The Modern Girl’s Guide to Magic Chapter 1

 Aria

There were many reasons that I should never use my magic. One of those reasons was the horrified bride now standing before me, with new magical jowls that made her look like Winston Churchill.

And it was all my fault.

My job was simple. As the salesgirl at Kensington Wedding Cakes, I had to bring the samples to the brides and answer their questions. But we were London’s poshest bakery, which meant that our customers were the wealthiest and most difficult brides.

Anyway, back to the magic—which I knew I wasn’t supposed to use. Humans didn’t know about it, and we witches kept its existence quiet. But I did use magic—unintentionally!—which was how Bridezilla ended up with her very impressive jowls.

It had all started out well enough. I’d welcomed Clarissa Bentham-Wilkes, her maid of honor, and her wedding planner to the shop and settled them at their table. We had a lovely area for the cake tasting—a round table draped in white linen, with six ornate chairs that had been painted wedding white. It sat next to the counter where I worked, plating up samples and pouring champagne.

When the debacle had started, I’d been minding my own business at the counter, carefully arranging slices of red velvet next to Chantilly cream. I’d just added a spray of baby roses to the plate when the bride had loudly complained that the penis straws for the hen party were the wrong color.

“I said I wanted rose gold, Bella! Not baby pink.” It was the acid in Clarissa’s voice that really got my attention. She was so vicious that it made the hair rise on the back of my neck.

I chanced a look at the table and saw the resigned expression on the wedding planner’s face, along with the faintest hint of worry. 

Code Red!

I abandoned the cake and poured three glasses of champagne. I put them on a silver tray as the bride turned to the wedding planner.

“Mary, I’m rather peeved with you,” she said to the wedding planner. “I’ve spoken to the animal handler, and he said that the doves cannot be dyed rose gold because apparently, you can’t put dye on living animals. But you promised me rose gold doves.”

“I didn’t say that, Clarissa.” The wedding planner’s tone was so level that I could have used it to hang a picture. “I said we could ask about the paint. I’m sorry it won’t work out.”

“You’re sorry?” The bride’s face turned red. “How is that going to get me rose gold doves?”

“Champagne!” I cried when I arrived at the table. “A toast to the bride!” I set the glasses down, carefully avoiding the scattered array of penis straws and a pile of lace that looked like it might be the veil. It was unusual for the customers to bring so much wedding paraphernalia to the store, but I certainly wasn’t going to mention it. The wedding planner pulled some napkin fabric samples out of the way as I moved to set her glass in front of her. 

The bride snatched the glass before it could land on the table. “I’ll take that. She’s working, after all.”

If anyone needed a drink, it was the wedding planner. Up close, I could see the strain in her eyes and the shadows beneath them. We shared a quick look of camaraderie. We both knew what it was like to work the minefield of wedding planning for Britain’s elite.

The bride took a sip of the wedding planner’s champagne, then arched a brow at me. “Well? Aren’t you supposed to bring us cake as well?”

“Of course.” I pasted on my best smile, then turned and went back to the counter.

Her voice followed me, though it was clear she’d turned back to the wedding planner. “You’re going to need to talk to the animal handler about the swans as well. While I was visiting to select the swans who would proceed me down the aisle, I stepped in swan poo! In my lavender Louboutins! That cannot be allowed to happen at the wedding.”

“I’m not sure we’ll be able to control that,” the wedding planner said. “That’s what swans do. Perhaps we could have a flower girl scatter rose petals instead?”

“That is so overdone. We just need the swans to be trained better.”

Clarissa was in for a rude awakening if she thought anyone could train a swan not to poo wherever it pleased.

The barrage of criticism continued, along with threats to sack the wedding planner if she didn’t sort out the issue with the swans. I’d lost enough jobs for screwing up that the litany gave me secondhand anxiety.

I really couldn’t screw this job up, either. It was the sixth one I’d had since I moved to London—cleaner, waitress, and sex toy salesperson among them. I wished I could say I’d left those jobs willingly, but I hadn’t.

Most of the time, I’d been fired for unexplained disasters. What my human bosses didn’t know was that those disasters were the result of me being unable to control the magic that occasionally exploded out of me. Most humans didn’t know magic existed, and I had to keep it that way. 

My wonky powers were the reason I’d left Charming Cove, the seaside village in which I’d grown up on the Cornish coast. It was the most beautiful village in England, and there had been an entire magical community hidden on a picturesque street overlooking the sea. But with my iffy magic, I hadn’t fit in. Eventually, it had been enough to drive me from the place I’d once called home. 

I’d ended up at Kensington Wedding Cakes, where everything was about to go spectacularly to shit. When I carried the cake to Bridezilla’s table, I saw that the wedding planner had tears in her eyes.

I hated bullies. 

A steady breath calmed me only slightly, and I tried to push down the anger bubbling up inside me.

I set the platter down as carefully as I could, but I must have transferred some of that anger to the cake. As soon as the bride took a bite, she developed a set of jowls that would do a bulldog proud. 

