Jenny May's Magical Mess

The morning had started the same as always—muggy, bright, and heavy with the smell of honeysuckle sneaking through her window. Her spellbook lay open on her desk, pages curling from last night’s humidity. On the cover, the embossed title shimmered faintly: Beginner’s Charms for the Young Witch.

She wasn’t supposed to have it yet.

Clara, the coffee shop owner—and the only witch in town Jenny May knew—had warned her not to take it home. “Magic isn’t a toy, child,” Clara had said, wiping her hands on her apron. “You practice when I’m there, not when the moon’s still half asleep.”

But rules were just… suggestions, weren’t they?

Jenny May brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear and leaned closer to her desk. “Alright, Viper,” she whispered. “You ready?”

Her pet snake lifted his sleek emerald head from the small glass bowl beside her. His forked tongue flicked the air, tasting the morning.

Jenny May grinned. “This one’s just a color charm. Nothing wild. You’ll be the prettiest pink snake in Johnson Bay.”

She traced her finger along the spell lines. The words shimmered faintly. “Rosalia Transformis.”

The air thickened. Her bedroom lights flickered once, twice—then Viper hissed, loud and sharp.

Jenny May’s heart jumped. “Oh no—”

The snake’s scales rippled like liquid. His long body coiled tighter, trembling. Then came a pop!—like the sound of a bubble bursting.

Where her snake had been sat something small, fuzzy, and very pink.

Jenny May blinked.

The creature blinked back with enormous turquoise eyes. Its tail twitched. Then, as if realizing the full absurdity of its existence, it meowed.

“Oh, biscuits and broomsticks,” Jenny whispered. “Viper?”

The cat stretched, shook out its sparkling pink fur—and floated. Not jumped, floated, paws dangling lazily as it drifted toward the ceiling fan.

Jenny May clutched her spellbook. “That’s… new.”

Just then, a knock rattled her window. Daniel stood outside, his backpack slung over one shoulder, eyebrows raised.

Jenny darted across the room, pulling the window open. “Don’t say a word.”

“Too late,” Daniel said, climbing through. “You look guilty already. What’d you do—explode something?”

She pointed to the ceiling.

Daniel’s mouth dropped open. “Is that—”

“Viper.”

“…You turned your snake into a cat?”

Jenny nodded, mortified. “A flying pink cat.”

The creature meowed proudly, twirling upside down in midair.

Daniel dropped his bag. “Well, at least he’s happy about it.”

Jenny groaned, flipping through the book. “I followed the spell exactly! But it’s like he didn’t want to be a snake anymore.”

Daniel smirked. “Can’t blame him. Snakes don’t get belly rubs.”

“Not helping.”

He leaned on her desk, peering at the open book. “So, how do you turn him back?”

Jenny swallowed. “That’s the thing. The reversal spell is… complicated.”

“How complicated?”

She hesitated. “It says you need moonlight, a pinch of grave dust, and a mirror older than your mother.”

Daniel whistled. “Got any of those lying around?”

Jenny slammed the book shut. “You’re supposed to be my voice of reason, not my sarcasm soundtrack.”

“I am being reasonable,” he said. “Reason says: maybe don’t mess with spells before breakfast.”

Before she could reply, a crash sounded from the hallway.

Viper—still pink, still airborne—had darted through the door and into the kitchen. Jenny and Daniel raced after him.

He hovered near the ceiling, batting lazily at the wind chime by the back door. Each crystal jingle made his fur shimmer brighter.

Jenny grabbed a broom. “Come down, you glitter menace!”

Daniel snorted. “You’re not gonna sweep him down, are you?”

“I don’t see you helping!”

She tried waving the broom gently, but the cat zipped away, floating through the open doorway and out into the morning sunlight.

“Viper!” she shouted, chasing him down the steps.

Daniel followed, laughing so hard he nearly tripped. “You know, I think this is your best spell yet.”

“Not funny!” she yelled, sprinting toward the garden.

