CHAPTER 1

 

     “Hey, watch it!” Duncan Dowitcher screams as someone snatches his glasses from his face and replaces them with a blindfold.

     “Oh, come on, now. It’s tradition,” Duncan’s mother, Caroline, says as she shoves his glasses into one of the hidden pockets in her flowy beach dress — even though the Dowitcher family lives nowhere near a beach. “You’re not allowed to see your birthday cake until the exact moment you were born.”

     The Bohemian beaded bracelets on Caroline’s wrists make clickety-clackety sounds as she tightens the blindfold.

With the blindfold secure, Caroline leads her ginger-haired, pencil-thin son, who stands two inches shorter than his peers, through their dark brown, mahogany-colored, dollhouse-esque Victorian home. Even with thick maroon runner carpets, the stairs creak as the two witches walk down them. 

     Entering the kitchen, Caroline makes Duncan take a seat at the booth-like diner table, which shares its back with an island counter that has built-in sink.

     “Now, you just wait right there,” Caroline orders.

     “How much longer?” Duncan complains. “You tied it really tight this year.”

     “You say that every year,” Duncan’s dad, Martin, says with a chuckle from the other side of the table. He is dressed like a first class passenger from the Titanic — a freshly pressed black and white tuxedo, counting the seconds on his silver pocket watch. “Four, three, two…”

     Caroline wiggles her nose, making Duncan’s birthday cake instantly appear on the table — a thirteen-layer chocolate cake with  thirteen unlit birthday candles placed along the outer edges with a pile of gummy worms on top. 

     She then rips the blindfold off at the exact moment Duncan was born thirteen years ago. 

     “Happy birthday!” his parents cheer.

     “Ew! Gross?!” Duncan screams, scooting as far away from the brown mound. “What is that?”

     “Well, excuse me. It’s your—”

     “Caroline…” Martin points to the monocle over his left eye.

     “Oh, right,” Caroline says, pulling Duncan’s glasses out of her hidden pocket and returning them to him. “Sorry.”

     The brown mound comes into perfect focus as Duncan sees his birthday cake for the first time. 

     “Wow! Cool!”

     “Try lighting the candles with your magic,” Martin suggests.

     “But I suck at magic,” Duncan says. “Can’t one of you two do it?”

     “Come on,” Martin encourages. “You’ve got this.”

     Duncan sighs, relieving some pent-up agitation. He then rubs his hands together and focuses all his attention on the candles. Nothing happens. Concentrating harder, he sticks his tongue out and bites down on it, but still, nothing. He tries pointing at each candle. Again, nothing. Getting angry, he tries every magical motion he can think of: wiggling his nose (with his finger), clapping his hands, pulling his earlobe - nothing, nothing, nothing. Desperate, Duncan stands from the table and does a dance move, shaking his butt from side to side while weaving his arms in the opposite direction. Still… no magic.

     “Told you,” Duncan says, sitting down, defeated.

     “What was that last move?” Martin asks, holding back a laugh.

     “Flossing. It’s a viral dance from a few years ago.”

     “But you didn’t use dental floss?” Caroline questions. 

     “Or your teeth?”

     “The Witches Council must be super impressed on your lack of knowledge of pop culture here in the Mortal Dimension.”

     “Our jobs are to monitor how much magic knowledge mortals have, not understand their strange and weird dances,” Martin says.

     “Whatever,” Duncan says as he leans back and folds his arms. “I guess that dumb trope of me getting my magic on my birthday is a myth.”

     “That kind of thing only happens in movies and TV shows,” Caroline says.

     “In real life, every witch develops at a diff—”

     “Eww! Dad! Stop!” Duncan says, covering his ears. “I don’t need the puberty talk again. I get it.”

     Duncan puts his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his hands.

     Caroline gestures to Martin to say something. He motions back, not sure what to say. Martin points to her as if it’s her turn, and then Caroline, with her lips tight, points at the birthday candles. Martin gives up, straightens his back, and claps his hands twice.

     POOF!

     Thirteen tiny explosions go off, lighting all the candles on the cake at the same time.

     “Make a wish,” Martin says in an attempt to save the moment.

     “Whatever,” Duncan replies.

     “Aww, I’m sorry, honey,” Caroline says, rubbing her son’s back. “Here.”

     She twitches her nose, splitting the cake into three individual pieces — each with its own plate and fork.

     “Have some breakfast,” she says, sliding Duncan’s piece to him. “It’ll make you feel better.”

