The Wrong Kind of Magic

By Hilary Hauck

A thrilling and inspiring tale of a big sister who leads the charge against mayhem and magic on Christmas night.

The house is shaking, colors are sparkling, things are starting to break... and did that toy start moving? Thirteen-year-old Marley is convinced that Christmas is just for little kids and that magic

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hilary Hauck
• Release date: Sep 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986974705

Book preview

DEDICATION

For Melody, Porter, and Autumn

whose magic brings me boundless joy.

With love always.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Immense thanks to Kathleen Shoop for inspiring me to write a Christmas story, and to Gloria Bostic, for sparking the idea for this story in particular. To Demi Stevens, for her outstanding editing skills. To all the Mindful Writers, especially Denise Weaver, Kimberly Gray, Abigail Drake, and Jennifer D. Diamond, whose encouragement and sharing of knowledge helped me bring this book to life.

To my husband and partner in the adventure of being grandparents, Darryl, for his constant support. To my daughter, Jessica Vezzoli-DeMayo, for her insights into a child’s mind. To my stepson, Kyle Hauck, who always brings the Christmas magic. To my stepdaughter, Lacey Hauck, for raising such wonderful children. And to our grandorables, Melody, Porter, and Autumn, who make my heart spill over with love.

ONE

How It All Began

THE RUSH TO FINISH school projects. The cold. The stress of having to buy her friends cool Christmas presents then having to say goodbye. Really long car journeys with her brother and sister.

What was there to like about Christmas?

Christmas was for little children. Even grownups only kept up the farce for the little ones, but that shouldn’t mean you still had to pretend it was the most magical time of the year when you turned thirteen.

How could it even feel like Christmas anyway when Rowan sat with fingers in his ears, elbows accidentally getting right into Marley’s face after every curve, and let’s face it, there wasn’t a single straight road in Pennsylvania.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Izabelle decided she was the only one allowed to sing and nobody else could copy her, so they had to keep quiet and listen to the lyrics and melodies she patched together from totally unrelated songs.

What was the point? Marley slouched against the inside of the car door, which jammed into her left ear. It hurt, but she couldn’t be bothered to move. At least it felt like something.

She looked at her phone. Not a great idea. All that did was remind her of the Christmas party she was missing.

Great.

Sam and Helen were friends again. At least Marley hadn’t been totally invisible while they’d not been speaking to each other.

They’d all have the best time ever. Nobody would even notice that Marley wasn’t there, that she was stuck spending the holiday with her little brother and sister. A nine and a three-and-a-half-year-old.

Oh, and two old people. Not that Nana and Popa were old and cranky like some of her friends’ grandparents, but they were still ancient and she wasn’t in the mood to think nice thoughts about anyone right now.

MARLEY BARELY NOTICED that Izabelle had stopped singing. Finally.

How about a game of I spy? Nana asked. What did she have against silence?

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with ‘o’. Rowan sprang forward in his seat with such enthusiasm he locked the seatbelt. Served him right. He needed to calm down.

Orange light, Marley said, coldly. She didn’t want to play ‘I spy’, but if he was going to pick something so easy, she was going to answer.

No fair, Rowan said. No fair had been his favorite saying since he’d been the last batter in the last game of the baseball season. No fair that his turn had come up last. No fair that he hadn’t had his lucky bat. No fair that the sun had poked out of a cloud right at that moment and shone in his eyes.

No fair that you can’t hit the ball, Marley had teased him.

No fair that he still said everything was no fair when the baseball season had been over for months.

Okay, my turn. Marley might as well play. It was better than looking at pictures of Sam and Helen. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with—

Hold on, Rowan interrupted. Which orange light did I mean?

It doesn’t matter. An orange light is an orange light, Marley said.

You have to guess the right one or it doesn’t count.

Fine, Rowan. That one behind the steering wheel.

Oh great, Popa said, apparently only noticing the light now. We need to fuel up.

I’ll look for a gas station. Nana opened the GPS on her phone. The kids probably need a bathroom break, anyway.

Marley, your turn, Popa said.

Actually, I’ll pass. It’s a kids’ game.

I spy something blue, Izabelle said, deciding that she would go in Marley’s place.

"It’s supposed to be I spy with my little eye, something beginning with—and then you say a letter," Marley explained.

We’ve played it this way before, Popa stood up for Izabelle. Of course he would because she was three.

Nana, tell him! Marley said.

Sky? Nana guessed, obviously trying to head off yet another fight, like when they’d spent the whole of Connecticut arguing about what pizza toppings they were going to get, as though pineapple was ever supposed to go on a pizza.

Izabelle shook her head to ‘sky’.

"At least say my little eye," Marley insisted, which earned her a snarky look from Rowan.

He guessed rain, which was hardly blue. And which should hardly be falling at Christmas, but whatever.

Your cardigan?

There are no gas stations on the highway for miles. We’ll never make it. We have to turn off, Nana said.

Nana’s screen? Rowan guessed.

Tyrannosaurus! Izabelle announced as though it was the greatest answer on earth.

You really see dinosaurs? Popa asked.

And they’re really blue? Rowan waved his hands in the air in desperation.

Tyrannosaurus! Izabelle repeated.

I’ve found a station. Get off at the next exit, Nana said.

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with ‘m’ that is all around us, Popa said in his overly dramatic voice, the one he used when he’d thought of something we’d all be sure to think was brilliant.

S-mell? Marley asked.

No! Rowan laughed. But that was me!

You’re gross. Marley wound down the window to let the smell of Rowan’s fart out but she quickly wound it back up again as rain splattered her face.

Music, miles, mines, multiples, mountains, Rowan spewed a list of guesses, each word earning a curt no from Popa.

Moles, mums, men, math, manipulation, maples. Maples earned Marley an approving look from Nana.

Apatosaurus, triceratops, raptor, stegosaurus, megalo­saurus. Izabelle came up with her own version of a list.

Only one of those begins with an ‘m’, Rowan protested.

The car slowed down and switched lanes to take the exit. Other cars whooshed past, spraying them with rainwater.

Any enthusiasm they’d had for the game dimmed as quickly as the light on the rural road that had no streetlights and no other cars with headlights.

Give us another clue, Rowan asked after a