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Witch

wiccaryan · 2009-04-10T21:16:47Z

I have been writing ever since i can remember, and a few months ago i realised how badly i really wanted to write a novel, so i started writing a novel for teens upwards This novel is about fantasy, magic, romance and friendship, i really hope you enjoy it. Here is chapter 1 and chapter 2: Witch Chapter 1 Witchcraft Annabelle’s car bumped and slid along the country road. The wind and rain outside beat steadily against the windows, like the sound of an army marching itself toward death. Brilliant. Just Brilliant. My jet black hair hung loosely at my shoulders, as my pale fingers danced across the page I was reading, something about a man named Darcy. I wasn’t paying attention. I’d read the book numerous times before. Closing the book and stuffing it into my bag, my eyes wandered to the constant view I could see outside. Lots of tree’s. I didn’t mind, in fact, forests and hidden places appealed to me greatly. Moving to Canada was my Dad’s idea, instead of commuting between here and New York, we could move up here permanently. I wasn’t consulted, as usual, but I didn’t mind. The town I was moving to really was quite pleasant when looked at retrospectively, the small town of Berrystone is located in Ontario, Canada. With 3,500 citizens, it was the idyllic setting for my parent’s to set firm roots and for me to come into my own…apparently. “You’ll love it there” my mum said to me - repeating her adopted credo since announcing the move. I was a tough nut to crack, but eventually I succumbed. I had grown to loathe New York; the unavoidable traffic, disgusting manners, the school I went to, the people I grew up with. I loathed it all, a melancholy approach some would say, but I had never felt truly right in New York, even though I was born there. I’m quiet. I like being alone and I like being isolated and kept in peace. New York yielded no privacy, everyone’s problems were always more important than everyone else’s. Eventually, all the voices had collided and began to drone in my head, a monotone voice that wouldn’t stop. I felt suffocated, stifled in my own head. I was a freak. I am a freak. I had never fit in with people, and after a few years, I just simply gave up. I refused to try and pretended to be someone I wasn’t – I didn’t want to be a ‘fake’. I allowed part of my mind to wander to the possibility of being a ‘Fake’ – Would it have been so bad? Of course it would. Could I learn to live with it? Yes Would I sacrifice my self-respect for friends? NO! OF COURSE YOU WOULDN’T! Well, maybe.. The harsh reality that the greatest piece of knowledge people my age could acquire was that of which celebrity was sleeping with whom, and how many times a certain pop star had had his nose under the knife gave me small comfort. I had matured years before they had, it wasn’t their fault. Their rich families had dragged them up that way, I may have accepted it, even grown to understand it, but I would never, ever be a part of it. Perhaps my new school would divulge better results. I truly hoped so. My self imposed isolation had worked for me so far, but I was growing tired of being alone. Although I hated to admit it, I longed for friends. Real friends - the kind you can spend time with, trust implicitly, the kind that make you feel normal, the kind that don’t see you as a freak. I had only ever had two friends, my cat…and Dante – the longest of long stories. The car jerked to a stop, not wearing my seat belt I jerked forwards spilling coke down my white shirt. Perfect. This whole situation was tap dancing on my last nerve; I had always been clumsy, from dropping a plate to falling down the stairs. I’d done it all. Mum smiled as we got out of the car, “Here we are” taking a moment, she spoke again “Well, no use standing out here is there?” she said as she led my sister up the stone steps and through the solid oak doors to the manor. The stone and wood structure stood three floors tall, not including the turret, my bedroom. The gardens were fairly extensive, rose bushes adorned the right side of the building, as ivy climbed up to the highest window and halfway across the manor. The back garden played host to an apple tree and a couple of pine tree’s; which towered protectively over the building. Despite how foreboding the structure was, my heart began to ease. The manor signified a fresh start, a clean slate for me to design anyway I chose. My life would be better. I felt more at ease then I had in years. This house had been in my family for generations, mum grew up here and her mum before that – the scandal my mother, Janet had caused by leaving Berrystone and the manor was famous among our family. “There’s no place like home” I smiled, the rain was now easing and the wind