Wicked sorceress Cora must ruin someone's life before her eighteenth birthday or lose her magic forever, a task made tricky when she falls for her chosen victim.
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Cora Emerson is a magical misfortune who just can't get the hang of being a wicked...
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She couldn't wait until the end of the day, glorious freedom from the tyranny of high school.
When the last bell rang, she was with the throng of students hurrying down the steps of Thorne Point High. She didn't get to say goodbye to Eva, which she thought earned her zero points as her best friend but at least one point as a sorceress.
Eva might try to get her to stay for the Halloween dance, and she wasn't in the mood. She took the bus home, sitting across from a man who muttered to himself and a young mother, a plump, rosy-cheeked baby cradled in her lap.
Cora kept her gaze on the window until she'd reached her stop.
"Thank you, ma'am," she said to the bus driver and then gritted her teeth for being so polite. Her politeness would be the death of her magic. She wore it like a too tight bra and wished she could strip it off, unleashing her wickedness once and for all.
She had it in her, but she forgot herself sometimes. Who was she kidding? Most of the time.
On the short walk home, she repeated her mother's words in her head. The Emersons do not cower. How strange that phrase. It was certainly contradictory. All they did was cower. One day she would be sick of hiding who she really was, and maybe that day would come sooner than she'd hoped.
She walked with her head down, allowing herself to step on fallen leaves, how she used to as a child, still enjoying the way they crunched under her boots. It was the month of knitted scarves, mittens, cozy sweaters, coats lined with faux fur, peppermint and cinnamon hot chocolate, and dreary weather, all her favorite things. Still, she couldn't quiet her heart. By the time she got to the front gate of 4443 Hemlock Avenue, she still hadn't made up her mind about Beau.
She had only begun to trudge up the front steps when the door to 4445 opened. She paused without thinking. Out on the porch, Beau squinted into the afternoon sunlight as if for the first time being out in the sun all day. He scratched his cheek. A bit too small, the sleeves of his sweatshirt rode up his arms. A pair of worn basketball shorts sat low on his hips.
Gulping, Cora allowed her gaze to roam, taking in the tiny details of him, down to his scuffed sneakers. The laces were undone. She was aware that she was staring but, to be fair, all sorceresses needed to first examine their victims. For research of course. Weak spots. Flaws that might be useful later once she'd made up her mind. It was perfectly all right to stare and, who knew, her gaze alone might have been lethal.
She tilted her head, trying to glimpse the brand of his wristwatch. She couldn't see. Not that it mattered for her sake, unless it was an heirloom, and stealing it might make him spiral into a woeful state. She knew for a fact Willow kept a small box under her bed full of trinkets she'd stolen from her classmates, everything from fruity lip balms to locks of hair.
Her reasoning being, "You never know when you might need to curse someone."
