Page 1 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
Prologue
Sage
"Sage turned Tommy into a frog!" Cate, my eternal bully, announced, pointing her finger at me. Her front teeth were still missing from when she'd crashed her bike weeks prior—the same day she'd clipped my hair and told me it belonged in the garbage like a evil witch's.
The frog squelched in my grip, cold and slick, as moisture seeped between my fingers. Frog pee dripped from my hand. Gross. Tommy croaked in protest, giving me away completely.
Ms. Randolph's eyebrow lifted as she tilted her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. She hated me, maybe because I was a Blackstone, maybe because of my power, or maybe just because of who I was.
I was the daughter of two witches from powerful families. The Blackstones were rumored to be direct descendants of the first witch, Hecate. Six months ago, shortly after we buried my parents, my powers hadmanifested as shadows and darkness—instantly marking me as evil in everyone's eyes.
"Hand him over." The elderly form of one of the most ancient witches, Ms. Randolph, demanded with her hand outstretched. Her bone-white hair coiled high on her head like a crown as her surprisingly smooth face stared at me with abject disappointment.
"I can't turn him back." I shrugged, though the truth knotted in my gut. One second he was shoving my face into the mud, and the next, poof, he was a toad. I had no clue how I'd done it, much less how to undo it.
"She's lying," Cate accused. "He was just helping her up and she went all crazy again!"
The other children filled the space around us, moving in closer until my back hit a tree trunk. "Wicked," they chanted together, boxing me in. "Wicked witch."
“Sage." Ms. Randolph glared, her hand still poised and waiting."Undo the spell."
"My magic is not evil. I'm not wicked," I cried as they pushed closer, their accusing fingers pointing.
"Face it, you're nothing but an evil, black magic witch," Cate snarled before grabbing my hair and slamming me into the mud. "And we do not let evil witches live.”
I turned my gaze to Mrs. Randolph as she watched impassively. She wasn’t going to step in and help. She thought the same as them, I was something that needed to be fixed, or worse, eradicated.
I pressed my eyelids tight and slapped my hands over my ears as they continued chanting. My magic explodedout in shadows and stars, and suddenly the chants became nothing more than a cacophony of croaks.
Frogs. As far as the eye could see.
Ms. Randolph was the largest, croaking loudly as if in anger.
I stood there for far too long, lost in what to do. I lifted my hands, calling my magic to me, trying to create my intent to turn them back, but every time I tried, the image of them circling me, pointing and chanting came to mind, and nothing happened.
“I’m in so much trouble,” I said to the frogs, who were now hopping off in various directions, sending an even bigger scare through me. They were escaping. If I didn't catch them and keep them together… I’d never get them turned back.
I grabbed a tub lying nearby, dumping out the playground balls, and began grabbing frogs and throwing them into the bucket as fast as possible, hoping I didn’t hurt or break any of them.
I reached Ms. Randolph, shoving her in as she tried to hop away. Then I counted; two were missing. I looked around, but no more frogs were in the area. I set the tub down, putting the top on loosely to keep them from hopping out as I searched for the last two frogs.
I found one hiding in a bush.
I turned frantically around, looking before falling to my knees to search through the grass for the remaining frog. Nothing.
I stopped, opening my ears up to listen for a croak, for any noise or rustling. Finally, I heard a low croak to my right as I moved to look. There in the bush was Tommy. Icould tell it was him because there was a white mark on his back. As I bent down to peer at him, he hopped high, flopping down on my face and peeing, again.
“Gross!” I sputtered, wiping the pee from my face as I growled, “How can one frog pee that much?”
I plunked Tommy into the tub with a splash and sighed.
My options were bleak: dump them in the woods and run, or face my grandmother and the council.
Hiding sounded great, until I remembered I was eight, broke, and terrible at foraging. So, I hoisted the tub, now holding the entire fourth-grade class and their cranky teacher, and trudged toward redemption... or doom.
Only as I counted the frogs in the tub, one was still missing. How did I miscount? I searched high and low, dragging the croaking class of frogs along with me. It was time to get help and tell Gran. I was going to be in so much trouble.
I dragged the heavy tub of frogs toward home, my arms straining from the weight. The croaks echoed loudly, a cacophonous chorus of amphibious accusation. I counted again - twenty-three frogs. There should be twenty-four. Someone was missing.
