I fiddled with the combination on the gray metal door of my locker. Rust showed through along the worn edges. I couldn’t concentrate on the combination because my Gmail chimed three periods ago. The Ultimate Sorcerer Competition contestant results were waiting in my inbox, but I was too panicked to find out whether I’d been accepted or not.
Safely hidden behind my open locker door, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and re-read the alert and its fragmented message: Contestant #3365, Thank you for the submission. Your audition vide…
All I had to do was click on the notification, it would open my account and I would know if I was selected. But I couldn’t do it, not now, not here. My hands twitched as PTSD short circuited my nerves.
Maybe not ever.
I quickly slid my phone back in my pocket.
“Did you hear the news?” Olivia asked, as she planted herself next to me in the hallway, leaning her right shoulder on the locker next to mine.
I didn’t respond. That news probably had something to do with—
“Em-il-y Cor-ey,” she said, long and drawn out with a perky grin. “Did you hear the news?” Impatience brimmed in her voice.
“Did I hear what?” I asked, not taking my attention away from the inside of my locker.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Everyone is talking about it.”
“Talking about what?” I slammed the door of my locker shut and the metal vibrated back at me.
“Only the biggest event in the history of Salem. The Ultimate Sorcerer Competition. Duh.”
“What about it?” My stomach clenched like someone was inside squeezing it like a sponge.
Did someone know about my application? I hadn’t told anyone. Not even Olivia, my BFF since kindergarten. As far as kids at school knew, I hadn’t practiced magic since sixth grade. Since…I didn’t like to think about what happened that day. Much less talk about it. I shuddered as the thoughts swirled in my head.
But unbeknownst to everyone, I’d been back practicing witchcraft ever since my sixteenth birthday when Mom gave me our family’s heirloom wand.
“Archie’s been accepted. Geez. Do you even have a pulse, Em? Like you are so totally wrapped up in your head sometimes.” She flicked her forefinger at my skull. “You don’t even know what’s going on around you.” Olivia waved her hand around the crowded hall, just as Archie walked by with Cynthia attached to one of his arms.
I felt like I was going to vomit. The hands that were squeezing my stomach moments ago had now torn it into two.
Not Archie. Anyone but Archie. Anyone.
My hands started to tingle. I looked down and took a breath to calm the witchy emotions taking control of me. If I wasn’t careful, I’d cast a spell right here. Witchcraft was legal, but we weren’t allowed to practice at school.
“Are you okay? You’re pale,” Olivia said, reaching her hand to my forehead.
The phone in my pocket with the email from the competition burned a hole into my thigh like a firecracker going off. I clenched my hands in fists, driving the nails of my fingers deep into my skin to take me out of my magic state.
“I’m okay. Let’s get out of here,” I choked out.
The whole ride to my house, I contemplated whether to tell Olivia about my application. She blabbed on about Archie and the competition as if she knew more about it than me. But she failed to mention the one main reason a witch would want to compete. The winner was given a protégé seat on the esteemed Witch Council. My generation had become complacent, and this competition was proving to stir a grassroots movement.
Witches were commonplace, especially in Salem where the Witch Council was located, but Olivia was sure to be spooked as much as anyone if she found out I had applied to be on the show.
She parked her car on the curb outside my house. I had a magic wand but no car or flying broomstick.
After dumping our stuff at the front door, Olivia and I climbed the creaky, wooden staircase that wrapped around my New England style colonial home.
Inside the safety of my bedroom, I took my phone from my pocket, sat down on my bed and nervously raked my hands on my knees. “Olivia, there’s something I have to tell you.” It was time to fess up to my bestie.
She cocked her head to the right.
I swallowed hard, staring at the lavender fluffy quilt beneath me. “Maybe I should just show you.”
Her eyebrows lifted, like a dog's ears in curiosity.
A storm brewed in my stomach as I pushed myself off the bed and over to my desk. Taking my laptop out of my backpack, I laid it on the surface. With shaky hands, I opened the lid, found my submission video, and pressed play.
I was no film editor. It took me dozens of takes just to get the lighting right. I’d scoured the internet looking for tips. When I started the application process, I didn’t know I needed to pick a “personality.” While reality shows don’t want a staged actor, they do want drama. Drama, drama, drama.
I certainly wasn’t the sexy bimbo, the villain, or the hero. And not an Anti-Hero either, as Taylor Swift had so aptly named it.
I decided to be me. The awkward nerd who studied, got mostly A’s, competed in mathletes, and took art as an elective. The moment I started recording, I wished I’d taken at least one drama class.
