1. Chapter 1

1

Chapter 1

Rowan

" J ust one little spell. No biggie. I've got this." I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as I gather the ingredients. My cottage feels smaller than usual, cluttered with magical artifacts and spell books that suddenly make me feel like a fraud.

Imposter syndrome much?

"Come on, Rowan," I mutter to myself, "you can do this. It's just a simple protection charm. Easy peasy."

Poppy scampers across the table, knocking over a vial of crushed lavender. "Oops! Sorry, not sorry," she chirps, her bushy tail twitching with excitement. "Are you sure you want to use lavender? What about some nice acorns instead?"

I roll my eyes. "Poppy, for the last time, acorns aren't a substitute for every magical ingredient."

"Says you," she retorts, climbing up my arm to perch on my shoulder. "I still think they're underrated."

"That's because you're a squirrel." I huff out a breath, looking around. "You always think acorns are underrated."

Poppy ignores me. "Oh! Don't forget the moonstone. It's under that pile of books you knocked over yesterday."

" You knocked them over. And that pile of books happens to be the way I earn my living," I grumble, grateful I took a moment to tidy the bookkeeping ledgers that take up half of my dining room table.

"Me. You. Same thing." Poppy is remorseless, eyeing me as I fumble through the piles of paperwork. "If that moonstone were a snake, it would've bit you, filed your taxes, and gone on vacation by now. I can see it right under that black file."

"Thanks," I grumble, fishing out the smooth, iridescent stone. "At least you're good for something."

Poppy swats the back of my head. "I'm good for lots of things. Like reminding you that your client will be here in five minutes, and you haven't even lit the candles yet."

"Crap!" I scramble to arrange the candles in a circle, my hands shaking slightly as I light each one. "Why did I agree to this? I'm going to mess it up, just like always."

"Hey, don't talk like that." Poppy's tone softens. "You've got this. Just…maybe don't set anything on fire this time?"

I snort, despite my anxiety. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

As I finish my preparations, I can't help but glance out the window toward my parents' house. Its normal, upmarket suburban appearance belies the powerful witches who live there. Witches whose power I should have running in my blood. I swallow hard, pushing down the familiar feeling of inadequacy.

"Okay, Rowan," I tell myself firmly. "You can do this. It's just one spell. How hard can it be?"

A knock at the door makes me jump, nearly knocking over a vial of rosemary oil. I smooth a hand over a wave of auburn hair, tucking a stray strand behind my ear.

"Coming!" I call, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat and try again. "Just a moment!"

Poppy scampers to the windowsill. "Ooh, she looks fancy. Better put on your game face, Ro!"

I take a deep breath, steadying myself and plastering on what I hope is a confident smile as I open the door.

"Welcome," I say, ushering in a well-dressed woman in her forties. "Please, come in. I'm Rowan Blackwood."

The client steps inside, her eyes darting around the cluttered cottage. "I'm Margaret. I heard you might be able to help me with…a tricky matter."

"Of course," I nod, gesturing to a chair. "Please, have a seat. Can I offer you some tea?"

Margaret shakes her head, perching on the edge of the chair. "No, thank you. I'd rather get straight to business, if you don't mind."

"Certainly," I say, sitting across from her. My hands fidget in my lap, and I force them still. "What can I help you with today?"

Margaret lowers her voice. "I've lost something very important to me. A family heirloom – a locket that used to belong to my husband's grandmother. He'll kill me if he finds out it's gone. I've searched everywhere, but it's just…vanished. I was hoping you might be able to use your…abilities to help me find it."

I nod, trying to look sage and mysterious. From the expression on Margaret's face, I'm not succeeding, so I try a smile instead. "A locator spell. Yes, I can certainly help with that."

Poppy chooses that moment to leap onto the table between us, causing Margaret to gasp as she drops an acorn onto the table between us.

Dammit, Poppy!

I laugh nervously, shooing Poppy away. "Sorry about that. My familiar can be a bit…enthusiastic."

Margaret eyes Poppy warily. "Is that…a squirrel?"

