Once Upon A Curse Book 3 (Completed)

Chapter 1

When I was a little girl, I never gave much thought to doing magic. I'd watch my aunt Grassina perform it every day and she never seemed to have any problems. When I started practicing magic, I expected it to be as easy for me as it had been for her. I couldn't have been more wrong. My first attempts at magic were a series of small disasters. I made crab-apple tarts that grew claws and pinched us. My cleaning spells were so strong that my bed made itself even when I was in it, and a whirlwind swept up everything I dropped, including my shoes and hair ribbons, dumping them in the dung heap behind the stables. I became a frog because of one kind of magic, while another kind turned me back into a frog at the worst possible times. Sometimes my magic didn't do what I'd intended, sending me to the dungeon or making me prematurely old. When dragon steam enhanced my magic and I became a powerful witch, I thought that my problems with magic were over, but once again, I was wrong. Suddenly I had bigger problems to face—problems caused by magic that I soon learned only magic could fix.

I'd been visiting my aunt Grassina's workshop in the dungeon every day for the last few weeks and I had almost finished studying her parchments and the books she'd brought down from the tower rooms. With only a few more left to check, I was getting increasingly frustrated since I hadn't found a single spell that would help me.

When I'd arrived in the dungeon that morning, Grassina had dashed out of her room without saying where she was headed. Knowing her, she probably had some sort of mischief planned. I would have followed her to see what she was up to if I hadn't had something more important to do.

Massaging my forehead with one hand, I pushed the parchment aside with the other. I was tired of sitting in the dungeon. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, since there were plenty of candles and I'd dressed warmly, but the candles kept sputtering and going out, and the stink of decay was so strong it made my head hurt.

Something ran over my shoe, and I jerked my foot under my chair. It's probably Blister, I thought, shuddering. Once, before she changed from being the kind and gentle Green Witch to being the nasty, bewitched self she'd been for the last year or so, Grassina had kept a small, inoffensive, apple-green snake that had never bothered anyone. Now she shared her room with an old gray rat she'd found in the dungeon—Blister. He smelled awful, his fur was patchy and his naked tail was covered with sores, but his worst feature was his disposition, which was as nasty as my aunt's. I didn't mind the chill of the dungeon, the magic fogs that drifted from room to room or even the ghosts who popped in unexpectedly. Blister was a different story, however, since he loved tripping me and jumping out of shadows to startle me.

For the hundredth time, I thought about creating my own witches' lights so I wouldn't have to strain to see the words on the pages and the creatures that lurked in the darkened corners of the room. I knew better, however, because this was my aunt's workshop and she didn't like anyone doing magic in it except her. She was always nasty, but she was even worse if you did something she didn't like, which is why I'd gone to the dungeon in the first place. The feeble light from her flickering candles would have to do.

I'd been looking for a cure for the family curse for over a year. My aunt had been its most recent victim, and if I didn't do something about it before my sixteenth birthday, I might fall prey to it as well. Like our magical abilities, the curse had been passed down from generation to generation. It had started when my long-ago ancestor Hazel, the first Green Witch, had given out everlasting bouquets at her sixteenth birthday party and hadn't brought enough for everyone. A disappointed fairy had cursed her, saying that if Hazel ever touched another flower, she'd lose her beauty as well as her sweet disposition. Unfortunately the spell hadn't ended with Hazel, who had died centuries before I was born. Women in my family learned to stay away from flowers, with life-altering consequences if they didn't. They not only became ugly to look at, they turned so nasty that hardly anyone could stand them.

I finished reading another parchment and sighed. One more collection of useless spells for turning sows' ears into silk purses and lead into gold. The last spell, so long and involved that it had almost put me to sleep, had explained how to make mountains out of molehills.

"Almost finished, Emma?" said a high-pitched voice. My friend, a bat named Li'l, peered at me from the ceiling where she h