Even teen evil queens need love. Right? (Or at least a handsome sword-fighting minion to do their bidding!)
***
Bad things happen when Rowen is around and the worst part is, she has no idea why until a massive family secret sends her on a fantastica...
They say if people have nothing to hold over you, you're immune to blackmail.
But what if the thing they're threatening to destroy is someone you love?
What then?
Surely we can all be blackmailed over something.
Someone.
It's how you get your revenge that really matters.
Йой! Нажаль, це зображення не відповідає нашим правилам. Щоб продовжити публікацію, будь ласка, видаліть його або завантажте інше.
Wow, 'mom' was Darth Vader in a powder blue suit and pearls.
I mean, she had a point about never mentioning a woman's age, but that was no reason to zap my dads into oblivion. Maybe they had ample defenses against her since they were obviously fully grown warlocks, but since I didn't know this until a few minutes ago, I wasn't sure about their repel-a-witch potential. Don't get me wrong, I was furious with them for the years of lies, for squelching my powers, for making me go into the attic to retrieve stuff too often, but mostly for the endless smoothies.
I suppose if I'm being honest, this is what all parents do: tell us lies and keep us from our power. They hook us up to a metaphorical leash, letting it out a few inches at a time, only when they must. And even when they're not physically with us, they can tighten that leash anyway.
But none of that gave the evil queen the right to kill them.
That was my job!
Just kidding.
Sort of.
I pursed my lips and glared at them. My dads were huddled under the table, surrounded by the broken remnants of our kitchen, holding on to one another while lightning leaked from the evil queen's fingertips.
"Don't listen to her, Rowen," Papa said. "Whatever she says is a lie."
"You're the liar, Nigel Keckilpenny," the queen mocked. Did you ever tell Rowen who she was? What she was?
I found myself nodding my head.
What?
She had a point!
"Rowen, run!" Dad called out, uncorking a small vial of black swirly liquid, the one that looked like liquid evil. He must've swiped it from the elixir shelf when the queen showed up. He flung the contents at Petronella. "Run now!"
With a wave of Petronella's arm, time slowed. Globules of inky evil hung in the air, glittering with ill intent.
I don't know if you've ever thought about what it would be like to live in slow motion, but it's weird. It was as if my heart, which only a second ago was pumping wildly, had stilled. My lungs were in the midst of expanding with breath. I wanted to scream, but it came out low-pitched and slow. How was I supposed to run when even lifting a toe took hours?