I gaped, horror-struck.

The wedding planner and maid of honor were speechless as well.

“What?” the bride demanded. “The cake wasn’t that good. It certainly couldn’t have knocked you speechless.”

I knew for a fact that the cake was phenomenal, so I didn’t take the insult personally. I also hadn’t made it.

“Um, are you allergic to anything?” the wedding planner asked.

“Almonds, but I already told the baker. Why?”

“Well….” The wedding planner pulled a mirror from her purse and held it up so the bride could see her reflection.

Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no. This was so not good. I’d screwed up last week as well, though not nearly this badly. If my boss found out, I could be out of a job. I looked up at the clock. Myra was meant to be in at any moment. 

I needed to fix this. But how?

She bride screeched, her enraged gaze on me. “You put almonds in the cake!”

“We really didn’t!” I said, scrambling for a solution. “I guarantee it. Absolutely no almonds.”

She pointed at her face. “Then explain this.”

“Um…” Did almonds really give a person jowls? I supposed it looked like swelling. “How is your breathing? Are you itchy?”

“It’s fine, thank God. But that’s not the problem. The problem is how I look.” She shoved back from the table, her breath heaving. “If there are no almonds in the cake, you must have been eating some and got them on your grubby little fingers and transferred it to the cake.”

“I didn’t, I promise. I don’t even like almonds.” I did, actually, but she didn’t need to know that. I reached for the tray of cakes. “Let me take this out of your way.” I pulled the tray away from the table but fumbled it in my haste. The entire thing flipped over, and red velvet cake splattered all over the white lace veil.

The bride screeched. “Careful! That veil is worth more than your life!”

Ouch. Also, maybe a bit of an exaggeration. “I’m so sorry!”

“Ooh, you…” She stomped towards me, her finger raised. “I am going to ruin you!” She stomped her right lavender Louboutin. “I will write a review so bad that your shop will never have another customer. Kensington Wedding Cakes will suffer.”

Of course, that was the moment that Myra walked in. Needless to say, I was out of a job fifteen minutes later. To make matters worse, I was also out of a home. I’d rented my little flat from Myra, and now that the job was kaput, so was the flat. She’d given me only two days to get out.

And because I was a genius, I’d ended up at the local pub. The original plan had been to ask for a job, and I had. But the owner had wanted me to have a few beers with him first, to prove I knew my ales (which I did, of course). Unfortunately, I hadn’t got the job, but I had got drunk.

Which was why I was now leaving the pub far too late at night. As I stepped out onto the pavement, cold, wet rain drops landed on my head.

“Seriously, world?” I tipped my head back and groaned, but that was the only whinging I let myself do. 

I made my way to the little flat that would be my home for just two more nights. The entrance was through a narrow alley, but that was fine because the rent was cheap.

To my left, a small head popped out of a rubbish bin. The black and white face hissed at me, and I flipped him the bird. The badger had lived in the alley beneath my flat for the last few months, and he’d been a right wanker the whole time.

As I unlocked the flat, I gave the badger one last look. He’d raised a paw out of the bin and extended one little finger.

“Oh, piss off,” I said as I stifled a laugh. 

His head popped back down into the bin. He really ought to be living in the countryside—I’d never heard of badgers in the city—but he seemed content. 

As I walked into my cozy little space, the smell of foliage calmed me. I might live in the middle of the city, but my flat didn’t know it. Plants covered every surface, kept alive by the magic that surrounded me. My wonky power required an outlet, and since I didn’t use it because it always blew up in my face, the plants had become that outlet. They thrived, and I had no idea what I’d do with them when I had to leave here. 

“It’s about time you got home,” a crotchety female voice sounded from the darkened corner, and I whirled. 

My grandmother sat in the chair, looking for all the world like a TV gran with her floral dress and neat white bun—as long as one ignored the martini glass in her hand.

Surprise flashed through me. I hadn’t seen her in years, and my heart warmed. “What are you doing here?”

“Come to see my favorite granddaughter, of course.” She rose and gave me a hug, wrapping her arms tight around me. The scent of lavender and baby powder wafted over me, and I breathed in deeply. She was everything about home that I missed. 

“I’m your only granddaughter,” I said against her hair. She was much shorter than me, though her presence was the size of a house.

She pulled back and smiled. “You would be my favorite even if I had a hundred.” 

I grinned. “Seriously, Gran.” Cecilia was her proper name, but she went by Cici with other people. “Why are you here? You’ve never visited me before.”

She sipped her martini. “Because you needed time, dear.”

I still needed time, if the disaster at the bakery was any indication. The last thing I wanted to do was return home as the magical loser I’d been when I left. “My magic isn’t any better.”

“You haven’t been practicing, so of course it’s not.”

“How do you know that?”

“That’s what Boris reports.”

“Boris?”

“The badger, dear.”

Of course my grandmother had sent a spy. “If I still need time, why are you here?”

“Because we need you. The shop needs you. The whole town needs you. And if you don’t come home, we’ll lose everything.”