Monster High: Season of the Witch

1. Meet Beatrix

It was hotter than the sixth circle of hell.

Not that Beatrix had been to the sixth circle before, but she'd heard stories. Lots and lots of stories.

Sweat dripped down her face and loose strands of long dark hair stuck to her neck. Desperate for some relief, she resorted to using her pointed black hat as a makeshift fan. The tip of the hat was lopsided from years of careless handling; traditional witch garments were never really her thing.

"Eye of newt," a voice demanded behind her.

Ignoring it, Beatrix leaned against a creaky windowsill, fixated on the horizon as the sun sank. Through the cracked pane of glass, she watched a flock of crows soar above a sea of green corn stalks. The black mass of birds moved together in perfect unison, casting rippling shadows on the crops below, not daring to break away from each other. They reminded her of a witch coven.

"Eye of newt," the voice demanded again, louder and more insistent this time.

The view was nothing new to Beatrix. After being raised on a farm her whole life, she'd seen her fair share of crows and corn.

But today, something was different. In the distance, rows of corn stalks rustled in the fading light, swaying and parting as a figure made its way through them. A smile tugged at the corner's of Beatrix's lips. Only one person would dare approach this side of the farm.

"In the name of all things unholy, hand me the jar!"

Beatrix jumped at the sudden shout, realizing it was directed at her. Turning back, she saw her three aunts—Constance, Clarice, and Cordelia—crowded around a bubbling cauldron in the middle of the room.

In their matching black garb, her aunts looked absurdly different: Aunt Clarice, thin and frail like a twig, Aunt Constance, short and plump like a pumpkin, and Aunt Cordelia, tall and commanding like an oak tree. Cordelia was intimidating, even at seventy years old. Maybe it was her height, maybe it was because she always looked ready to kill Beatrix. Probably a bit of both.

Aunt Constance snapped her spindly fingers at Beatrix. "The jar. Now."

"What jar?" Beatrix asked dumbly.

"The eye of newt jar, insipid child!"

Panic was growing in Aunt Constance's eyes.

Beatrix fumbled around in the cupboards that lined the walls. She yanked open every drawer and dropped to her knees to see if the eye of newt jar had rolled under the cabinets. She couldn't find it anywhere.

"Quickly!" Aunt Constance yelled.

"Hang on, I just had it!" Beatrix called over her shoulder. A lie. She had no idea where the jar was, despite her aunts' explicit orders to prepare the potion's ingredients the night before.

How was I supposed to know eye of newt was so important for a pyrokinesis spell? Beatrix thought.

Green liquid spilled from the cauldron and splattered around the room. The putrid smell of boiling bat wings nearly made Beatrix gag.

"There's no time!" Aunt Clarice screeched.

"Brace yourselves!"

All three of Beatrix's aunts lunged away from the cauldron and hit the floor. Beatrix copied them and curled into a ball. At the last moment, she grabbed her hat and jammed it back on her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

A deafening blast rang out and a hot wave ran flush against Beatrix's skin.

After the heat subsided, she cracked open an eye.

Smoke filled the spell shack and every wall was scorched black. Beatrix could hardly breathe; the smell of sulfur and burning hair suffocated her.

When the air cleared, it took everything in Beatrix to suppress a cackle at the sight of her aunts. Constance, Clarice, and Cordelia were covered in ash from head to toe, and their hair stuck out in a million different directions. Aunt Clarice had lost half an eyebrow in the blast.

But any humor Beatrix had found was cut short when her aunts turned to glare daggers at her.

That was when Beatrix became aware that her own hair was still perfectly intact.

Right before the explosion, she'd stuffed her braid under her hat, the same hat she'd secretly charmed with protective enchantments a few weeks ago.

The fact that her hat survived the explosion made Beatrix swell with pride.

However, she couldn't revel in her success. If her aunts found out that she'd experimented with magic, she could kiss what little freedom she had goodbye.

Beatrix had been forbidden from practicing witchcraft until her sixteenth birthday (despite many young witches dabbling in basic sorcery before then).

Aunt Cordelia believed that waiting until Beatrix turned sixteen was best because it was the typical age witches sold their souls to a devil.

You aren't ready. The only way I'll trust you around magic is if you have a devil familiar to whip you into shape, Aunt Cordelia had told her. A devil won't tolerate the recklessness and disobedience you show your family.

Beatrix scoffed at the idea. It sounded like serving a devil would be worse than serving her aunts. She wasn't interested in swapping one master for another.

Devil familiars were known to eradicate a witch's enemies, extend a witch's life, and aid a witch in mastering the dark arts.

But I have no enemies I want to eradicate, and I don't need to extend my life, Beatrix thought bitterly. And if I can already enchant a hat on my own, I bet I can master the dark arts on my own too.

Consequently, Beatrix had ignored her aunts' rules and played around with beginner spells whenever she got the chance, regardless of her sixteenth birthday being half a year away.

To deflect her aunts' attention from the enchanted hat, Beatrix got up and dusted off her skirt and apron. Her clothes were now a darker shade of charcoal than they'd been before.

As Beatrix cleaned herself off, something heavy clinked in the front pocket of her apron.

Beatrix pulled out the eye of newt jar.

She sheepishly waved the jar at her aunts. "Found it."