Wilhelmina Quigley: Magic School Dropout

By Liese Sherwood-Fabre

Family wields the greatest magic.

A missing father. A mother bewitched. Wilhelmina must use her unpredictable magic to catch whoever-or whatever-is stalking her parents. Will her powers be enough to restore her family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Little Elm Press
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781952408243

Liese Sherwood-Fabre

Liese Sherwood-Fabre, a native of Texas, knew she was destined to write when she got an A+ in the second grade for her story about Dick, Jane, and Sally's ruined picnic. After obtaining her PhD from Indiana University, she joined the federal government and had the opportunity to work and live internationally for more than fifteen years-in Africa, Latin America, and Russia. Returning to the states, she seriously pursued her writing career and has published several pieces. Her debut novel Saving Hope, a thriller set in Russia was based, in part, from her observations while in that country. She has published a variety of fiction and non-fiction pieces, winning such awards as a nomination for the Pushcart Prize, first place in Chanticleer Book Reviews' Mystery/Thriller novel category, and a finalist for Silver Falchion Award for Best 2017 Non-Fiction Book.

Book preview

Chapter

One

Flames exploded from my wand’s tip, followed by Gorp’s surprised " Ouch! "

I jerked my head up from the puddle of wax that had once been the candle I’d been trying to light. The top tuft on Gorp’s oversized ogre head had disappeared, and the stench of burning ogre hair drifted toward me. What was more concerning was the hole now in our remedial magic class’s wall behind him.

The fire causing it was growing bigger by the second.

Before I could warn everybody, Gorp shouted, Fire!

Miss Mayweather, our teacher, spun around to check where he pointed. Flames now lapped the ceiling. The rest of the class caught Gorp’s panic and joined his shrieking. Without hesitating, our teacher aimed her wand at the wall with an assured calm and muttered a spell.

"Löschen."

But her incantation had no effect.

The ceiling beams next to the wall glowed red.

Attention, class, she said in the same tone she’d used when she started the morning lesson. The screams quieted, and I could hear her cast a protection spell about us.

"Schützen."

Her wand’s tip glowed bright white, and the edges of the room shimmered behind the charm’s bubble.

Quickly now, she said, pointing to the exit. Single file. The same as we’ve practiced.

We filed out as we’d drilled. Once we had assembled at the edge of the schoolyard, Miss Mayweather scanned our little group of ogres, gremlins, goblins, and me and asked, Who can tell me what happened?

My stomach jerked. I could hear a bell clanging, calling the volunteer fire brigade to action. Soon every witch in town—including my grandmother—would know I’d set the school on fire. Might as well confess before…

Gorp raised his hand. It was Wilhelmina, Miss Mayweather. I saw her.

The entire class turned to glare at me. I dropped my head and blinked back the forming tears. If only I could’ve conjured an excavation spell and buried myself in the ground.

Wilhelmina the Walking Disaster strikes again. Flek, the nastiest gremlin in the class, snorted. "Can’t even do a Licht machen spell to light a candle."

The class’s laughter sent pinpricks along my arms and back. We’d only been in school a week, and already I was the outcast. The misfit. Flek couldn’t even produce a puff of smoke from his wand, but no one remembered that. I was the one who didn’t belong.

Miss Mayweather’s boots and gown appeared within my range of vision as the snickering continued. I raised my gaze to meet hers. She stood, hands on hips, and asked, Well?

I-I-I don’t know what happened. A slow burn rose from my neck to my face. The spell wasn’t working, so I leaned forward to get closer. Suddenly, this flame shot out.

And fried me. Gorp dipped his head so the teacher could see his scalp.

Behind our teacher, I could see the first of the fire brigade arrive on their brooms. Some circled overhead, shooting water from their wands at the flames rising from the roof. Others positioned themselves around the building and doused the sides. Because the structure wasn’t attached to the main school, the fire probably wouldn’t spread any farther. Our classroom, however, seemed a total loss to me. With any luck, we’d get a few days off before I had to hear the jokes about this mishap. At the very least, I’d have the weekend for the news to die down.

Miss Mayweather studied me and then sighed. Wilhelmina Quigley, it’s bad enough you can’t seem to complete the simplest of spells, but now you’re endangering the other students’ lives.

It’ll take a lot more than a little singed hair to harm an ogre, Bettina.

My cheeks glowed hotter as I recognized the voice. Oma, my grandmother, appeared next to my teacher. Her gold Elder Council belt glinted in the sun.

Then Mrs. Winston, the school director’s secretary, pulled to a halt between Miss Mayweather and Oma. The secretary’s fairy wings buzzed to hold her in place. Grayson sent me out to check on the class.

Everyone’s fine, my teacher said.

