vampire—the Vampire. Those events changed the course of not only her life, but mine as well.

  Before her fateful night and consequentially mine, my life consisted of hanging out, working at a local Italian restaurant, shopping, boys, and more shopping.

  No more though. Not since I went to Mizu to save Snow’s mother, Ariel, and had a vision… or a dream… or whatever you want to call it. In the dream, my “Fairy Godmother” told me about Polonias, a land I knew nothing about.

  Now I’m in said land, framed by the vile sorceress Mizrabel for crimes I didn’t commit. Bound by enchanted chords and condemned to a fate there’s no escaping.

  “Cinderella, by issue of King Loyalor, supreme ruler over the land of Polonias, you are hereby sentenced to burn at the stake until such time as you are dead.” The bulky guard reads from an unrolled parchment, his beefy fingers gripping it steadily. He glances at me. And through the billowing smoke, I hold his gaze. He clears his throat. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Only one word pops into my head. “Merde.” A curse word in French. One of my favorites. Truthfully the one I remember most often.

  The man rolls his eyes along with the parchment and steps off the podium into the noisy crowd.

  Some of the people are crying. Okay, one person is crying: my Fairy Godmother. Beside her, dabbing her bright lavender eyes with a hanky is my friend Violet. She’s a talking cat, specifically a talking spotted leopard. Yeah, I know. Bizarre. But it’s a fact.

  Next to her are two oversized brown bunnies with white ears. Each stands two-and-a-half feet tall. They also talk and spend some of their time as one five-foot-tall woodland fairy thanks to a spell gone wrong. At the moment they’re holding each other, bawling enthusiastically.

  Seeing them here, knowing they care, lifts my spirits. A little.

  The one person I wish was here isn’t and it breaks my heart. His name is Leo. He’s the king’s son. I’ll admit I have feelings for him, but never to his too-perfect face.

  Everyone else, including the fairies, the water sprites, and the gnomes, is screaming obscenities and throwing rotten fruit. At me. A tomato smacks me in the forehead and its juices leak into my eyes.

  Not my finest hour.

  At least I look gorgeous. Or I did, before the dumb guard lit the wood piled around my feet on fire with that stinking magical word. Bloomous.

  My Fairy Godmother, Quilla Templeton, created a strapless blue gown. The bodice fits perfect, and the gauzy skirts float around me like cotton candy. I magicked my favorite shoes, Manolo Blahniks, to Polonias so I could wear them with the dress. They match perfectly. I look perfect. Magnificent, in fact. Ready to go to a ball fit for a princess.

  At least I did. Leo was supposed to ask me something. I think I know what. Or I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.

  I never made it. And I haven’t seen Leo since yesterday.

  “Ugh,” I groan, searching beyond the upset crowd to the land beyond. Smoke washes out the landscape, but not enough to hide the colorful loveliness.

  I’m a little afraid. I’m not ready to die. But I don’t see a way out of my situation.

  Closing my eyes, I steady myself. If this is how it must end, then I’ll go gracefully. Frightened butterflies dance in my belly. Memories—some recent and some from long ago—careen across my mind. And I wonder if I could’ve done anything differently, something to prevent my demise. But as with any horrific event, my predicament is the culmination of many choices, each one pressing me forward to this fateful moment.

  It all began six months ago…

  I’d just changed into my periwinkle PJs and climbed into bed. My bedside table lamp still glimmered, casting shadows.

  “Diminius.” With the magic word, it went out.

  I tucked my sheet and comforter under my chin, the way I like it, and was about to close my eyes when a tiny red light flicked on above my head.

  “What?” Startled, I sat up and scooted toward my headboard. The light grew bigger and bigger. As it grew it moved toward the foot of my bed.

  An irritated female voice spoke. “Cinderella, it’s time. Polonias can’t wait any longer. The land needs you. All of its inhabitants need you.” She sneezed and the rosy light became the outline of a woman around my age. She had brown hair and an eclectic taste in clothing.

  Without thinking I pulled the comforter up past my nose. “Revealith,” I whispered, hoping the magic would show
me what she really was.

  “Tut, tut,” she quipped, then sneezed. “Knock it off with the magic. I’m allergic.”

  That made me laugh. “You’re allergic to what? Magic?” She reeked of it.

  “Well, yes. No need to be rude.” She tapped on the light blue lampshade next to my bed and it illuminated.

