*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*
*The following is an excerpt from an upcoming release, Genevieve and the Cursed Locket, available next year. You can check out other parts to this story here and here.*
Compared to our house, the Nigari house was like traveling a century into the future. All you could see when you came up to their front door was glass, covering nearly every inch of the exterior. Their walls were as plain, except for the perfectly measured picture frames that showed off their family: Kyle, Nikita, Thomas, and his older sister, Lula. Everything about their house screamed the Jetsons to me.
“Now as discussed, we are going over transformation spells today,” Grandma announced as she stood in front of a rather large blackboard. Chalk behind her moved on its own, etching TRANSFORMATION SPELLS to the top in giant block letters, then striking a bullet point just below it. “Can anyone tell me some things to consider when casting a transformation spell?” My hand shot in the air, making Grandma smirk the slightest.
“You must remain focused on the entire image of whatever it is you’d like to transform into. Or else it can go terribly wrong,” I muttered, remembering some of the first instances I discovered my unique abilities. Mom flipped when she saw me running through the house at four years old with furry ears and a tail, hissing and attempting to claw anyone that got in my way.
“Correct,” Grandma nodded and turned back to the blackboard as the chalk wrote down must remain focused on complete image. Then the chalk paused and Grandma turned back to us. “Now, you all know that transformation into various animals is a rare talent, and not many of us can do it. So tonight, we are going to be working on transforming ordinary objects into useful objects. Once you have mastered that, we can work on changing objects into animals.”
“Sweet,” Isaac mumbled under his breath next to me, eyes wide and focused in on Grandma, who was monitoring the chalk’s performance as it wrote down transformation of ordinary objects onto the board and then dropped to the gutter of the chalkboard with a soft plop.
“Who wants to go first?” Grandma offered, pulling out her own wand. I removed mine from its place tucked in my boot, as did everyone else follow in retrieving theirs. Thomas, the youngest of us all, stood up without hesitation. “Thomas, why don’t you try to change this pencil into a knife?” Thomas nodded, aiming his wand at the pencil and staring at it, lying on the table, with enough concentration to burst a blood vessel. Then, slowly, the pencil’s orange coating disappeared, the lead brightened and stiffened, and a butter knife sat on the table, softly clanking as it finally finished morphing to its new shape.
“Great work,” Lula said as she stood up, coming to the other side of the table. “Should I change it back, Anita?”
“Yes, we will take turns changing it back,” Grandma responded to Anita, glancing over to Isaac, Andie, and I. She motioned with a hand for us to join the table. I watched as Lula, without too much difficulty, reverted the knife back to a pencil.
Isaac held his hand wand above the pencil, reversing it once more. Then I did the honors, pulling my wand back when the task was finished and it was Andie’s turn. She smirked as she held her wand up, taking a deep breath. The pencil quivered under her grasp, but it wasn’t showing the first signs of transforming as it did with everyone else. The yellow turned into a dark green, thickening and lengthening, and two beady eyes appeared where the lead should have been. Thomas screeched as a snake lept off the table. Andie’s eyes widened and she looked about as terrified as everyone else.
“Everyone stop!” Grandma shouted as everyone dove under the table, tracking the snake’s whereabouts as it slithered under the circle of chairs set up in the Nigaris basement. Mr. Nigari, a tall Japanese man, stopped at the foot of the stairs after he came to check on the noise. He whipped out his own wand.
“Reverte,” he said sternly and the snake shook, then shrunk back into nothing but a pencil. Grandma glanced over to Andie for an explanation as Mr. Nigari retrieved the pencil.
“My mind wandered. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to do that,” she said sheepishly as her cheeks turned a vibrant red. Grandma held out her hand and helped everyone out from under the table.
“There have been worse things to happen. Don’t you worry,” she reassured Andie, even though I was still shaking like a Chihuahua and would rather face the Perdita than a snake loose in casting club.
“I can see the lessons are going great,” Mr. Nigari said as he handed Grandma back the pencil. Grandma nodded.
“Their abilities surpass those of others of their age, that’s for sure. And the more they master now, the better they will fare later,” Grandma told Mr. Nigari. He nodded in agreement and took a look at everyone. Andie still sheepishly stood next to me, slightly cowering behind her twin brother, while Mr. Nigari’s kids stood upright and as enthusiastic as ever.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure everything was alright after I heard the scream. I’ll see you guys upstairs for dinner afterwards,” Mr. Nigari said, turning on his heels and heading up the stairs once more. Sighing, I turned back to Grandma, who was already heading back for the board.