Any idea who—? Miss Mayweather’s gaze shifted to me, and Mrs. Winston sighed. Wilhelmina, Mr. Osborne will want to see you in his office.

Good, Oma said. I’d like to speak with him too.

"Of course, Hexenmeister. The fairy’s head bobbed up and down. If you’ll follow me, Elder Quigley."

The secretary buzzed back into the building. I trudged behind my grandmother under the scrutiny of the entire school. Their faces filled every classroom window. Then there were those assembled outside: the Havenwood fire brigade and a crowd of witches, fairies, ogres, gremlins, gnomes, and elves drawn by the general alarm. Smoke and flames swirled into the sky. The only thing hotter than the annex was my face.

This time, I was in deep voodoo.

Mr. Osborne leaned forward over his wooden desk, his forearms resting on its top. When he’d changed the last director’s gnome-size desk and chair to ogre-sized ones for himself, he hadn’t replaced the rest of the furniture. Oma and I occupied the two other chairs in his office, our knees pulled up to our chins. Beneath his unblinking scrutiny, I shifted in my chair, its edge cutting into my thighs, and tugged the hem of my gown over my ankles.

Wilhelmina, do you have anything to say for yourself?

I opened my mouth, but his face glowed bright green and dried up my spit. Before I could come up with any explanation, Oma spoke up.

Don’t use that tone of voice in my presence, Grayson. I didn’t appreciate your attitude in my advanced charms class ten years ago, and I won’t tolerate it now. I can still put a tail on you faster than you can say ‘salamander.’

Of course, his ogre coloring and size hadn’t scared Oma. She raised her hand, and Mr. Osborne recoiled, his face fading to celery.

"I’m not questioning your power, Theda, er, Hexenmeister. He turned to glare at me. But your granddaughter’s lack of control over what little magic she possesses is dangerous."

I kicked at the oriental carpet under my chair and mumbled to myself, trying to piece the events together. "I said the spell and whoosh. Then Gorp yelled—"

Mr. Osborne flipped open the file on his desk and continued talking about me like I wasn’t there. Her early aptitude tests indicated high potential...despite her heritage.

I tucked my knees closer to my head, but Oma pulled herself straight to display her full five feet.

There’s nothing wrong with my granddaughter’s ancestry—

He raised his hands to stop her. Your family history is impeccable, Theda, but let’s face it. Her bloodline was tainted. And her marks this year.... He shook his head. Even the goblins do better.

Oma opened her mouth, but before she could respond, Mrs. Winston flew in, her wings flapping so fast they hummed. The brigade chief says you need to come. The fire’s flaring again.

Mr. Osborne shoved himself from his chair and ran from the room, his footsteps sending small tremors across the wood floor. He’d left the door open, and I could hear a mix of shouted orders and hissing water. The smell of burning wood drifted in after.

Oma stood, smoothing out the folds of her gown. Come along, Wilhelmina. We’re going home.

B-b-but what about—?

We both know where Grayson’s heading with this little talk. No need to wait for him. With a snort in Mr. Osborne’s direction, she jerked her gown’s sleeves to her wrists. Besides, I have a plan.

Oma was already on the front lawn by the time I stepped outside. Once I reached her, she held out her hand, and her broom flew from the rack beside the front door to hover before us. Thank goodness everyone was busy on the other side of the building and couldn’t see me.

Fourteen years old and still riding with my grandmother—total humiliation.

Oma and I hitched our gowns’ skirts into our belts and settled sidesaddle onto the broomstick. As we flew over the school, I had a good view of the blaze and its destruction. The elfin fire department had now joined Havenwood’s volunteers.

Thank goodness your teacher responded so quickly. She hugged me. You don’t even smell smoky.

Oma’s embrace sent a shiver through me, and I leaned closer to keep warm.

She gave me another squeeze and said, It’ll be all right.

I wanted to believe her but couldn’t get rid of the knot in my stomach. My magic had really gone wrong this time, and I had no idea why.

Three minutes later, we touched down on the stone path in Oma’s front flower garden. She sent the broom to stand on the porch beside the door and marched through the sitting room, commanding me over her shoulder. Come into the kitchen, Wilhelmina. We need to talk.

I dragged my feet across the braided rug, dreading to learn what my grandmother had planned. By the time I stepped into the room, she already had the tea kettle on the hook in the hearth and two cups on the table.

She pointed her wand at a chair, and it slid out. Sit.

Waving her hand at the cupboard, she opened the doors to reveal a series of jars. What do you suggest? Pear blossom, maybe?

Yeah. Sure.

My dread grew. Pear blossom was my favorite, but she hated it. She was obviously buttering me up for something.

After setting the tea to brew, she plopped herself into a chair opposite me and sighed. This isn’t working, Wilhelmina.

