Just Another Red-Headed Chosen One

Chapter 2 Every Girl Has Magic

A Week Later

I rummaged through my backpack and made sure the death shroud and food for my journey were still there and walked by burned buildings and broken electric carriages.

The charred candy shop smelled of nightmares. Luckily, the owners fled with my mother and sisters.

I stopped at the sign plastered on the outside wall, partially covered with graffiti of stamped hearts, but not valentines, but an image of a human heart, blood-red, a warning for magic users to run.

My hand touched the waterproof paper and trembled.

Every woman on her first birthday, regardless of race or religion, will be bestowed one magical talent.

But only males born in the direct line of Snow White and her husband, Prince Sunday, will possess magic from birth.

Prince Wicker Larry-Jones Alcatraz, the Seventh Fae Prince of The Forgotten Kingdom

I stare at the proclamation. Wicker was the youngest and was never allowed to have heirs. He deserved to be loved, but I never told him it should've been me.

I rip the sign down because it's one of the last things left of him.

Do not let the losers tell your story. Poor Wicker. He should be telling his story.

At least the other princes escaped, but they abandoned him to die.

My sweet Wicker was the only royal who entered my mother's shop and talked to me as if I wasn't invisible.

Wicker accepted me for who I was.

I brushed a tear away because I missed his voice. He was the most involved of the magic princes.

I read another copy of the sign on a wooden post and ripped it down.

Wicker's words were a lie, and he knew it. I possessed no magic. Months before, I celebrated my thirty-first birthday, and I have no powers, but I must save the world without them. I'm giftless. My mom never had one, and her mom didn't either. None of my aunts possess the gift. I come from a long line of liars and grifters.

We lie because of the myth that redheads are powerful. In truth, only three women in my family possess magic. One of them is my half-sister, and she has always needed my protection from evil magic hunters.

I walked into my mother's deserted joke and costume shop and stuffed my backpack with the items I needed. My mother owns a "joke shop" with fake herbal potions, costumes, books, and pranks.

The shop was crammed with items the men who murdered Wicker would think were worthless. I tucked smoke bombs and ropes into my backpack.

With a blond wig, I changed my appearance. Careful makeup made me appear younger and doe-eyed. The perfect trick to fool the men who took Wicker. Unlike Hanna, I can change more than the color of my hair.

I located a flashlight to simulate a glowing blue orb that I made in my mother's shop because I am mischievous. The orbs went into my backpack and pant pockets. I slung my treasures over my back and walked out in full disguise.

Not because I want mystical powers. Most of the magical gifts are garbage. Who needs to be able to make broccoli taste like chocolate, or play waltzes at random? Okay, I would want that power, but it's not a weapon. If you want to torture someone, my singing could make men's ears bleed.

Hanna had a few cool gifts. She possessed the strength of three men, could levitate, and had super shove powers, all without former training.

Anything she wanted, she succeeded at.

She thought she needed days of training and some snappy music, and she was ready to save the world.

It took me a lifetime of training to be a jerk.

I left my mother's shop and walked half a mile, and I didn't look back at my mother's shop or the crumbled marble that used to be the castle.

How many liars exist among us, pretending we have gifts?

I read another sign, but this had a push button, and I heard Wicker's voice.

"One woman among you will be born with fourteen magical talents."

I stole the recording to hear his voice again, and I located a little spray bottle full of chemicals, and my backpack color changed from blue to pink.

Everyone thought the chosen one could stop them, but I knew magic would not be enough.

I entered the broken part of The Forgotten Forest, trees leveled and scorched from the battle.

My leather boots stepped over Hanna's body, covered in flowers. Her body transformed into wood with magic. Magic hunters used magic too. Liars The Beating Heart Carnival claimed they used none. I wonder if Wicker did that to show her kindness after her death. His body wasn't there. They took his body.

The chosen one was dead. "Her only job was to protect Wicker, and she failed," I said to myself. "I need to volunteer to bring his body back." Thoughts of the horrible things they would do to him made me shake. He didn't deserve that. Wasn't killing him enough? 

Story Question: If you were a chosen one, would you train?