was dying down as my essence began to relax, “A fresh start” I whispered to myself, it was one of those occasions where one must express a thought out loud to confirm it. It was hard to believe I had finally been given this chance. The fear of ruining it all sat firmly on the periphery of my mind; however, I chose to ignore it. Step one to fresh starts was to leave old fears behind. Stepping into the house, I was welcomed by the smell of fresh fruit and lavender, Dad had bought strawberries, peaches, cherries, apples and grapes at the market yesterday, their smell wafted throughout the near empty house. The lavender was coming from upstairs; Annabelle was already burning her incense and had locked her bedroom door. I felt sorry for her, she had lost close friends, she actually was someone back in New York, and she had everything to lose. I had nothing to lose. “Pasta for tea okay Tristan?” my mum shouted from the kitchen. She knew it would be okay with me to have pasta, it was my favourite dish. Closing the front door behind me I quickly glanced around. The floors were hard wood; covered sporadically with old-fashioned rugs of deep red and gold, pictures of family members and my parent’s friends already had adorned the walls. The whole ground floor was open plan, every room had doors of course, but they were double door’s which glided to the side when opened. The living room was painted a light cream, our black leather chairs were placed to face each other and the 90” flat screen TV which was already placed just above the fireplace. I walked towards my mum’s voice, passing the huge Carob staircase and my Dad’s study, into the kitchen. My mum is a woman of 45, and, surprisingly, we look alike. I inherited most, if not all, my looks and personality traits from her side of the family. The long dark hair had been in her family for centuries, as had the good cheekbones, the slim figure, the pale complexion and the icy blue eyes. My mum was a chef in New York; she had managed to secure a place in a five star restaurant in Canada so she was more than happy to make the move. Good for her. The kitchen was a chef’s idea of heaven. My jaw dropped and my breathing slowed as my surroundings gleamed in the soft afternoon sun, which was throwing itself through the window above the sink. It was huge and monochrome. Every surface was a deep, impeccably clean metal, adorned with various instruments and cooking paraphernalia. I adored cooking, and I revelled in the knowledge that this kitchen was now mine. The copper and brass pots hung lazily from a rack above the counter in the middle of the room, as steam poured from three, small silver pots on the stove. “Yeah, you know me, I love pasta.” I reminded her, stealing a breadstick from the counter. “Do you want me to set the table?” I asked, ever so helpful, utter precision was status quo; dutifully I began opening the cutlery drawer before receiving a response. Lining the cutlery up on the marble counter ever so gracefully, they were my great grandmother’s. Solid silver with intricate roses and ivy printed into the handles, they gleamed like smiling teeth as I held them up to the golden honey of the sun. I quickly draped the black oak table in my mother’s best silk dining cloth, along with the crystal candlesticks, which stood illustriously proud above the table. Finally, I began to lay the table properly. Fork on the right. Knife on the left. Spoons aligned above and napkins folded into bishop’s hats beside the crystal glasses. How mundane. How blissfully normal. Perhaps my life was faker than I cared to admit? I bit my tongue, just like I was trained to do. Swallowing my latest independent thought I secretly swore to myself that it would have centre stage, it would be expressed, I would not surrender every part of myself. I needed to wait for my moment, in which my thoughts would be listened to, perhaps even accepted? Twirling my fingers around my glass, I sat with a seamlessly straight back as Annabelle and my Dad came to dinner. A fake smile stretching brazenly across each of their faces. Annabelle’s sleek blonde hair had been twisted into a messy bun at the back of her head, wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt; she was a beautifully messy person. Her eyes were an intense chestnut brown and her complexion was slightly tanned. Annabelle took more after my dad than my mum, except for the flawlessly slim body. Lucky her, how annoyingly perfect. My dad, Tom had dirty blonde hair that was short and spiked, wonderfully matching his light tan and footballer physique. I had always respected my dad; he carried the air of someone in charge, and someone in blissful control. A person who always saw the best of life, the beauty and absolute enchantment of the world. How unfortunately naive, if ignorance