Ava—The One That Starts Before Life Gets Stressful
One week ago
‘You might be the most incompetent person on the entire planet.’ My sister swears loudly and wipes a tiny piece of cake off her hand. Apparently, it doesn’t matter that I’m covered from head to toe. Florence looks upset, and I can’t blame her. After all, I only had one job. One!
Make sure the cake turns out to be fantastic, Ava. It has to be perfect.
I imagined something magical—something truly unique—when we decided to create the towering birthday cake for an elder member of the Witches’ Council. No plain buttercream sponge confection for a senior witch! But I didn’t anticipate the total explosion of the cake at the instant Florence tried to slice it, nor did I imagine that we’d end up here, in the middle of the celebration, with everyone staring at us. No doubt all the other witches are thinking the same thing: Ava has messed up again. She can’t even provide a cake without it turning into a disaster.
And it’s true, all of this is typical of me. I look around frantically, as if that could fix anything, while I’m covered from head to toe in cake. I quickly glance down at myself and all I can see is smears of pale cake batter all over my blue trousers. This is a total disaster.
My sister snaps, ‘Don’t just stare at me like a helpless pup! Say something!’ The other witches laugh, and I suddenly remember where we are: the massive Council hall, which is completely packed. And once again I loathe how incompetent I feel—how no one can rely on me because, when I’m involved, everything always goes wrong. How my magic still goes haywire while other witches my age outgrew such problems long ago. I’m flawed. And everyone staring at me right now knows it, and thinks it, as they sip from their glasses, which they use to hide their laughter.
My stomach churns.
‘Ava!’ Florence snaps.
‘It…’ I finally manage to utter one word, but that’s all.
‘What? You want to apologise for ruining everything, just like you always do? It’s Olivia’s birthday, but once again it’s all about you,’ my sister says.
I bite my lower lip, and my gaze drifts to Olivia, who shakes her head, as if she can’t stand this situation—or me—for a minute longer.
‘You know about our magic problem, Ava, and yet you waste yours on something like this?’ She snorts.
‘I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to…’ Right. What was I trying to do? Convince everyone that I’m not a total disaster? That I can at least provide a magic cake?
You blew it, Ava.
Florence opens her mouth to reply, just as our mother walks past her. Her eyes gleam a poisonous green—the same shade as her long dress. Ashamed yet condescending, she looks at me.
‘Go home, Ava. You’re embarrassing yourself.’
I step back, as her words hit me like a slap in the face. I scan the room, but for what? Encouragement? I won’t get that here. For a moment I glance at my sister, who is tightening her already severe ponytail.
‘Go away,’ she hisses.
I whirl around, muttering ‘I’m sorry’ again, even though I know no one will hear it. I rush into the hallway, out of the large meeting room. I sprint down the long corridor, and silently wish it were a bit shorter today. Then I burst through the door at high speed and keep going. I have to put at least a kilometre between myself and that building.
On the way I curse every chestnut I step on, the blue sky and the warm air. The sun blazes overhead and I just want to hurl something at it.
Of course, our current weather worries have only worsened everyone’s mood, and if winter doesn’t arrive soon I suspect this will intensify. An exploding cake would have been much worse under those circumstances.
Panting, I glance down at my cake-covered clothes and suddenly realise I must look ridiculous. A few witches and townspeople turn towards me as I dash by. Yeah—I’m basically a snowman on the run, thanks to the buttercream smeared all over me.
***
I don’t stop running until I reach my shop. Only then do I break down, and collapse onto the floor. I feel frail and weak again—young and incapable, not the twenty-three-year‑old, fully functional witch I’m supposed to be. Just… wrong.
Then I hear my shop’s voice. ‘Should I tell you now how ugly you look when you cry, or save that for later?’
I sniff, scan the shelves, and then a stale, musty odour hits me.
‘Weren’t you supposed to air out this room and tidy up a bit?’
He laughs bitterly. ‘Of course. Now I have to deal with the feisty Ava, even though you should probably take that anger out on your sister, not me.’
I stare ahead with a scowl. Damn—it’s not as easy to deal with an entire shop as it is to deal with a person; there’s much more to consider.
‘I hate you.’
He lets out a hoarse laugh. ‘Oh, come on. With that lousy attitude, don’t be surprised if you end up with no customers at all in your Christmas shop.’
My eyes drift over the many goodies in my store; the jewellery and festive decorations. The shelves are too well stocked for early December. You can tell I’m low on orders. Normally, the snow globes sell better, but the ones perched on that brown cabinet turned out to be mute. Last year’s snow globes could talk. That’s been my top marketing tool for years—magical Christmas items. Without them, my shop feels pretty bleak, and I’m not surprised that hardly anyone stops by.