  I choked back more laughter. “Sorry.”

  The light around her diminished and she dropped lightly to my carpet. I let the comforter fall slightly. There didn’t seem to be anything malevolent about her. She was obviously some kind of witch, like me. Her fashion sense was a bit over the top, unlike me.

  She smoothed out her outlandish bright green dress. The sleeveless bodice sparkled with different colored gems, and the tulle skirt pooled out around her like an overripe tutu. Her legs were covered in black and lime green striped stockings, and she wore pointed black heels. Atop her curly brown hair sat a green and black hat, not pointed but fluffy like an old-fashioned artist’s hat. In front was a lovely gold and lime colored butterfly. It looked real, and I almost reached out to touch, but held back. The woman was tall, around Snow’s height. Her eyelashes were lined in green jewels that matched her eyes.

  “So what do you want?” I asked as I watched her reorganize herself.

  She sniffed but said nothing, then stuck her hands to her sides like she intended to walk on a tight rope. She jumped. When she came back down, her feet landed on the carpet with a thud.

  “Twixit.” She jumped up again. Again her feet returned to the ground with a thud.

  I was intrigued. Couldn’t help myself. She glanced at me from under her long, bejeweled lashes and jumped a third time.

  “Oh, for the love of butterflies!” She stomped around in a circle and pulled at her thickly fluffed skirt. The funky black and green hat on her head danced around precariously. I thought it would fall off, but it didn’t.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked, trying to contain my giggles.

  She huffed and said something, but I couldn’t understand her with her back to me. I watched her shoulders rise and fall. Then she turned. “Hi, I’m Quilla Templeton. Your fairy godmother. Maybe you remember me?” She stuck out one of fingerless gloved hands.

  I got on my knees and moved toward the edge of the bed. “Um, Quilla, is it?”

  She nodded, blowing her bangs off her forehead.

  I took her hand. “You seem young for a fairy godmother.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “It’s a title, Cinderella.” Her cheeks reddened. “I may be slightly older than you. We fairies age at a much slower rate than humans.” She pulled her hand away and stepped back.

  “If you’re a fairy, where are your wings?” I didn’t mean to sound presumptuous, but fairies were supposed to have them. That much I knew.

  Her cheeks got even redder. “Well, aren’t you just a tactless bundle of appalling manners?” She crossed her arms. I waited. “A mean and awful fairy by the name of Tinkerbell used magic to steal my wings.” Tears filled her eyes. “I haven’t been able to get them back.”

  “Is that why you can’t fly?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed. At least I figured that’s why she kept jumping up and down before. Quilla’s brows burrowed. It was obvious this line of questioning made her sad, but she had come into my room. A few questions wouldn’t hurt.

  Quilla growled, stomped around in another circle, and then stopped when she faced me. “I can fly just fine. Maybe not with my beautiful wings, but I’ve got magic nonetheless.”

  I leaned back. “So Quilla. What’s up?”

  She glanced at the ceiling. “A roof,” she said quickly.

  “Why are you here?” I tried again. Obviously Quilla wasn’t familiar with regular Salem, Massachusetts jargon.

  “Oh, right.” She snapped her fingers and sneezed. “You need to come to Polonias. It’s urgent, and only you can save the land and its people.”

  The words sounded rehearsed. I wasn’t buying it. “Right. And you’ve got some great property to sell me in Florida too. Am I right?” I winked.

  Her hands dropped to her sides. “Florida? No.” She shook her head. “Stop talking and listen.”

  I shrugged. “Bossing me isn’t helping any.”

  She glared. “May I?”

  “Continue,” I said, sarcastic.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Polonias is a land created by magic. It’s connected to this one, but doesn’t necessarily reside here. It’s Elsewhere, if you catch my meaning.” She looked at me hopefully.

  “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  “Ugh, this is ridiculous. The Croswells should be ashamed of themselves. They should’ve told you the truth when you received the Eye of Abernathy.” Quilla gave me a pointed look. “You’ve never heard of Polonias?”

  “The first time was when I had a vision or a dream or something a few months ago.”

  “Yes, that was me. We’ve been waiting for you to show up ever since. When you didn’t, King Loyalor sent me to find you and bring you back.” She walked over to my bookshelves, pulled a book, and turned it over. It must’ve been dusty because she blew on it. Dust sailed into the air. She didn’t sneeze.