was indeed bliss, my dad was an ecstatic man My mum swept into the room, as Annabelle and my Dad took their seats. A bowl of salad and a bowl of pasta soon adorned the table, the aroma of Italian home cooking, awakened my stomach from its prolonged slumber. “Honey, this is delicious” my dad complimented, holding up a piece of bread and taking a sip of the blood red wine before him. “Best you’ve ever made” he smoothly added, before fluidly sweeping a fork full of pasta into his mouth. So normal. “Thank you” my mum replied, a warm smile crossing her lips as she took vast pleasure in making her family happy. “Annabelle, Tristan what do you think?” “Great mum. Really” I answered a generic response that had been drilled into my very soul from an early age. I would never tell her that the bread was too dry. “The pasta is charming” I added, before smiling and shovelling a fork full into my mouth. The pasta was pretty good, if not a tad too spicy. “Yes, its lovely” Annabelle said, her voice warm but slightly venomous “But I think it would have been easier to have conjured it.” She added tartly, before taking a sip from her glass as if nothing had been said. “You know why we can’t use magic” my dad calmly reminded her “It is far too risky.” “Your Father’s right, you need to learn to live as a human” my mum interjected, obviously ruffled by Annabelle’s comments, but trying desperately to hide it. “We’re not humans. We’re witches” I murmured in a low voice. “It’s part of us, whether we like it or not.” I stated in a matter-of-fact manner. The voice inside me wanted to scream the words, but my own conscience pulled me back from that precipice. My mum gaped at me, her chin almost touching the table, if it was any other circumstance I would have laughed, but once again my conscious pulled me back. The lights in the room seemed so much brighter after this startling revelation, my throat began to grow dry as many minutes passed before, finally, my dad (in his infinite display of goodness) slashed through the silence like a knife through butter. “Yes, it is perfectly understandable why you are angry about denying who you really are” his voice was slow and deliberate, “But we can’t risk being caught, this is a small town and people already are talking. We don’t need to give them anymore excuses, especially if it leads him to us” Annabelle visibly stiffened, gently putting down her knife and fork, she tucked a hair that wasn’t there behind her ear and tried to gather herself, “Fine.” She agreed her voice cracked and emotionless. The iron noose of secrecy slipped around my neck once again, I wanted to scream and shout, throw things and rain down magic on an unforgiving situation. Despite this, I remained immobile. “It’s going to be difficult, but we’ll adjust” my mum suggested, her voice betraying her statement, she didn’t sound confident, but scared. ‘We’ll have to.’ Just like that, my clean slate was gone; perhaps I never really had one in the first place. The familiar feeling of isolation sank back into my mind, my heart felt heavy and dejected. I was alone once again. No fresh starts. No clean slates. No friends would be made. “Fine” I whispered, succumbing to my fate. Chapter 2 Cross Examination I didn’t sleep well that night, the complex concoction of nerves and excitement kept me up reading until finally, in the still of night my body finally gave in, and let me fall into a difficult sleep. A blanket of perfect white greeted me when I looked out the window in the morning; the crystal snow lay there indolently. It was completely oblivious to the inconvenience it caused the world around it, but its spectral beauty compensated for its lack of manners. The house was deadly silent. Dad was already at work. Mum and Annabelle were still in bed, Mum didn’t start work till ten and Annabelle had enrolled in college. Some people had all the luck in the world. Flipping the switch on the kettle, I threw a tea bag into a mug and waited, impatiently, for the kettle to boil. The temptation to use magic flirted with me shamelessly; my own heart and impatience begged me to boil the water faster. This thought was soon squashed by my mind, which scolded like a teacher at my own weakness. Grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl, I sliced it placidly into quarters before finally pouring my cup of tea. I added just a smidge of milk and fourteen sugars, the tea was near black in color; just how I liked it. Sitting at the solid wood table I sipped my tea and ate my orange segments, quietly scared to finish and begin my journey to school. I had never felt so nervous; it was so frustrating that I should be this petrified about a new school. It’s just a school; it’s just a school. The more I replayed my statement, the less I believed the sincerity of my own words. It