"Yes, she is," I say, feeling my cheeks flush. Most witches get sleek black cats or majestic owls. Me…I get this. "Poppy's quite talented, actually. She has a knack for finding things."

"Right," Margaret says, looking unconvinced. "Well, can you help me or not?"

I straighten up, pushing my insecurities aside. "Absolutely. A locator spell is well within my capabilities. We'll have your locket found in no time." Poppy makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a disbelieving snort, but I don't look her way.

I take a deep breath, centering myself as I prepare to cast the locator spell. Margaret watches expectantly, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Poppy perches on a nearby shelf, her beady eyes fixed on me.

"Okay," I say, trying to sound confident. "Let's begin."

I close my eyes, focusing on the energy around me. The words of the spell flow from my lips, my hands moving in intricate patterns. At first, everything seems to be going smoothly. I can feel the magic building, a tingling sensation spreading through my fingertips. It's just a tiny twinge, but that's more than I'm used to.

Then, without warning, things start to go sideways.

A sudden burst of sparks erupts from the candles, causing Margaret to yelp in surprise. I stumble over my words, trying to regain control, but it's too late. Objects around the room begin to levitate unpredictably – books, vials, even Margaret's purse.

"Is this…normal?" Margaret asks, her voice rising in pitch as she ducks to avoid a floating teacup.

"Absolutely!" I lie, frantically trying to remember the correct gestures to stabilize the spell. "It's all part of the process!"

"I don't give a damn about witches." The voice comes out of nowhere; it's a deep baritone with the slightest hint of an accent, and I freeze, momentarily confused. The teacup drops out of the air and clatters onto the table.

"That's not what I said, dammit!" It's the voice again.

"What on earth…?" blurts Margaret, jerking away from the hot contents that splatter as the cup lands.

"Oops!" I clap a hand over my mouth. "Sorry, just a small technical glitch."

"Technical glitch?" Margaret's brows draw together. "I thought this was magic."

"Yes, of course, of course! Sometimes it's just a matter of…um…realigning the um…chakras…" I babble, gathering my wits and refocusing my attention on the tingling in my fingertips.

Chakras? Seriously, Rowan? Magic doesn't work that way.

Relax. She doesn't know that.

I keep waving my hands, feeling the power building. An image starts to form in my mind. An oval cameo that—

"You are out of your fucking mind!"

"What?" I swivel my head in confusion, then glare at my familiar. "Poppy, this isn't the time!" I really don't need more of her high jinks right now. But Poppy looks just as startled as I feel, her little paws clasped in front of her. The teacup is back in the air, this time accompanied by a vase and several jars filled with herbs.

Margaret's eyes are wide with alarm. "What's happening?"

"It's, uh, all part of the process," I stammer. My fingers tremble a little as I push my glasses up where they've slipped onto the bridge of my nose. I grit my teeth to steady my hands, reaching for the moonstone as Poppy rolls it in front of me. As soon as my fingers touch it, a surge of energy courses through me. The levitating objects spin faster, creating a whirlwind in my tiny cottage.

Shit!

Poppy leaps from her perch toward the spell ingredients. She collides with a vial of glittering powder, sending it flying. The powder explodes in a cloud of shimmering dust, coating everything – including a very startled Margaret – in a layer of sparkling residue.

"Oh my God," Margaret sputters, spitting out glitter. "What kind of witch are you?"

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, the magical energy coalesces into a swirling vortex. It spins faster and faster, sucking in loose papers and small objects. Margaret shrieks, clutching her chair as it starts to slide towards the magical whirlwind.

"Don't worry!" I shout over the din. "I've got this under control!"

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know I'm in way over my head. The spell has taken on a life of its own, and I have no idea how to stop it.

I watch in horror as the magical vortex continues to spin, sweeping up everything in its path. Suddenly, the energy coalesces around Margaret, and with a bright flash, she turns a vibrant shade of navy blue from head to toe.

"What in the world?" Margaret shrieks, staring at her hands in disbelief. Then, without warning, she starts hiccupping uncontrollably.