But now I don’t have enough magic to enchant every item, and even if I only enchant a few, I might end up with too little magic left in reserve for an emergency. That’s the worst nightmare for a witch—to have no power when you need that power most.
I’ve had many worries on my mind lately, but I don’t have the time or energy to deal with them right now. The humiliation I just suffered is more than enough to ruin my whole day.
‘Ava, don’t look so sad, or I’ll end up feeling sorry for you,’ the shop says, and I can feel the tears well up again in my eyes. Maybe I should just let myself cry. Right. A rush of endorphins, and I’ll calm down.
‘It was terrible. The cake exploded,’ I admit, then wish I didn’t feel the need to report every little mistake to him. It would make a nice change to talk about my success for once.
He stays silent for what feels like ages. I can already tell he’s gearing up for a snide comment. Then I hear him snort.
‘Did it at least splatter over her?’
‘Who?’ I ask, confused.
‘Your piece-of-shit sister.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Yes,’ I murmur. And when he starts to laugh, I quietly join in. Which seems to do me more good than crying.
***
The next morning, I resolve to move on from what happened yesterday. After all, life goes on, right? I bet if I tell myself that for a few more days, I’ll eventually start to believe it.
As I do every Monday, I visit Ellen’s Future Readings first thing, even before I open my own shop. My visits here are part of a desperate bid to get a grip on my life—and to somehow defy the lousy prophecy that’s dogged me for months. Today, as always, Billie perches behind the dark orb, while I shake with fear. Billie is Ellen’s daughter and she has just finished her apprenticeship with her mother, so is apparently qualified to tell the future now.
To be honest, I’m not sure I truly believe it. I mean… yeah, I’m a witch. Witches can cast spells and all that, but this? Looking into the future…
‘You’re daydreaming again,’ Billie says, and brushes her hand across mine.
‘Not at all. I’m just waiting for the prophecy to unfold.’
But Billie, who’s about my age, shoots me a don’t mess with me look. She pushes her big glasses back into place with a finger, then sighs. The sound makes me flinch—I hear it far too often—every Monday, to be exact.
‘No,’ I gasp, my voice ragged.
She lets go of my hand. ‘I’m sorry, Ava, but I can only say it again.’ She meets my gaze. ‘Your future looks cold.’
Cold. Cold? I mean—what the heck does that even mean? Am I supposed to die in a massive snowstorm? Or will everyone turn away from me, leaving my life to freeze over without a spark of love? My heart tightens as I replay the thoughts I had just a few seconds ago. Do I really believe in this fortune‑teller nonsense…? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I can—and will—refuse to let that prophecy dictate anything. After all, my future can be whatever I want: funny, weird, crazy or surprising. I have control; I could even move to Germany! But cold? No way.
‘How do I change this prophecy?’ I ask her, as I do every Monday.
Billie nibbles on the chocolate I brought her. ‘We’re just going in circles, Ava. You bring me these treats, thinking they’ll sweeten my prophetic abilities. Then I tell you your future hasn’t changed, and you walk away, sad, only to be back here again the next Monday.’
I shrug. ‘We could give it a try.’
She waves this off. ‘Enjoy your life while you can, before it gets really screwed up. Before it gets frosty.’
I let out a groan. ‘Well, thanks a lot, Billie.’
She smiles as if she’s really enjoyed our exchange today. To her, it’s no more than another work task, completed successfully.
‘Well, I hope the prophecy comes true quickly.’
I blink, looking at her. ‘Excuse me?’
She continues to eat the chocolate. ‘Well, you know how it is. It’s early December, and winter still hasn’t arrived. There’s no suggestion that it’ll get here any time soon. No snow. No Jack Frost.’
Of course I know that. Winter hasn’t manifested its magic yet—no witch in the Circle has been able to tap into it. And without Jack Frost, we all lose our powers—at least until spring rolls around. That’s just how seasonal magic works. One comes, the other goes. And if one doesn’t show up, we’re all in serious trouble.
‘Jack Frost will wake up soon and get back to his winter work,’ I say, trying to soothe her. I’ve done the same for weeks at the Witches’ Council, but nobody feels very soothed. Everyone’s on high alert.
‘He’s never taken this long before.’
I sigh. ‘We shouldn’t lose hope.’
Billie gives me a strange look. ‘Or give up our fight with fate?’
What does that mean? ‘Is that you using fortune‑teller talk again?’
She scratches her chin innocently. ‘I don’t like to tempt fate by setting all of his cards on the table.’