was impossible, being in this house, alone and afraid, not to see the gravity of my situation. Dragging my body back up the stairs, I switched the power shower on and stepped into the bracing heat. The water seemed to hold me like a child, gently allowing my body to wake from its slumber by offering the promise of heat and comfort. Running shampoo through my hair, the scent of peaches and strawberry’s filled the shower, making me smile gently. The cool air stabbed at my skin, causing Goosebumps to spread like wildfire all over my body, grabbing a thick black towel and wrapping it round me, I stomped back to my room feeling sorry for myself. I loved the cold, but going from one extreme to another was an utter scandal. I stood before my mirror, half naked and dripping wet, the image of me kicked caution out of my mind and caused me to take a short cut. Stretching magical abilities inside myself caused me to be dry in seconds. I was dry, my hair was perfect and I was dressed in my favourite pair of jeans. The familiarity of using magic to aid me offered a small relief from my nerves. Magic was my comfort zone, an unseen friend in times of need My black shirt and jeans were tight and hugged me smoothly in all the right places, as my pale skin contrasted strikingly against my clothes, I was sure to make a statement at school. The clock read eight o’clock; I hurriedly grabbed my bag from the foot of my bed and slid down the banister to save time. My key’s jangled in my pocket as I slammed the front door. Rushing down the path I lost my balance, the ice beneath me betrayed my efforts to stay upright; I went down onto my side, the snow beneath me cushioning the blow. I hoped and prayed that none of the neighbors saw my tumble. I walked deliberately slow down the street - ice and snow greeted every step I took. I loved snow. Ice was a different kettle of fish altogether. The school bus was already at the stop when I got there, no student’s getting on but me. I stepped on diffidently, knowing that everyone on the bus was staring at me; I gave the driver a dollar before finding a vacant seat near the back. Whispers and gossip filled the air, along with the repugnant stench of perfume coming from the back, occasionally I caught snippets of chatter, some of it was about TV shows I had never even heard of, but most of it was about me. Gee, I thought to myself living in a small town’s gonna be fun. Losing myself by staring out the window, I hadn’t even noticed that a girl about my age had slid next to me. “Emily. Emily Harrison” she grabbed my hand and it shook it vigorously, before continuing, “You must be Tristan? We were told you were coming.” Her high- pitched voice laced with a heavy southern accent made her sound loud but friendly. “Oh?” I replied “No wonder everyone’s talking” I sighed, smiling in return to hers. She was relatively pretty, her warm brown curls lying smartly at her shoulders while her brown eyes darted back and forth. Her smile was warm and welcoming, gently piercing her rosy cheeks. “Its just small town news, everyone knows everyone else’s business around here. You’ll get used to it.” She laughed; “So what subjects are you taking?” her keen voice soothed my nerves. I had never held so much conversation with anyone my age before; I silently thanked her for her enthusiasm. “English, History, Culinary, Psychology and Critical Thinking.” I answered obediently, before turning my body more fully towards her. “Oooo, I think I’m in your English and Culinary class!” she squealed excitedly. The bus journey seemed short, Emily kept probing me about where I used to live, what I do for fun and she filled me in on the entire goings on at the school. Apparently some girl named Susie had just broken up with some boy called David…Again. The bus lost its speed as we approached the school, a medieval structure that looked more like an exquisitely large mansion, rather then a small town high school in Canada. The tall towers stretched gallantly into the sky, as the walls stood firmly rooted to the earth. A quiet elegance surrounded the whole building, a maturity and freedom that was lost among normal high schools, education was taken very seriously here. Emily grabbed me by the hand and quickly dragged me off the bus, before anyone had even bothered to notice we’d stopped. I made a mental note to query her where she got all her energy. Emily dragged me through the students, dodging and weaving as she led me up the front lawn and across the courtyard, I caught a glimpse of a fountain and a hedge before I was being dragged into the building. It was bewitching. The walls were crafted of finely polished oak and stretched longingly high above me; the windows were large and most were images crafted expertly from stained glass, depicting roses and swords. Oil