Magic Can Be Murder by Vivian Vande Velde

By Vivian Vande Velde

Nola's no longer a lot of a witch--she can paintings just a couple of dead spells, just like the person who we could her secret agent on humans. yet there is no spell for holding her loopy mother--who hears voices and is a magnet for witch-hunters--out of difficulty. the 2 flee from city to city until eventually the day Nola magically witnesses a homicide. that is undesirable adequate, yet worse is that the assassin may perhaps body Nola and her mom for the crime. after which no quantity of magic will keep her.And you think that your teenage years are tricky. . . .

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The bride—Sulis was her name, Nola remembered—Sulis wouldn't even arrive for almost a week. And surely Brinna and Alan would be coo busy with wedding preparations to notice a bucket with a bit of water in it beneath a rag under the stairs of the root cellar. You're a fool, Nola told herself, a fool And you deserve whatever happens to you for being such a fool. But she didn't really believe chat. She became aware that her mother had put her arms around her. Her mother was rocking Nola, humming the same calming lullaby that she used for the baby in her forefinger.

Nola congratulated herself on being clever. With one last glance around to make sure she was alone, she tossed the hair of che blackberry farmer into the water. The hair puckered the surface of che water, then shapes began to swirl and dance. They settled into the image of the man at his own kitchen table. His wife was sitting across from him, mending a shirt by candlelight. The man was snoring. " Nola saw her pick up che candle, and her husband scratched himself noisily and yawned as chough to swallow che entire buckec of water that contained him.

Three? Four? The bride—Sulis was her name, Nola remembered—Sulis wouldn't even arrive for almost a week. And surely Brinna and Alan would be coo busy with wedding preparations to notice a bucket with a bit of water in it beneath a rag under the stairs of the root cellar. You're a fool, Nola told herself, a fool And you deserve whatever happens to you for being such a fool. But she didn't really believe chat. She became aware that her mother had put her arms around her. Her mother was rocking Nola, humming the same calming lullaby that she used for the baby in her forefinger.

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