‘What does that even mean? I don’t understand.’
‘Goodbye, Ava. I hope your upcoming weeks are frosty,’ she says with a mysterious expression, and again I’m baffled. Does my future have anything to do with this winter magic?
Billie says nothing more, just sends me away because, she says, she already has other clients in the front room.
On my way out, I stride through that blue-curtained room, which is indeed completely packed. Several witches have gathered for a prophecy. Perhaps they need a sliver of hope in these dark times. Or maybe they just want to cash in a voucher before Ellen and Billie lose their magic, too.
I step out through the glazed front door and realise that I feel more confused than ever. Sunlight greets me outside and suddenly I can’t even imagine winter, or frost.
Fine, fate. Let’s see where this goes for you—and me.
***
Jack
Something’s different. The moment I open my eyes, I know it. It’s time for a change. I want more—no matter what I have to do to get it. Christmas? I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go without me this year.
Ava—The One With Nostalgia
Today
‘Well, I’ve sent you the Witches’ Newsletter so you can give it one final proofread before it goes out. Take care, this time. Olivia has noticed you’ve been inattentive lately, and she doesn’t like it,’ Florence says over the phone.
I scribble all of this in my notebook while I lie on my soft bed, a lilac nightstand lamp glowing above me.
‘Okay, I’ll do my best,’ I say with great sincerity, so she knows it matters to me.
She sighs. ‘If only that could guarantee you won’t mess it up.’
A tight knot forms inside me, and I search desperately for something steady to hold onto. Something that will reassure me that I am competent, that I’ve got this, that life will get better. But, as usual, my sister has an uncanny ability to make me feel even worse.
‘I have to go, sis. The Witches’ Council needs me, and as an apprentice I’ve got duties to attend to. Not that I mean to complain—I love it.’
Does she really, though? To me, her words say only: I love that I was chosen as the apprentice instead of you. I love that I can keep telling you about it over and over. And I love leaving the grunt work—like the Witches’ Newsletter—to you while I attend the karaoke nights at the Witches’ community hall.
‘Okay, Florence. Then I won’t bother you,’ I say, aware that my voice probably betrays my mood.
‘Don’t be so grumpy. You’ll get another chance to prove yourself to the Council someday. But until then, let me tell you what we usually do at our meetings.’
Oh, cool. It’s almost like being there.
‘That’s really nice of you.’
‘It is, isn’t it? I know you can’t help your clumsiness. And even if I chide you now and then, I don’t want us to have a tense relationship.’
Sometimes I think she has AI write her words; they sound like a script. A clunky script.
Florence continues. ‘You’re lucky—I’ve got two minutes left. I can fill you in on our current main topics,’ she says.
Oh, please. Can anyone get me out of here? I roll onto my back.
‘It has to be Jack Frost, surely?’
She makes a sound of approval. ‘What else could it be about? If that guy doesn’t wake up very soon, we’re in serious trouble. Then we can forget all that we look forward to, and that includes the magical Christmas party.’
Pictures of a fairground flying sled—although it only reaches ten metres—pop into my mind. Kids and adults snapping photos. A winter night that brims with fun and magic. It would be terrible to miss out on it this year. Besides, I need that winter magic for several items in my shop. Without it, they’ll just be standard products, which anyone can pick up at the supermarket.
‘And there’s no way to find out if he’s already awake and about to get to work?’ I ask.
‘Ah, Ava, you little goofball. If Frost were awake, we’d feel it. He’d bring the winter magic back. But as you know, the air is drier than ever today—there’s no magic at all.’
I stay quiet and let the rest of the conversation go on without me. Florence chatters away for a few more minutes before she finally hangs up. Relieved, I set the phone on my nightstand and sigh.
‘You silly girl,’ I murmur. But am I really that silly? I mean, what else could have happened? I don’t know. Maybe Jack Frost has been kidnapped. Or become locked in hell. Maybe he froze himself. Or…
You watch way too many fantasy movies, Ava, says the voice in my head.
All right, maybe he hasn’t been kidnapped after all. Maybe he’s just asleep in his wonderfully comfy bed and set his alarm for the wrong time. I have no idea precisely what has happened. But we can’t wait for him much longer. This year’s autumn magic has faded early—almost as if it has been drained. So now we long for a bit of frosty magic, of the kind that usually starts to appear around mid‑November.
‘What on earth is wrong with you?’ I ask, addressing the book I checked out from the library at the witches’ community house. The World of Jack Frost. It’s not a long read, in fact it’s more like a short story, because we witches know very little about him. I could almost recite it from cover to cover—just as I can with most books about magical celebrities.