paintings rested comfortably on the walls, old alumni, old headmasters and depictions of graduation ceremonies were the common theme. “Impressive” I whispered, turning to Emily I asked “What’s the rush?” “Oh, you are in my registration class, that’s how I knew you were coming, and we don’t want to be late do we? Because if you were late on your first day, you’d have to walk into the room with the whole class staring at you and that would be bad, wouldn’t you say?” she babbled her lips moving unimaginably fast. I had to admit the embarrassment of walking late into a room full of strangers, who were bound to be judging me, was an idea I didn’t like to entertain. Taking a seat near the back of the room, the class filed in shortly afterwards, the hum of chatter and conversation carried into the room. Emily left me to my own devices. To my horror, people started to crowd me and ask me questions, firing them at me like darts. I was being felt out. I was being cross-examined. However, I saw no malice in my classmate’s words, no one tried to trip me up on my likes and dislikes; they were just normal people trying to get to know me. For the first time in my life, I felt welcome in a room full of teenagers. “Where are you from?” a blonde girl shot at me, her face eager and her eyes bright. “New York” “Ah, the big apple…why on earth did you move?” interrupted a short fat boy, before he sat himself on my desk. “My dad just got a job at Bedford and Bremmer” Three mouths dropped at my a reply, I already knew that my dad was working at a prestigious law firm. “What do you think of town?” the blonde girl continued, shooting a scathing look at the fat boy. “Uh,” I hesitated “It’s really picturesque” I hurried, as I tried to avoid direct eye contact with any of them. “Take your seats now please” sounded a strong, unyielding voice. It was Mr. Percival, a balding middle-aged man, dressed had to foot in tweed. My classmates obeyed without question, a hushed silence descending into the room like a ghost. Sitting at his desk, Mr. Percival pulled out a deep maroon file from his drawer, proceeding to a take a pencil from his inner pocket, he began to call names, as tired voices replied drone-line with the word ‘Present’. “Tristan Lancaster?” Mr. Percival’s voice punctured every syllable in my name, a slight surprise in his voice that he had a new pupil. “Present” I timidly replied, aware that all eyes in the room, asleep or not, were directed towards me. The bell rang moronically into the room, a high-pitched scream emitting from a red metal disc on the wall. I knew in those seconds that I would have a headache by the end of the day. Oh joy - just what I need. Today was Wednesday, my heart jumped when I realised English was first – my favourite subject. Emily was already ushering me out of the classroom before I even had a chance to put my timetable away, chattering like a June bug once again. The corridors were packed with students; I was being buffed left and right as Emily led me ardently to English. The classroom was bathed in perfect golden sunshine, which shone through the back wall that was a giant window of clear glass, looking out onto the sports field. The sidewalls were bookcases that reached up to the ceiling; every inch of shelf taken up by a collection of leather bound tomes, the vast works of great literary minds stood before me and I couldn’t help but feel a note of respect. The class rushed in, Emily shoved a blonde girl out of our way and sat me in a seat near the front. As the class was still settling, I dug into my bag for the reading list and my books, “Othello” by William Shakespeare was at the top of the list, we had already covered this in detail at my old school, but I didn’t care. I enjoyed English more than any subject in the world, reading was an avid passion of mine, and the chance to sharply question and analyse works by writers never slipped past me. A tall woman with auburn hair swept into the room, her hair flailing wildly behind her. Miss Murray was incredibly well structured, like a live teacher version of Jessica Rabbit, her waist was tiny, but her upper body size was far past that of an ordinary’s woman’s’. As soon as she entered the room, I felt every man except myself sit up in their chairs. “Good morning class. Oh, you must be Tristan?” her voice was deep and feminine, much like the way she sauntered over to me. “Yes, I am” I replied, fully aware that my face was turning red. “I doubt you’ll need your books, you can have a grace period, I don’t expect you to be able to participate in the analysis this morning” she continued in earnest, it sounded patronising, but I could tell that she was trying to be friendly. “So if you would just like to take notes?” she suggested and I nodded obediently. “Now, if you all did the reading, like I asked