Just showing Olivia the video, stage fright bubbled in my chest.
Why had I decided to do this again?
Because I was the descendent of one of this country’s most famous and powerful witches. One quick search on Witchipedia and you could find my family heritage.
My eyes focused on the screen, not Olivia. Inhaling deeply, I calmed my internal self-critique who hated watching herself on film.
As the screen zoomed in on an old magic book and wand, I glimpsed at Olivia.
How long would it take her to realize what she was watching?
She leaned in closer to the monitor. Her hand poised under her chin.
The wand on the screen sparked with light. A close up of my face filled the screen with a grayish white wall behind me. It took me hours to find the right camera angle.
“Em, is this what I think it is?” Olivia asked under her breath. Her voice was soft.
I nodded because the nerves inside had stolen mine.
“My name is Emily Corey, but my friends call me Em C. Not as in a DJ, just as in…well, me.”
My voice bounced with spunk. Just that one line took multiple takes. The online tutorials for filming an audition tape were clear, you needed to have energy.
“I’m auditioning for the Ultimate Sorcerer Competition because I am a witch like no other. Born and raised in Salem, Massachusetts, I’m the descendant of Martha Corey who was executed for witchcraft in 1692.”
The video cut to a black and white illustration of a witch being burned at the stake. Then it cut back to me.
I shivered at the footage. It had been many centuries since witches were burned at the stake, but it still moved me. My family had been persecuted. Without the Witch Council, witches would still be fighting for equal rights.
“Only she wasn’t burned at the stake, she was hung for witchcraft. Because I am related to one of this country's original witches, I have a lot to prove.” My eyes cut to the right, and I took a pause. Then I put my hand up to my ear like I was listening to someone.
“What? You don’t want me to tell you why I should be on the Ultimate Sorcerer show. You want me to show you? Come with me.” I waved to the camera and the video cut to me in my attic.
“This is my attic lair where I practice magic.” My hands were poised in front of my chest, the forefingers tapping each other.
I glanced over at Olivia whose eyes were glued to the screen. Without turning her head, she asked, “You’re practicing again?” Her expression was shadowed and unreadable.
“Kind of,” I mumbled, downplaying that I was very much practicing every day. If I could master my magic powers, I could prove to everyone I was not a freak.
The video shook and scanned the room, then jumped to a new frame with me in front.
I wore a simple white, flowy peasant blouse, tucked into high waisted jeans with a denim belt tied around my waist. It was probably something a middle-aged mom would wear. In fact, it was exactly something my mom would wear. The one thing I learned long ago, never wear black as a witch. It was too cliché.
The Corey heirloom wand was in my hand and my elbows were raised over the table. On top was a microwave popcorn popper, a container of kernels, oil, salt, butter, and a few empty white bowls.
“One of my favorite things to do is watch old 80’s slasher movies, and there’s nothing better than freshly popped popcorn on movie night.”
On screen, my eyes closed as my hand waved the wand. My lips mumbled the spell and my eyes rotated back and forth behind my eyelids. I could sense the level of concentration going on in my head. This was just a parlor trick, but it still took an intense amount of energy and focus to perform.
My palms were sweaty watching myself on screen. Even though I knew how the trick ended, I was on the edge of my seat, worried I’d screw up again, like I had dozens of prior attempts. I always kept a fire extinguisher handy. The smell of singed hair still stung my nose.
I was a powerful witch, but not very precise.
On the monitor, the orange, Orville Redenbacher popcorn oil container lifted and poured perfectly into the silicone tub. At the same time, popcorn kernels floated in a rainbow shape into the same container. Once the two ingredients had filled the bottom, the sound of light popping echoed in the small attic room.
My head pulled back and my chest heaved as if I was lifting a giant truck. The first time I viewed a recording of me doing magic I was shocked by how my physical appearance morphed. My facial features were twisted, like I was possessed. On screen, my skin glistened. I remained transfixed on the spell I was performing. The back of my shirt was drenched by the end of the trick.
The most difficult part of this magic trick was the length of the spell. While most amateur teen witches could pop a few kernels of corn, very few could do it at this volume and even fewer could do what I was about to do next.
I snuck another glance at Olivia whose eyes were wide. As the popcorn filled the bowl, she covered her mouth and gasped, “Holy shit!”
Oliva was not a witch. Nor were any of her descendants. It was one of the things I loved most about her. She was just normal. There were no expectations on her, unlike the unworldly expectations of my family.
I took in a breath preparing myself for the most difficult part that was about to happen.