I clap a hand over my mouth, torn between horror and hysterical laughter. "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry! I can fix this, I swear!"

"Fix this?" She's half-standing now, eyes wide with horror. "I'm blue! "

"It's all good…just give me a moment to—"

Just then, the door bursts open, and my father rushes in. "Rowan, what on earth is going on here? I felt the magical disturbance from—"

"This is fucking ridiculous!" The deep, accented voice echoes in my head again, startling me. In my surprise, I accidentally flick my wrist, sending a burst of magical energy toward my father.

With a pop and a flash, Dad turns the same shade of navy blue as Margaret.

Freaking fairy dust!

"Rowan!" he exclaims, looking down at his now-blue hands in shock.

I let out a strangled laugh, which quickly turns into a panicked squeak. "Dad! I'm so sorry! I don't know what's happening!"

Margaret, still hiccupping, turns to my father with fury in her eyes. "Mr. Blackwood! hic What kind of hic operation are you running hic here?"

My father, ever the diplomat, manages to keep his composure despite his new hue. "I assure you, Mrs…?"

"Hen- hic -derson," she supplies between hiccups. She's standing straight now, bristling with outrage. "My hic yoga instructor said I hic hic should come to you hic . I can see it was a big hic mistake!"

"Mrs. Henderson," Dad continues smoothly, "this is merely a small mishap. I can rectify the situation immediately if you'll allow me."

"As long as it doesn't involve having that…that…" Margaret glares at me, " lunatic anywhere near me!"

My cheeks flame, and I gnaw at my lip. "I'm really very sorry." My voice is small.

"Now, now, Mrs. Henderson, I assure you that there's nothing to worry about." As my father begins to work his magic, I notice Poppy inching toward the door. "Oh no, you don't," I mutter, reaching out to grab her. Pop! Flash! Poppy leaps into the air, leaving me staring in alarm at her bushy tail…which I've just turned into a bunch of bluebells.

"What the hell?! You've turned me into a freaking floral arrangement!" Poppy lets out a squeak of alarm and bolts out the door, leaving a trail of petals behind her.

"Poppy, wait!" I call after her, but she's already gone.

My father finishes his spell, returning Margaret to her normal color and stopping her hiccups. He shoots a look at me that says, "We'll talk about this later," and escorts her out of the cottage, leaving me alone in the chaos of my failed spell.

I slump into a chair, pushing my glasses onto the top of my head and burying my face in my hands. "Oh, God," I groan into my palms. "Why do I even try?"

Because I have to, that's why. Because I'm a Blackwood. And because there's a gaping hole in our family that needs to be filled ever since—

A hand on my shoulder has me raising my head. Dad is standing beside me, his expression a mix of concern and amusement. "I've placed a small charm on Mrs. Henderson. She won't remember the…incident." He huffs a sigh. "She shouldn't have gotten our details in the first place. This is not the kind of magic we specialize in."

"Dad, I'm so sorry. I don't know what went wrong." I'm fighting back tears.

He sits beside me, patting my shoulder gently. "It's alright, Rowan. These things happen. But perhaps…it might be best to practice a bit more before taking on clients."

I nod miserably. "What did I do wrong?"

"Well," he says, examining the spell components scattered around the room, "it looks like you muddled up some of the ingredients. And I'd say you switched a few verses of the spell around, turning a locator spell into a color hex."

I groan, feeling utterly mortified. "I'm such a failure."

"No, you're not," my father says firmly. "You'll figure it out when you're ready." His tone is gentle, but I'm smart enough to read between the lines. Kara could do this stuff before she was even thirteen. I'm twice that age now and still can't figure it out. But then again, is it my fault that my kid sister is some sort of magical genius? She may be a couple of years younger than me, but she's already mastered some of the arts that take most sorcerers decades to grasp. And as for Mia, she would have—

I stop that thought in its tracks. It makes my heart hurt.

"You'll get there, Ro-Ro." Dad shoulder-bumps me. "Now, let's see about fixing my complexion, shall we?" He glances down at his sapphire blue nails and gives a wry smile. Even his hair has a blue tint to its usual slate gray tone. "I look like a smurf!"