you to, you should have no trouble taking part in today’s discussion” she stated as she overlooked the class, her eyes were eager and searching. “Jealousy clearly is the tool that Iago uses to undo Othello. But what's his motivation? What reason does Iago give for destroying his superior officer?” “Race?” came a confident, questioning voice from behind me. “Good Nancy can't overlook race. Anyone else care to contribute?” “Cassio has my place. Twix my sheets, he’s done my office. He was passed over for promotion. Cassio was picked instead and people were saying that Othello slept with his wife,” a manly, well-spoken voice with a slight English accent sounded from the back. Miss. Murray’s face lit up with satisfaction, nervously I put my hand up. “Yes Tristan, is something wrong?” she enquired. Every head in the room turned to me, looking at me expectantly. “Oh no, I just wanted to contribute” I replied, suddenly regretting putting my hand up. “Oh” Miss. Murray said, looking stunned, “Well, if you think you can, by all means please do” she continued skeptically. “Well, uh, he sort of admits himself that his motives are... spurious” I gulped, remembering how to breathe, “He, um, he does things because he…he enjoys them. It's like he's not, not really a person. He's like, the dark half of Othello himself.” I finished, taking a quick glance around the room. Everyone’s mouths were agape, feeling like a scolded child; I sank deep into my chair. “Tristan, really, Very astute, please, feel free to contribute as much as you want” she complimented; causing me to glow slightly, it was clear to me I had not lost my knack for English. The rest of the morning went blissfully well, discovering that I was ahead in all my subjects gave me the edge to impress all my teachers, a bit geeky, but it’s always better to have a teacher on side I concluded as I described in vivid detail Freud’s theory of psychosexual development. I quickly began to adjust to being in a new school. Emily introduced me to her boyfriend Jake, who was about a foot taller than me, and promised to keep me company in Critical Thinking and he also promised Emily he wouldn’t let me slip over on the way there. A reputation for being a klutz already? I thought to myself, slightly embarrassed; Great As Jake walked me to lunch, a knot of unfathomable nerves formed in my stomach, tightly twisting and stretching causing me to feel sick. As we got to the lunchroom, Jake pulled me by the arm to the right and out of the side door, the sudden cold hit me like a train causing me to jump backwards and wind myself. Hardly breathing I enquired, “What… are…we… doing?” I managed, before being able to catch my breath and stand upright once again. “The gang never eats inside, we go to the quad” Jake replied before picking up my bag and handing to me. How polite. “I’m not sure about breaking the rules on my first day”. “We’re not. Its perfectly within the rules, we’re just the only people that eat there.” Jake replied, before once again starting to walk. We turned the corner, before me stood four stone pillars being consumed with various plant life placed evenly on the corners of a square made of paving slabs. In the centre was a raised square which plaid host to a cherry blossom tree, unseasonably in full bloom. Jake sat at the base of the tree, pulling his lunch out from his bag two hands entwined around him, before Emily popped her head around and kissed him softly on the lips. How sweet. How romantic. “Trist, breaking the rules on your first day? Shame on you” Emily joked; I glared at Jake before sitting cross legged beside them. “Dreadfully sorry I’m late” came a familiar voice, a manly, well-spoken voice which had the slightest tinge of English, “Had to stop in the Cafeteria for a salad.” I turned my head, to address whoever was speaking to us. Standing before me was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, his features were handsome and well sculpted, and his skin was milky pale - just like mine. His hair was a deep black, lighter than mine, but still dark. It was cut stylishly just below his ears, layered, with no visible parting and stylish gel spikes which made him look slightly university student rather then High school student. His body was slender, but his tight t-shirt revealed that he had muscles a Greek god would be proud to have. He towered high above me, standing at approximately 6ft 4” his mere presence oozed masculinity laced with careful elegance and grace. “Oh, please excuse my lack of manners” he apologized, looking down at me, “I’m Nick. Nick Hobbs” he swept into a bow jokingly, locking eyes with me. Nick’s eyes were a pure emerald green, they caught me in their spell and held me for what seemed like hours, and to my horror…my face seemed to boil as I blushed, a deep crimson.