On the video, I circled the wand over the filled container. Like spinning sugar, the popcorn began to lift in a tornado shape. Multi-colored light encompassed the puffed corn: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. The colors of the rainbow shimmered as popcorn distributed into each of the six bowls on the table. Purple popcorn filled the bowl furthest to the left. Each bowl to the right was filled with the appropriate rainbow color.
As the final bowl overflowed with red popcorn, my arms fell limp. I reached for the table to steady myself, but it was too late. I watched as my weak body crumpled to the floor. There was no acting in that. Magic sucked the life out of you. When I shot this video, I hadn’t gotten strong enough to finish and remain standing.
“Did you pass out?” Olivia asked, right as the video cut back to a sleepy eyed but awake shot of me in the frame.
I was now holding the camera with a close up of my face, hair clinged to the side of my cheek. I could have edited out the fainting, but it added authenticity.
“So that’s me, Em C, your Salem OG and next Ultimate Sorcerer. I’m a kinetic witch and want to make magic with you.” I pointed at the camera.
Olivia started clapping. “Wow, well done, Em. That was amazing,” she said, but her voice was flat, the way it used to be when I practiced magic in middle school. It was hard for Olivia to be a nomic, short for “no magic”, in a witchy town like Salem. Softly she asked, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
I couldn’t look her in the eye, so I kept my head turned. “I’m not sure,” I said. “But my family is supportive.”
“Even Chip?”
I nodded. “He never believed it was my fault in the first place.”
My brother, Chip, was my only sibling and six years younger. He was a BWM like my father, a descendant born without magic. There was something about the witch gene that transferred more easily through the X chromosome. And since women have two, we had twice the chance of inheriting magic.
“I still think it was Archie,” Olivia said.
“I know you do.”
“Don’t leave me hanging. Did you get in the competition?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t read the email.”
“What are you waiting for?” She clasped her hands together.
I unclenched my fists which had nearly broken blood in my palms. “I’m scared I didn’t make the cut, and I’m equally terrified that maybe I did. And now with Archie accepted…” Heat rose in my chest, like the popcorn swirling in my video.
Could I do magic at a competition? Could I do it at a competition against Archie?
“Pfft.” Olivia waved her hand. “Archie ain’t got nothin’ on ya.”
I wished I had her confidence. “But what if?” I stopped and thought about the worst day of my life. The day I stopped doing magic. The day I was humiliated in front of half of my sixth-grade class. The day I earned the title of Pee Wee and nearly killed my brother.
“Look. Now’s your chance to beat him fair and square. You got this, Em. Open up that acceptance letter,” she demanded.
I gulped as I clicked on my desktop to open my account. Under a slew of Zara and Hollister e-blasts, sat the email from the Ultimate Sorcerer Competition.
With a shaky hand, I held the mouse and double clicked. In a full browser window popped up a short note:
Contestant #3365,
Thank you for submitting your audition video for the Ultimate Sorcerer Competition. We had an astounding number of applicants, and the talent was extraordinary. We are excited to inform you that you have been selected as a part of the cast for the 2023 season.
You will be one of twelve contestants. Attached is a document explaining the details of the show and NDAs to sign. Please respond by Monday May 23rd with your acceptance. Failure to respond will result in your casting spot being given to a runner up contestant.
We look forward to creating magic together.
Sincerely,
Zach Ellis
Executive Producer and Host
The Ultimate Sorcerer Competition
“You got in!” Olivia squealed, leaping to her feet.
My heart was in my shoes, and my breath was short. I made the competition.
It was what I wanted, right? RIGHT?
I was about to burst into tears when Olivia wrapped her arms around me.
“I did,” I said into her shoulder.
Olivia pulled back and looked me in the eye. “What’s going on, you look like you’re about to cry?”
“I’m not sure I can do this.” I plopped myself down on the bed. “It’s one thing to perform magic in front of your phone in your attic. But in front of other competitors… and cameras. I think I made a huge mistake submitting that video. I never actually believed I would get in.”
Olivia plopped down next to me. “If it’s not what you want. You don’t have to accept your spot.” She shrugged.
I was surprised she wasn’t giving me a pep talk. Wasn’t that what a best friend was for?
“I’ll sleep on it.” Hopefully by Monday I’d find my courage. I had to do this, not just for myself, for my family. And for Mom.
“Sure. You still want to go to the party tonight?”
I considered her question. Did I want to go to the party where all the popular kids would be, including Archie? Parties weren’t my scene, they were Olivia’s. I went along as her sidekick. It was almost as if I was her magic. With me in the room, she was more powerful than without me.
