The Writing Witch Chapter 3: Spells and Magic

by Gabriella in Math Class, Doodling

Chapter 3
“Look, I’ve done this twenty times! Can we just stop for today, Nick?” I asked my older brother.
“Natalie, come on! Once more! Just focus and you can turn this mirror into a plant,” he said. He ran his fingers through his brown hair and turned the messed-up mirror back into its original form. If I could do that, I couldn’t explain my joy in words.
I looked at the mirror which had my reflection in the mirror of me, looking goofy, my hands looking as if they were gonna claw something up, and my body leaning back. My brown hair was tied in a ponytail and my soft, brown eyes shone bright.
I leaned back some more, and focused.
“Gewasous!” I cried. A green light emitted from my hands and hit the mirror.
Then, the coolest thing happened. The green light settled on the mirror and it changed, slowly, into a tall sunflower.
“Awesome job, Nat!” Nick exclaimed. “You’re getting the hang of it.” He smiled. “Okay, now, take us from here, the Secret Sorcerer’s Spot to our kitchen about thirty feet above us.”
I looked up. “Okay…” I said nervously.
I heard about other witches and wizards who had done mistakes when they tried to go from one place to another by magic.
Some of them lost half of their body, some of them died, some of them broke bones.
I didn’t want to have a funeral anytime soon so I said, “Nick, err, can you do it. I forget how to do it.”
He grabbed my hands and shook his head. “Once a pest, always a pest,” he muttered.
“Hey! Once I get a hold of the plant-changing spell, I’m turning you into a fig tree!”
“Not unless I turn you into one first,” he joked. And with a snap, we appeared in our kitchen.
“Stupid ninth graders,” I murmured.
Bam! He hit me. He hit me with an animal spell and he had turned me into a chipmunk; brilliant.
“Hey!” I squeaked. It came out as a bunch of nutty chattering.
Nick laughed.
“Gewasous!” I exclaimed, aiming at him.
He turned into a fern.
I laughed, but, again, it came out as chattering.
Then my mom strode in, her dark brown hair in a ponytail. She lifted a finger and the dishes started to wash themselves. She turned to our direction and look down directly at us.
“We’re dead,” I chattered.