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: Total votes : 4

Demeter

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Sun May 17, 2009 11:38 am

Demeter says... · Sun May 17, 2009 11:38 am

Hi Ryan! Sorry for the long wait, I hope it's okay.

Just Brilliant.

Why capitalize brilliant? =)

my eyes wandered to the constant view I could see outside. Lots of tree’s.

"Constant view" sounds a bit funny, maybe find a better word for it. Also, ditch the apostrophe in "trees", since you mean the plural of "tree", not "tree is".

The town I was moving to really was quite pleasant when looked at retrospectively, the small town of Berrystone is located in Ontario, Canada.

Either stop the sentence on "retrospectively" or ditch the "is located". I'd say that the latter option would read and sound better in this case. So: "...when looked at retrospectively, the small town of Berrystone in Ontario, Canada."

“You’ll love it therecomma here” my mum said to me

everyone’s problems were always more important than everyone else’s.

This sounds funny when you think about it, doesn't it? Maybe you could have "everyone's own problems" in the beginning.

Would I sacrifice my self-respect for friends? NO! OF COURSE YOU WOULDN’T! Well, maybe..

Why have 'you' when he's talking in first person? Replace it with "I". Also, I think italics are enough to emphasize, you don't need caps too. And ellipses consist of three dots, not two.

and how many times a certain pop star had had his nose under the knife gave me small comfort.

Comma after knife.

Mum smiled as we got out of the car, “Here we are” taking a moment, she spoke again “Well, no use standing out here is there?”

This part needs some serious punctuation. Even though the reader should know that it's the mom who's talking, it's still a bit confusing. I'd suggest you rewrite it like this:

Mum smiled as we got out of the car. "Here we are."

Taking a moment [or Having a pause], she spoke again. "Well, no use standing out here, is there?

and a couple of pine tree’s; which towered protectively over the building

Ditch both the apostrophe and the semi-colon – they're out of place.

the scandal my mother, Janet had caused by leaving Berrystone

Comma after Janet.

The lavender was coming from upstairs; Annabelle was already burning her incense and had locked her bedroom door.

This is only the second time you mention Annabelle. It was her car they used to get to the manor, but we still don't know who she is. I suppose she's his sister, but I think you should've explained it earlier.

My mum is a woman of 45

Awkward, awkward. Maybe "My mum is 45" or "My mum had her 45th birthday [insert month/any time here]" would sound better? Also, we know she's a woman.

The cool air stabbed at my skin, causing Goosebumps to spread

No need to capitalize goosebumps.

I caught snippets of chatter, some of it was about TV shows I had never even heard of

Would he know they were talking about TV shows if he's never even heard of them?

“Ah, the big apple…why on earth did you move?”

Big, Apple, and Earth should all be capitalized.

It was Mr. Percival, a balding middle-aged man, dressed had to foot in tweed.

You should explain how he knew the teacher's name if he just arrived to the school.

Good Nancy can't overlook race.

Again, you need to punctuate to clear up the point of the sentence.

a manly, well-spoken voice

Is "well-spoken" a real idiom/expression? If it is, I'm not familiar with it. It sounds a bit weird, though.

***

Wow, you've got a lot of good reviews. Unfortunately, I think your weakness is punctuation, and Rosey already gave you an article to help you with it. Here's also one to help you with apostrophes:

viewarticlebody.php?t=35798

Hopefully you'll find it helpful. You could also check the other articles there, if you haven't already.

The thing that bothered me a little in this piece was that them being witches is described so little there. Seeing as these are the first chapters, you should do something to draw the reader right in. I think you should expand and explain the witchness a lot more.

I hope I could be of help here. See you around!

Demeter
xxx

Edit: I only noticed now that you had posted edited version of the first two chapters. I'm sorry I didn't notice it earlier, otherwise I would've reviewed them.

"Your jokes are scarier than your earrings." -Twit

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wizkid515

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Mon May 18, 2009 7:33 am

wizkid515 says... · Mon May 18, 2009 7:33 am

my gosh!!! you are great!!! :thud:

this plot has the perfect amount of everything i love about books
I'm horrible at spelling and grammar mistakes so i will just talk about your absolutely wonderful plot!

I think that you have strong characters apart from Annabelle. I didn't really feel that she was brought to attention enough.

Tristin was a great example of teenage life the problems and the trials of moving, with a mixture of the rest.

cant wait to read the rest :lol:

Everybody wants to go to heaven; but nobody wants to die.

Quote

The simple truth is that authors like making people squirm. If this weren't the case, all novels would be filled completely with cute bunnies having birthday parties.
— Brandon Sanderson, Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

Witch

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