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Prologue 1: Belinda

Well, this is it. My last chance to prove myself to everyone who ever doubted me.

Which, unfortunately, is a pretty long list.

I suppose I should explain. See, I’m a Witch.

Yup. An honest-to-gods, magic-wielding, broomstick-having, potion-making Witch.

Except for one teeny-tiny problem.

I’ve got less magical talent than Sparky.

Sparky is my familiar. He’s a bright orange tabby with an obnoxious attitude, zero respect for personal boundaries, and a palate that would bankrupt a Michelin-starred restaurant.

He prefers veal to vittles, if you catch my drift.

But Sparky isn’t the root of my problems.

Growing up Ramos is.

My mother is the head Witch of the Ramos Coven. Yup, our namesake and everything. Like all the women of our line before her, she’s been leading the Coven perfectly for a couple of decades.

The Ramos women pass their magic down to their daughters.

Daughter.

Singular.

One daughter per generation. Except my parents apparently never got that memo because they had two.

Me and my younger sister, Melida.

Practically unheard of.

As the oldest, everyone assumed I would inherit Mom’s magic and, eventually, her position as head of the Coven.

There was just one problem. My magic never showed up.

Not properly, anyway.

Oh, I can do some things.

Sort of.

Sometimes.

If the moon is right, the wind is blowing in the proper direction, and whatever deity oversees magical screwups is taking the day off.

For example, when we learn potions in magic school, I blow up the lab.

Not one cauldron. The entire freaking lab.

When we learn to charm broomsticks into carrying our weight so we can soar majestically across the night sky?

Mine makes it six feet off the ground, bucks me like an angry bronco, and dumps me into a pond.

I still maintain the broom is defective. The instructor disagrees. So do the three frogs I land on.