Viper bobbed lazily over the tomato vines, sniffing the air. A butterfly landed on his nose. He sneezed—and the butterfly turned pink.

Jenny gasped. “Oh no. He’s contagious.”

Daniel bent over, wheezing from laughter. “You’ve created a plague of pink!”

Jenny smacked his arm. “Help me catch him before the whole yard glows!”

They chased Viper through the garden, over the fence, down the gravel road. By the time they reached the corner, Jenny’s heart was hammering. Viper hovered near a streetlight, purring, tail flicking like a feather duster.

“Okay,” she panted. “Think. I can reverse this. Maybe if I channel—”

She flipped through her book again, pages fluttering in the wind. “Here! Unbinding charm.”

Daniel eyed her warily. “You sure about that?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I can’t let him stay like this. I can’t undo it unless I try.”

She raised her hands, voice trembling as she whispered the words.

The air shimmered. For a moment, Viper’s fur dimmed. Jenny’s heart leapt—until the wind surged, and the cat split into two.

Now there were two flying pink cats.

Daniel clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Jenny…”

“Don’t say it.”

“…You made it worse.”

Jenny dropped her arms. “I know!”

The cats darted around each other in loops, leaving trails of sparkling pink dust. A passing jogger stopped mid-stride, gawking.

Jenny groaned. “This is bad. Really bad.”

Daniel finally sobered, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. You’ll fix it. You always do.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “When have I ever fixed anything?”

He grinned. “Remember the frog thing?”

“That was an accident!”

“Yeah, but you fixed it.”

Jenny sighed. “Barely. Clara’s going to kill me.”

They both looked up. The twin Vipers were circling higher, tails brushing against the morning clouds.

Jenny clenched her fists. “I can’t let them fly off. If they get too far, I’ll lose them.”

Daniel nodded. “Then we need Clara.”

Jenny winced. “She’ll be furious.”

“Better furious than having two magic pink cats raining glitter over town.”

He had a point.

They hurried to Clara’s Coffee Shop, bells jingling as they burst through the door. The smell of cinnamon and espresso hit them like a comforting wave.

Clara looked up from the counter, her sharp gray eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

Jenny froze. “Um. Define ‘do.’”

“Your aura’s glowing pink, child.”

Jenny gulped. “It’s Viper. He’s… changed.”

The woman sighed, setting down her mug. “Show me.”

Jenny pointed out the window.

Clara stepped outside, tilted her head back—and frowned as two pink cats swooped overhead like cotton candy clouds.

“Oh, mercy.”

“I can’t undo it,” Jenny whispered, voice cracking.

Clara’s expression softened. “Of course you can’t. Not alone.” She held out her hand. “Give me the book.”

Jenny obeyed, ashamed.

Clara flipped to the spell’s page, tracing the faded script with one finger. “You skipped the grounding verse,” she said gently. “Magic needs roots, girl. Without them, it floats—just like your cats.”

Jenny’s face burned. “I just wanted to make him pretty.”

Clara smiled faintly. “Intentions are kind, but power is wild. It listens best to calm hands.”

She muttered something under her breath, eyes glinting silver. The air rippled; the cats twirled once, then shimmered back into a single glowing shape.

With a soft pop, Viper lay coiled in the grass—his usual glossy green self, tongue flicking lazily.

Jenny exhaled, knees weak. “You did it.”

Clara handed the book back. “Next time, wait until your mentor’s had her coffee.”

Daniel chuckled. “And maybe stick to goldfish.”

Jenny glared at him—but couldn’t help smiling. She scooped up Viper, who gave her a reproachful look.

“Sorry, buddy,” she whispered. “No more experiments.”

As they walked home, Daniel nudged her. “Admit it—you kinda liked the flying pink version.”

Jenny laughed softly. “Maybe a little.” She glanced at the sky, where faint sparkles of pink still lingered.

“Still,” she said with a grin, “let’s not test gravity again anytime soon.”

Daniel nodded. “Deal.”

Viper hissed in agreement. Or maybe, Jenny thought, it sounded a little like a purr.