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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The tension might have been untraceable if magic didn't exist, but for both girls it spat like an overheated cauldron. There was even a bit of smolder.
Agatha coughed.
Blythe pinched the tip of her nose. "What in the world is that smell?"
"It smells like someone's hair is burning," said Tilda, sneering at Cora's twist-out.
Cora sneered harder, her lips curling. She sorted through her list of appropriate comebacks, but none of them were awful enough to suit Tilda Gray.
"I've always hated that smell," said Blythe, her nose still pinched. "It gives me flashbacks of high school."
Stella waved her gloved hand, shooing the cloud away. Blythe and Agatha exchanged weary glances, though both were too stuck in their ways to say much to each other.
Cora let her anger simmer enough to dull the stench, but kept her gaze pinned on Tilda, her thumb and pointer finger pressed together, in case Tilda snapped.
I should give her a chance to apologize. For her sake of course.
Cora eased her demeanor.
Tilda grinned victoriously, displaying her haughtiness in one swift lift of her threaded brows. She straightened her back in Cora's face as the line teetered along.
It was akin to giving her the hand.
Forget her. We'll never be friends.
She couldn't risk a fight with her mother watching. Stella would never allow it, not over the blood of the first wicked sorceress. Overpowered for now, Cora slipped out of the line, away from her mother's curious gaze, edging into a rack of men's outerwear for privacy.
She sent Eva a text.
Mayday. I'm at the mall. Care for a salted pretzel?
Eva replied right away. Make mine sweet and we have a deal.
Cora texted a smiling emoji, her mood too sour to muster a real grin.
And please, Eva, make it snappy.
The day Tilda Gray apologized for anything would be the day she rode on a broom, grew chin hair, and mixed a bubbling, green cauldron. It would be the day Cora ruined a life for real.
Agatha, Blythe, and Stella moved up in line. They'd be out of each other's way in no time. Eva might even catch a glimpse of Tilda—the girl with green skin—if she got here soon. Tilda had to be jealous. Why else would she attack her blog?
Her gaze roamed from the top of Tilda's willowy five-nine frame, down her curve free back and mile long legs, to the heels of her ballet flats.
Jealous of me? Yeah, right.
Cora bit the tip of her tongue. "The stories are true," she would tell Eva anyway, "monsters are real."
Before Tilda could even think of a retort, she'd grab Eva's arm giggling all the way to the pretzel stand. Cora loved the cruelty of her own imagination sometimes, seeing the humiliation on Tilda's face might give her the boost of confidence she needed.