Tears stung my eyelids. I’ll work harder, Oma. I promise.

We’ve tried everything. Tutors—

He was a pixie. Their magic is—

Potions—

That Elsberry tea was the worst, but I drank it—

Even the remedial classes—

Do you know how humiliating it is to be out-spelled by a gnome?

She shook her head, raising her hands in surrender. I’m simply glad your father isn’t here to see this.

I studied the table’s wood grain, smoothed by generations of hands and meals. Whenever my magic mis-stepped (which was most of the time), she’d bring up my father and make me feel worse—like I was a disappointment to his memory.

But today, something shifted inside of me. I was tired of having to live up to his impossible standard. Anger blazed in the pit of my stomach, drying the threatening tears and pushing me to my feet. "I’m sorry, okay? Don’t blame me. I didn’t fall in love with an Englischer. I didn’t disappear without a trace when I was a baby. I’m sorry I’m handicapped, but none of it’s my fault."

Oma rose slowly to her feet, and I could feel her power spreading out about her. The pots and pans hanging on the kitchen walls clattered against the plaster. The cupboard doors vibrated in unison. The tea kettle swung on its hook and fell into the fire, sending steam into the room with a sizzle and dousing the tiny flame inside me. I’d overstepped myself, but I stuck out my jaw and stood my ground.

How dare you speak ill of the dead? She drew herself up, pulling her chin toward her neck. Have I ever once condemned you because you’re half-magic? Since the day you came to live with me, have I ever denied you any privileges due to any other witch your age?

I’m still not allowed to ride a broom by myself. Everyone else I know can. Even Beatrix. And she’s half-pixie.

You can’t stay aloft.

I knew my argument was lame. Flying a foot above the ground was plain dangerous. I ran into everything from bushes to park benches. Ignoring these facts, I defended myself by shouting. "I didn’t ask to be half-Englischer."

The room buzzed from Oma’s efforts to hold in her temper. She opened her mouth, but before she could respond, someone knocked on the door.

A woman called out from the front porch. Theda?

That one word from Beatrix’s grandmother squelched the last of my anger. Ursula was the Council’s Elder Hexenmeister, and from her extra-snooty tone, I could tell she’d come on official business.

Oma must’ve had a similar thought because she sighed and pointed to me. Go to your room. We’ll discuss this later.

I nodded, thankful for an excuse to escape the two women, and sprinted from the room and up the stairs. On the landing, I stopped and crouched behind the wooden railing, hugging my knees to my chest. While I might not want to face Ursula, I still wanted to find out what the Council had in store for me.

Through the stair balusters, I watched Oma stop Ursula from passing through the door. Our visitor still wore her black Council robes and her purple elder-sash over her gown.

I’m coming from an emergency meeting, she said, and volunteered to bring their decision myself. I thought it would be best hearing it from a friend.

How kind of you. Oma’s response held none of the sarcasm I knew she felt. Her rivalry with my friend Beatrix’s grandmother went back to when they were both in upper school and Oma beat her out as valedictorian.

Ursula glanced past Oma toward the sitting room, but my grandmother didn’t move. Ursula shrugged and remained standing in the front door.

The Council met without me?

Even you’d agree you have a conflict of interest.

And my granddaughter has no right to provide any information in her defense?

"We have a classroom full of witnesses telling us the same story. She caused the fire. And it wasn’t the first incident of misdirected magic. You can’t deny her powers—or rather, the lack of control over them—are a menace to Havenwood."

I would hardly call her a men—

There’s the time she created that plague of frogs.

Easily corrected by a reduction spell.

And the flood.

She was completing a homework assignment on—

The sleeves of Ursula’s robe flapped as she waved her arms to dismiss Oma’s protests. If it were one isolated mistake, the Council might overlook it. All novices misstep their magic, but Wilhelmina’s errors put the entire town in danger, and they’re increasing in intensity. She can’t be allowed to continue without some restriction.

You mean removing her powers.

Ursula shrugged. I was being diplomatic.

And what is she to do then?

Another shrug. Havenwood offers opportunities for the non-magical as well. She placed a hand on Oma’s arm. I know this is hard for you to accept, my dear. Your bloodline is an old and noble one. You must, however, face facts. Wilhelmina will never be a fully functioning witch.

She’s limited, but to deny her birthright—

The Council has recommended she be sent to vocational school where she’ll be with her own kind.

Trolls and elves are ‘her own kind?’

You know what I mean. The other non-magicals. It’s better she learns to live within her limits as they do.

I pulled back from the stairs and crept to my room, unwilling to hear more. Once I shut my door, I threw myself on my bed and buried my face in my pillow. Muffling the sounds, I let my tears and sobs escape as I