‘I must have missed something,’ I mutter, as I flip through the light blue booklet. But no; information about him is scarce. Who gave the first Jack Frost his power? No clue. How might he die? Who knows? Even the few facts we have aren’t much help. He takes human form, and his magic smells like happy memories; it envelops you, filling you with nostalgia and bliss. That’s what Frost loves most. He’s drawn to nostalgia even more than he’s drawn to laughter. Wherever nostalgia lives and people are laughing, you can feel Frost’s power—that’s where you’ll find him.
I have no idea whether any witch has ever actually met Jack Frost. Olivia once said that a witch from our Circle had found him, though even Olivia wasn’t sure she really believed that. But any witch who does, deserves everlasting respect. Tracking him down isn’t easy—it requires talent, innovation intelligence, and…
‘What if I just try it?’ I mutter to myself. Although I know what the shop beneath my flat would say.
You’re a live wire, Ava. You can’t even walk in a straight line without somehow setting the floor beneath you on fire. Of course you’re not the person to find Jack Frost.
‘But what I am? If I do?’ I continue to flip through the book. I know how to cast a basic searching spell. Just last month, I used one to find my phone. I mean, I admit it was under my pillow, not somewhere out in the world, but the spell worked and I succeeded. So why shouldn’t I be able to make the spell work to find Jack Frost, too?
‘Okay, maybe I’m a little…’
I pause to think as I read. It’s common knowledge that Jack Frost’s favourite place is Great Britain, because legend says that’s where the source of all magic lies. Most of the world’s witches live there, so it would certainly make sense. But that’s the snag with all this legend stuff. I have no idea whether it is at all reliable.
But happy coincidences can happen in magic, too, I think. I have no idea if I can cast a search spell that broadly, but somehow it eases my mind to think that Frost is probably quite close by, and not on another continent.
That makes it easier, I suppose.
Almost on autopilot, I reach for my nightstand and open the bottom drawer. The smooth black sphere nearly slips through my fingers, but I catch it just in time and rest it on my crossed legs.
I could give it a try….
I press my fingers to the cold orb and close my eyes. Then I release my inner self, let the magic surge, and feel… nothing.
‘Oh, come on,’ I mutter, hitting the orb once. When it doesn’t react, I try again. ‘I’ll never buy anything on sale again.’ I knew, the moment I bought it, that the low price I paid for this orb was too good to be true. Still, maybe it’s not completely useless. Once more, I try to let my magic flow.
‘Help me find what’s missing,’ I say, and concentrate with all my might. I let my fingers twitch, feeling a tiny whirlwind around my shoulders. At last, something is happening.
‘I’m looking for Jack Frost. Where is he?’ I ask, feeling a draught. My bedroom window flies open, and a cool rush envelops me. Startled, I look around and peer into the dark night. I’ve never had a search spell work like this before—it’s oddly unsettling, if you ask me. Still, I won’t give up. I can do this, even though I’m completely clumsy. I can handle it. I just have to.
‘Where is Jack Frost?’ I ask my orb again. The air around me whips against my skin and then, out of nowhere, a faint but familiar melody drifts into my ears—like a lullaby from my childhood. The glass heats up, and I feel the warmth at my fingertips. Horrified, I let the ball slip from my hands and stare straight ahead, my breath ragged.
What just happened?
Brrr. Brrr. I’m shivering.
My eyes alight upon the phone on my nightstand. Look at it! I have no idea why my brain urges me to do this, but I reach for it and see an email notification. When I open it, I freeze.
Is this an event suggestion?
I skim the text quickly and am surprised to find a listing for an event in Dawson Hills, which is around eight hours away. It’s a showing of Star Wars: Episode IV tomorrow night. Maybe it’s a happy coincidence—I’m a total film nerd, Star Wars is one of my favourite blockbusters, and I seriously consider going. Just the thought is already making me feel nostalgic…
Hold on. I spring up from my seat; I can’t sit still any longer. Nostalgia? Does that matter? Star Wars is one of the most popular franchises in the world and would surely fill lots of people, not just me, with nostalgia. I realise that if I go to Dawson Hills, it’s likely that a cinema full of laughing people and sheer joy awaits me.
And wherever nostalgia lingers and people laugh, you feel Frost’s power. That’s where he’ll be found.
How can I explain all of this? Did that ridiculous spell actually work? No, that’s impossible, right?
I feel my hair flutter lightly in the breeze. I go to close my bedroom window, but spend a moment looking out. The moon glitters high above, and I wonder if any of this could be true magic. It feels utterly absurd. Still, I’d be a fool not to try…
Wouldn’t I?