     Duncan pushes it away. “I’m not hungry.”

     “But you love birthday cake for breakfast?!” Martin exclaims.

     “Yeah, well, not today.”

     “Mood swings already?” Caroline laughs.

     She twitches her nose, bringing her fork to life. Her fork cuts into her piece of cake and then floats to her mouth, feeding Caroline like a queen. 

     “How ‘bout this for breakfast?” Martin asks, then claps his hands twice.

     POOF! A cloud of smoke fills the room. 

     The smoke lifts away, revealing a variety of breakfast foods on the table: pancakes, eggs, sausage, milk, orange juice, hash browns, and sliced fruit.

     “Bon Appétit.”

     “Oh, this looks amazing!” Caroline says. “And your magic didn’t overcook it this time.”

     “Love it when that happens,” Martin agrees. 

     Caroline wiggles her nose, conjuring the utensils to prepare a plate for herself.

     “Could you both cool it with your magic until I get mine, please?” Duncan says as he puts on his winter coat hanging by the back door.

     “But you just asked us to use our magic to light your candles?” Caroline asks.

     “Why do you have to remember everything I say?!” Duncan yells, grabbing his backpack.

     “Oh, Duncan…”

     “But, son—” 

     Duncan slams the back door shut, creating a gust of wind that blows out his birthday candles.

     Another fork full of birthday cake floats to Caroline’s mouth. “Do we really use that much magic?” she asks, taking the bite.

     “I didn’t think so,” Martin says while holding up his hand, telling a knife to stop spreading the butter on a slice of toast.

     “I’m really concerned as to why his magic is developing so slowly,” Caroline says. 

     The plate of food gestures to Caroline as if asking if she wants anything else. 

     “No, thank you.” 

     Her plate settles on the table in front of her.

     “I guess he’s just maturing slower than other witches,” Martin says, making his napkin into a bib.

     “Do you think living in the mortal dimension has been a hindrance for him?” Caroline asks. “His obsession with wanting a cellphone, playing all these video games, and tinkering with old computer hard drives have been major distractions from him connecting with his magic.”

     “I agree. Magic should be more inspiring to him than these mortal toys,” Martin says. “And now that he’s officially a teenager, I fear it’s going to get even harder to get through to him.”

     “Okay, so, hypothetically, if one wanted to give Duncan an… an extra push, what would you say to that?” 

     “Caroline,” Martin says, clanking his fork down on his plate. “What did you do this time?”

     “Oh, nothing. Never mind.”

     “Caroline…”

     “What? It was hypothetical.”

     “Caroline Lucille Dowitch—”

     “All right!” she says. “You don’t have to middle name me over it.”

     Caroline twitches her nose, and a small black envelope appears on the table. “Here.”

     “No,” Martin says, ignoring the envelope. “I want you to tell me what you did in your own words.”

     “But… I don’t want to.”

     Martin stands from his seat. “Caroline.”

     “I enrolled Duncan at Underworld Academy,” she admits. “It’s a magic school in the Netherworld, and he starts on Monday.”

     “Monday? When were you going to discuss this with me?”

     “How ’bout now?”

     “How long have you known about this?”

     “Since last summer…”

     “Six months?!” Martin sits down, rubbing his face. “Ay, yi, yi, yi.”

     “Come on,” she pleads. “There are a lot more distractions nowadays than when we were learning magic, and I don’t think we’re being the best teachers.”

     “Yeah, I suppose you’re right about that…”

     “Great! So, you’ll help me tell him when he gets home from school?”

     “Nope.”

     “But, Martin—”

     “You did this. You tell him.”

     “But I don’t want him to hate me.”

     “Well, then you should have discussed this with him last summer,” Martin says, leaving the kitchen.

     “I was only trying to help,” Caroline calls to her husband.

     In defeat, she grabs her fork off the plate in front of her, scoops up some eggs to take a bite, and—

     POOF! Another cloud of smoke fills the room. 

     When the smoke thins out, Caroline sees that her fork of eggs is gone, and the table has been cleared.

     “You even took Duncan’s birthday cake?!”

     “No breakfast for you!” Martin’s voice yells from the other room.

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Opening Credits

Cover Artist: Timothy G. Wong

Editor: Tyler Compton

Editor: Mark Litton

Written by: Chris Lilly

Created by: Chris Lilly

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Copyright © 2024 by Chris Lilly | Flow Your Mojo