“Magic!” she muttered. “Learning the ingredients for potions by heart, magic spells, magic symbols; no, thanks, not for me.”
Igraine the Brave
Rose knew that the rumors were true: The baked goods from Follow Your Bliss Bakery actually were magical. And her mother and father, despite living in a small town, owning a minivan, and sometimes wearing fanny packs, were kitchen magicians.
“The two-story shop’s walls were covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves and autographed black-and-white photographs of famous magicians. Every surface was cluttered with magical items of every sort: crystal balls, decks of cards, top hats, wands, capes, and even a human skull.”
The Magic Misfits
Neil Patrick Harris
I sat hidden on the wide windowsill behind the drapes in my room and thought about Ma. Best were Ma’s sweet smiles and her enchanting pretends, like collecting magical wishes in our aprons at dewtime and searching for fairy houses where the deep purple violets grew and the wind shushed in the hemlocks. Like leaving gifts for the fairies—tiny star and half-moon cookies, loaves the size of thumbnails, cloaks smaller than our little fingers. Ma loved all the invisible and gentle beings.
Hattie on Her Way
Clara Gillow Clark