The October Witches - Softcover

Buch 1 von 3: Month of Magic

Claessen, Jennifer

 
9781665940535: The October Witches
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1665940530 ISBN 13: 9781665940535
Verlag: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

This sweet and enchanting middle grade fantasy novel “mixing Arthurian legend with Practical Magic and plenty of adventure” (Booklist) follows a young witch who must uncover the secrets of her family’s past to end their long-standing internal feud.

Thirteen-year-old Clementine Merlyn lives with her mom, her aunts, and her cousin Mirabelle at Number 15 Pendragon Road. The Merlyns are a family of witches, but because of an ancient falling out with the other branch of the family, the Morgans, they only have powers for a single month of the year: October.

And this October may be the one that Clemmie gets her magic. It should be exciting, except that magic is the reason that Mirabelle never talks to her anymore, Aunt Flissie leaves at the end of every September and doesn’t come back until November, and Aunt Temmie…well, is long gone. And the Merlyn bad luck takes an even worse turn this year. After a disastrous attempt by the aunts to recover their lost magic, 15 Pendragon Road is visited by the creepy and cold Morgans.

In the wake of the ensuing battle, Clemmie and Mirabelle are left on their own. With no other choice, the cousins must band together and summon their courage and magic to solve the mystery of what happened between the first Merlyn and Morgan all those centuries ago if they’ll have any hope of ending this feud and getting their family back.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jennifer Claessan was born in Reading, Berkshire, in England so, of course, grew up a bookworm. She studied literature and theatre at the University of Sheffield, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Canterbury Christ Church University, and Royal Central School of Speech and Drama. A teacher and theatre maker, Jennifer loves stories, especially for young people, whether on stage or page. Jennifer currently works in the West End, taking children to the theatre and lives in the East End with her partner, a Dutch toymaker, and their baby daughter. She loves reading, travel, and ice cream. You can find her on her yellow bike or in a red velvet seat in the stalls, applauding.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1
It is beginning. Or it will be as soon as I can persuade Mirabelle to get up.

She’s face-planted into her bed, so I’m talking to the back of her head, which is wedged deep in her pillow.

“They sent me to come and get you, you know that, right? Aunt Connie is counting every second.”

“Twenty-nine minutes!” Aunt Connie shouts up the stairs, as if to prove my point.

I glance out the window between our two beds. The moon is high, and it’s well past my bedtime.

“And the aunts are excited—they think it could be my year.”

My cousin, Mirabelle, groans into her pillow. “You’re too young, Clem. It’s not your year,” she says in a muffled voice.

In twenty-nine minutes—at midnight—September will end, October will begin, and, if Aunt Connie’s right, magic will descend on me for the first time. She’s convinced this is the year.

I’ve seen twelve Octobers now and never fully been a part of it. So now, even though I don’t live for October like my family does, a small nervous tingly thrill is hovering at the base of my spine.

I sit at the edge of my bed and kick my feet. Mirabelle and I have shared a room for as long as I can remember. And while we’ve both grown, the room has not. There’s just about enough space for our two beds, and that’s it. So my side of our bedroom is covered in art and bits taped up on the wall, but Mirabelle’s wall is blank. My clothes are half on the floor, half in a mound at the end of my bed, and Mirabelle’s are neatly folded away underneath hers.

“Twenty-eight minutes!” Aunt Connie hollers up the stairs. “Chop-chop, young hags!”

“Cannot be late! Stars don’t wait!” another voice adds. That’s Aunt Prudie. Our family is a lot sometimes.

Finally, Mirabelle rolls over in her bed. She’s already frowning, but when she catches sight of me, it turns into a full-on glower.

I reach up and pat my hair self-consciously. I’ve spent most of the evening fiddling with hair ties and pins to get my hair up into two buns on either side of my head, like Mirabelle, but I couldn’t manage to color it. Mirabelle has purple streaks, which she always wraps into double topknots.

Mirabelle is almost fourteen now, so she thinks she’s loads older than me, even though it’s not actually quite a year’s difference. Her First October was last year, and since then, she doesn’t listen to anyone, especially me. She doesn’t seem to have time for me anymore.

