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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On Sunday afternoon, Stella took Cora along with Agatha to Brimwell Plaza and Mariam stayed home with Willow.
They needed a mini fridge to store Made with Magic. It had become a pain to keep it in the kitchen. Like most weekends, the mall teemed with people, families swinging a large array of shopping bags, teens taking advantage of one of the only places they could loiter, and salespeople trying to sell them the newest face creams.
Cora leapt out of the way, startled and clutching her coat, as a boy flew past. The girl on his back screamed for him to slow down. She didn't care for the mall, but it beat another Sunday in front of the TV with Willow who insisted on the true crime channel.
"I wonder," said Stella, "how much it costs to get a shop here. It would be wonderful to hire someone to work a kiosk."
Cora thought that she would rather not work in such a busy place, despite that it always had the strongest scent of one of her favorite foods, salted pretzels.
"We could always call to find out," Agatha said. "And would you slow down? We aren't running a marathon last time I checked."
Stella did slow. "Sorry, Mom," she said. "I would hate to spend all day here." They were on their way to the department store. It would no doubt be as packed, especially because of the sale. Agatha had the catalog in her hand. On the way there, she'd read to them all the low-priced items. "I do need a new coat," she'd said. "And Willow-Rose could use a pair of those cute mittens." Agatha didn't knit. It was her only fault as a grandmother.
"We're here for the fridge," Stella had said. Now she led them through the double doors into the store, holding up her hand to the fragrance salesmen and women. The first floor always smelled like perfume and cosmetics. Cora peeked at herself in a mirror as they went along to the third floor where the appliances were kept.
They hadn't made it to the escalator when a shrill voice called out, "Stella. Cora. Look, Tilly, it's Cora and Stella Emerson."
Oh, no.
She wished to hide behind a rack of men's shirts as her mother waved at them.
"Oh, my god, Blythe," she said, leading Cora and Agatha over to her friend.
Blythe and Stella kissed each other's cheeks. No matter how much they tried they couldn't have missed Blythe in her bright red coat with white fur trim and her daughter in a matching brown with black fur trim. Blythe's red lips came down on Cora's cheek, leaving a bit of spittle and a possible lip-gloss smear. "I was telling Tilly how we should pay you guys a visit soon," she said. She hugged Agatha. "What a coincidence we'd see you here."
Cora tried to avoid Tilda's piercing gaze. Her brown eyes were like molten lava on her skin. She gazed at a row of men's watches and wondered if she'd be required to buy a gift for Beau this Christmas. She'd texted him back goodnight and so far, there'd been silence. Not that she was one of those paranoid types who thought if a boy didn't pay her attention twenty-four-seven, he'd slighted her. In fact, another text from him would have come across as desperate. Not that she would have minded a bit of desperation.