I manage a choked laugh at his attempt at humor, but it's a short-lived attempt.

As Dad leaves, I survey the mess that is my cottage. Broken vials, scattered herbs, and glitter everywhere – it looks like a shimmering disaster zone. With a heavy sigh, I start tidying up, my mind replaying the catastrophe over and over.

I'm halfway through clearing the rubble when I hear another knock at the door. My stomach drops.

Please don't let it be another client.

"Coming!" I call out, trying to sound cheerful despite my frayed nerves. I open the door to find Kara standing there, her perfect dark eyebrows raised as she takes in my disheveled appearance.

"Rough day?" she asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

I sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair. "You could say that."

Kara's eyes widen as she surveys the chaos of my cottage. "Wow, Ro. What happened here? It looks like a magical tornado hit."

"Pretty much," I mutter, grabbing a broom to sweep up some of the glitter. "I tried a locator spell for a client. It…didn't go well."

Kara's lips twitch like she's trying not to laugh. "I can see that. I'm guessing something turned blue?"

I groan. "How did you know?"

She looks around the room, and I notice for the first time that all the fruit in the bowl on the kitchen counter are bright blue, as are the roses in the vase on my dining room table. "Just a guess." She points to a spot on my cheek. "You've got some blue glitter right there."

I rub at my face, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck. "Great. Just great."

Kara's expression softens. "Hey, it's okay. We all have off days."

"Yeah, but your off days don't involve turning clients blue and giving them uncontrollable hiccups," I grumble.

My sister laughs, then quickly stifles it when she sees my face. "Sorry. It's just… Hiccups? Really?"

I can't help but crack a small smile. "Yeah. It was a freaking disaster."

Kara rolls up her sleeves. "Well, let me help you clean up. Then maybe we can go over that locator spell together."

As Kara and I clean, I hear a familiar chittering at the window. Poppy's back, her flowery tail swishing behind her as she scampers inside.

"Oh, thank goodness," I sigh. "Poppy, I'm so sorry about your tail."

"Sorry? I don't think sorry cuts it this time!" Poppy shoots me a glare, her little paws twisting in front of her. I reach for her, but she darts away, clearly not in a forgiving mood.

"Here, let me try to fix it," I say, raising my hands.

"Oh, hell no!" Poppy's eyes widen in alarm, and she leaps behind a stack of books.

Kara chuckles. "Maybe I should handle this one, sis."

I slump, nodding. "Yeah, you're probably right."

With a graceful wave of her hand, Kara murmurs a spell. In an instant, Poppy's tail returns to its usual bushy state. She inspects it, then gives a satisfied nod.

"There," Kara says. "Good as new."

"Thanks," I mutter, feeling a familiar pang of inadequacy.

Poppy simply glares at me, her expression accusatory.

"Hey, don't blame me!" I retort, feeling my patience waning. "If you hadn't been fooling around and distracting me with those funny voices, none of this would have happened!"

Poppy tilts her head, looking confused. "Voices?"

"Don't play innocent," I say. "I heard you. That deep voice with the accent? ‘That's not what I said, damn you!' Remember?"

Poppy shakes her head vigorously, looking genuinely perplexed. "Honey, if I could do accents, I'd be in Hollywood, not stuck in this magical circus you call a cottage."

"What are you talking about, Ro?" Kara asks, pausing in her cleaning.

I frown, suddenly uncertain. "I… I heard a voice. During the spell. It wasn't Poppy?"

Kara and Poppy exchange a look. "I didn't hear anything," Poppy insists. "Seriously. It wasn't me."

I shake my head, trying to clear it. "But I'm sure I heard…something. Someone."

They're staring at me now. "Um…maybe it was um…your imagination? You know how our heads can play tricks on us when we're under pressure." Kara gives a small smile.

She doesn't believe me. Neither does Poppy. And now I'm starting to wonder if I imagined it, too.

Did I?

But it was so clear!

"I…I guess," I mumble, feeling like an idiot.

Great. Not only does my magic suck, but now I'm losing my mind.