I tell myself that things might, just might, be different if I get my magic this year.

“Urgh,” Mirabelle says, and sits up to pull out her own buns, shaking her big curls loose. She’d almost rather choke on her own hair than share the same style with me. Mirabelle tosses her curls forward so that they cover as much of her face as possible, and then her frown takes in my hair and clothes.

“You’re not going in those, are you?” she says, disgusted.

I look down at my pajamas. They have a pattern of dancing penguins on them. “Why not?”

Mirabelle pauses for a moment, clearly keeping everything she might say on a leash. Then she sighs and says, “You’ll get cold. Come on, then, let’s get this over with.”

I’m leading us down the stairs when there’s a knock at the door. I hop the bottom step and look down the corridor where my family is all lined up, ready to go, Aunt Connie at the front, clutching her egg timer.

“Twenty-five minutes!” she announces.

I glance back at the door. “But, Aunt Connie, who is that?”

“None of humankind!” Aunt Prudie howls, already waving a long, bony finger about.

In October we witches are hidden deep under layers of magic that muffle us to ordinary humans.

“Maybe we shouldn’t answer it, love—” my mum says, but it’s too late; I’ve already swung the door open.

“Delivery for you,” the postman says with a grin.

“Psssht!” Aunt Prudie hisses at the postman, swatting the air as if he were a stray cat roaming around.

“Aunt Prudie!” I exclaim, then whisper over my shoulder, “You can’t hiss at him! It’s just the post.” Nevertheless, I frown at the postman. I don’t know why anything is being delivered at this time.

“We’re late!” Aunt Connie says, peeking around me, her white hair puffy with outrage. “We’re meant to be there in… twenty-two minutes!”

Aunt Flissie, right at the back, doesn’t say anything; she just adjusts the straps on her huge backpack.

“Um, sorry, it can’t be for us,” I tell the postman.

We don’t really get much delivered, as four out of the six people in the house never use the internet and the other two of us don’t have our own bank cards.

“Sorry about that,” the postman says. “Must be for next door. Can you sign for it anyway?”

“Yeah,” I say, though I can’t see the neighbors getting their parcel till at least November.

The postman, who has been delivering our mail for as long as I can remember, peers around me down the corridor, where my whole family is fidgeting, impatient to leave.

“Family… party?” he asks.

Aunt Prudie glowers from behind Aunt Connie. Aunt Prudie is, as always, in her green gardening overalls, and Aunt Connie is in her favorite apron, still clutching the egg timer.

“Yeah, something like that,” I say. “Where do I sign?”

“Right there, ta.” The postman holds out a small digital tablet for me to scribble my initials onto.

I scrawl a quick CM with my index finger and pull away instantly. No tingles, no sparks—yet.

“Thank you! Enjoy your… party!” He hands me the parcel: a long rectangle.

“Get rid of him!” Aunt Connie hisses down the corridor behind me, but luckily, the postman has already turned to go. At the garden gate, he lifts his hand as if to wave, but then drops it instead and shakes his head.

I hurriedly prop the parcel in the corner by the door with all the other junk and clutter my family accumulates and follow them out of the house.

If Aunt Connie could, she would round us all up like ducklings and have us march in a line. She tries to do a head count, but Mirabelle has slunk right to the back, and Aunt Flissie has marched on ahead.

Mirabelle clicks the door shut, lingering by the house for just one more moment, then joins us in the street.

Our quick procession into the night is quiet, by both my family’s and the city’s standards. We silently make our way past row after row of terraced houses. Even Aunt Connie doesn’t say anything; she’s so tense with focusing on what is about to happen. As always, the preparations for October started months ago, so my aunts are, by now, extremely highly strung and manic with nervous energy. Even my mum stares into the darkness intensely, squeezing my hand.

As the tightly packed houses of the city streets start to open up and the low buzz of traffic fades, Mum sniffs, taking in the air....

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Verlag
Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Erscheinungsdatum
2024
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1665940530
ISBN 13 
9781665940535
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
326
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

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