  “Why me? How can I, a person who’s never heard of Polonias, been to Polonias, or knows a single thing about Polonias, be the one person to save it? Sound like a bunch of bull.”

  She gasped. “It. Is. Not. Bull,” she enunciated. “It may sound odd, but it’s true. You and you alone possess the keys necessary to save our land.”

  I snorted.

  “Don’t snort at me. It’s very unladylike.” She shoved the book back in its place and stomped over. She leaned down so our faces were aligned. “Are you going to help us or not, Cinderella?”

  I leaned in and touched her nose with mine. “No.”

  She pulled back. “Well, that’s just unacceptable!” She sputtered and threw her hands in the air. Glitter seemed to shoot from her fingertips, and she sneezed. “People will die! Lots of people. And other fairies, water sprites, and gnomes. They’ll die too.” She was out of control, flitting everywhere at once. “Do you want that on your conscience?”

  Of course I didn’t want anyone’s death on my conscience, but I didn’t believe for one second she was being serious. And the way the butterfly danced atop her head made me take her even less seriously.

  She stopped suddenly and looked at me. “You’re a disappointment!” With a quick lightning crackle and a sneeze she vanished.

  My light flicked off and I was alone.

  Timidly, in case she came back, I made my way under my covers, tucked them to my chin, and thought and thought and thought.

  Mostly I believed Quilla Templeton was nothing but a nuisance. Still a tiny speck in my brain wondered if she were telling the truth. The speck got bigger until I decided to talk to Professor Pops about it. Maybe he would know something about Polonias.

  The dream that night was surreal. I stood in the middle of a misty meadow. It was dark except for a pink moon hanging against the gray-violet sky. Gigantic black trees surrounded me. But it was silent. There wasn’t a swish of the tall grasses tickling my bare legs. Not a single leaf rustled. There wasn’t a breeze or even the tiniest sound of insects.

  Except my breathing.

  But I sensed someone was out there. Just beyond the tree line. Watching me. Waiting for something. Or maybe he was stalking me. Maybe I was his prey. I didn’t know.

  A figure stepped forward. Dark. Solitary. And I sucked in a breath. My heart rate sped up. I knew I should run. But my feet were planted to the spot. As though I were one of the tall grasses, unable to uproot myself.

  Five feet away, the figure stopped.

  I strained to catch a glimpse.

  Arms reached out. Grasping. As though it wanted to touch me, but couldn’t.

  A male voice whispered. “Come, Cinderella. I need you.”

  I was still hazy from the dream, but at least I showere
d and dressed. Presentable, my mother would say. I walked downstairs to the smell of coffee, blueberry muffins and bacon. My three favorite things. I was in my work uniform. Black pants. White shirt. Burgundy and black vest. Bertilinis recently made me an assistant manager.

  My mother was seated at the breakfast bar. She looked perfect. Her dyed blond hair done up in a twist. Fresh makeup. She wore a buttery satin, short-sleeve blouse, tan skirt, and nude heels.

  “Hi Mom.” I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She put a piece of grapefruit in her mouth and smiled, then gave me a once over with her hazel eyes.

  “Why are you still working at that job, Cin? I thought it was decided that once you graduated you’d quit. You don’t need it.” She pushed the grapefruit away and stood.

  And here we go, I thought, sitting on the chair next to the one she’d been sitting in. I sat my work apron on the counter and rested my chin on my palm. “You and dad decided. Not me. I like my job. It makes me feel…” I shrug. “Grounded. Normal. Like I belong.” The dream, and my visit with Quilla last night, seeped to the forefront of my mind. But I internally shook both away.

  My mom pulled bacon from the oven and placed two pieces on a plate next to a blueberry muffin. Then she slid the plate in front of me. “Why would you want to be normal? You aren’t. Witch or not. You’re a Croswell. We don’t do normal.” Her face lit up with a smile.

  I remembered what Quilla said last night. “The Croswells should be ashamed of themselves.” I was a Croswell wasn’t I? My aunt possessed magic. We had to be related, right? The thoughts tumbled around in my mind. Sure all families had secrets. But if I was adopted, well that was a big secret.

  “Cindy,” my mom barked.

  I glanced up, shoved my questions away, and took a bite of bacon. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom.” She hadn’t prepared it. I didn’t think my mom knew how to cook bacon, or muffins, or even coffee. She left everything domesticated to Alice, our housekeeper.