“Now, we have mastered pencils and butter knives. Let’s see how you do with a cup and a bathtub,” she began. I glanced over to my cousins, who seemed about as bewildered and slightly bored as I was. But, I still felt a smile creep onto my face, imagining that even on evenings where we were turning cups into bathtubs, it was still way better than sitting in biology and learning about cellular reproduction.
About half an hour later, we’d turned everything from toothpicks into swords. Thomas and Lula were complaining about their hunger, but I was curious for more. We’d just touched the tip of the iceberg with transformation spells!
“That’ll be all for tonight. An hour of transforming things is about as exhausting as running a mile,” Grandma offered with a grin. Thomas and Lula mumbled their thank yous and scurried upstairs. Isaac and Andie headed after them and looked back to me to join them. Grandma caught my wrist before I could join them.
“I just need to speak to Genevieve a moment,” she told my cousins, whom nodded and jogged up the stairs to the smell of Chicken Parmesan. When neither of us could hear footsteps, Grandma finally spoke. “Have you been practicing?”
“Yes,” I told her, knowing without any questions what she meant. Grandma raised an eyebrow.
“How long does it take now?” She asked me, both curious and as serious as she got when she talked to the adults about the war.
“Less than five seconds,” I said, putting my wand on the table. “Do you want to see?” Grandma nodded.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the image, much like we had done for the last hour. Except instead of waiting for the object to show the magic, I felt it in every fiber of my being. My bones shifted without pain, my hair tickled as it lengthened, and soon, in the blink of an eye, I pounced lightly onto all fours on the floor, opening my eyes and glancing up at my grandmother. She grinned down to me.
“You have been practicing,” she repeated, shaking her head. The smile didn’t leave her face as she waved her wand and helped the chalkboard erase itself once more. Then she turned to me as I felt the chills of the change back occur. “Sometimes you remind me very much of your father.”
That moment I felt a smile spread on my face, I felt guilty. I reminded her of my father, the man who walked out on his family, killed his father, and never said goodbye to his wife or child? The man who assisted the Perdita in assembling an army to take over the peaceful government the Liberita once had? The man who supported closing the academy and shutting its doors to people like me?
“Why does that sound like a bad thing?” I snapped, crossing my arms as I thought. Grandma didn’t speak for a moment, but guided me to a chair in the circle. Both of us sat down and she eyed me for a moment.
“Believe me when I say it is far from a terrible thing,” she reassured me with a hand on my back. “I mean, you have his eyes, his ability, and his determination to succeed.”
“But he’s with the Perdita, Grandma,” I explained as my voice softened and my anger turned into disappointment. “They’re the worst.”
“Just because someone is associated with terrible people does not mean they are inherently bad,” Grandma replied. She waited as the sentence processed in my mind. I felt some tension leave my body. So my dad isn’t a bad guy?
“So he’s not bad, then?” I said barely above a whisper. Grandma shrugged, letting out a long sigh.
“Long ago, your father was one of the most gifted wizards of his age. He had high marks in school. Your grandfather and I thought he would go on to join the Congress of Magic as one of its special agents. But he dropped out of the program,” Grandma told me. I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because of you,” Grandma told me, beaming. “He wanted to be there for you, every step of the way, and he was. Until the Perdita movement took force. Then he went to Fawkes’ side, and he’s stayed there ever since, as the right hand man to all that has been occurring.”
“Why did he join Fawkes?” I asked Grandma, just as I had asked nearly every adult in our house. Each time I received different answers. Your father and Devon were like brothers, always doing things together. Who knows, your father was mysterious and always up to things behind your mother’s back. Your father has a history that even I know nothing about and I am his wife.
“There are few things your father kept from me through the years, but that, my dear, is one thing he never told me,” Grandma told me as she stood up, adding to the long list of answers that seemingly made no sense to me. It was clear either they knew and wouldn’t tell me, or no one knew and we would never know the truth. All I longed was for the chance to ask him myself, daughter to father.
“Come along, dear, dinner is waiting,” Grandma chirped as she held out her hand and brought me to my feet. Walking in step with her, we turned out the lights and the chairs magically levitated back to their places along the walls. As the door shut by itself behind us, we ascended the stairs for dinner, before we’d go home and endure mortal homework, which I dreaded more than anything in the world.
