Guinevere Franchesca Fireblossom was, despite her name, a plain girl. She had inherited her father's dull brown hair and tall figure, already being 5'2" at the age of ten and still growing. From her mother, she had received brown eyes and a slim figure. She had not inherited their common sense in any form, and was constantly getting into mischief. Once, just a year ago, she managed to blow up chicken nuggets while cooking them in the microwave. They had bought a new microwave, but she hadn't been allowed to cook since.

Her sister Julia was thirteen, beautiful, and loved to torment Gwen. Her favourite activity was cutting Gwen's hair into little, ragged tufts while her younger sister was sleeping. Last night while she did this, their bureau (which was actually Julia's since she didn't let Gwen use it) tipped over and fell on Julia. When she had woken up in the hospital, she said Gwen had pushed it over as she had been going to get a drink.

Now Gwen was down in the laundry room in the basement with what few belongings she possessed. Her parents had always favoured and spoiled Julia, but Gwen had only received a few of her sister's worst clothes. She had learned not to ask for others, though. In fact,s he had learned not to ask for anything.

When she was six, she had never met any of her family except her parents and her sister. She knew she had an uncle by the name of Mortimas though, and made the mistake of asking about him.

Her mother had turned beet red, while her father dropped his cup of wine and Julia sniggered from behind her pizza. "Why do you ask?" the first questioned, not kindly.

"Well, I know he exists, but nobody ever mentions him..." Gwen had replied.

"My brother Mortimus," her father had said firmly, "is a disgrace to our family name, and that is why we do not discuss him. Now eat your green beans." That had been the end of the conversation, Gwen forced to eat soggy green beans out of the freezer as everyone else ate steaming pizza. She had never eaten pizza, and Uncle Mortimus had never been mentioned again.

But the next day, she had been in the local bookstore when a man walked in. Gwen automatically hid behind a shelf because she thought the man was her father, coming to get her to do more chores. At least, the man looked like her father, with the brown hair and regal nose, but his face was softer. She knew this wasn't her father but her Uncle Mortimus, and she stepped out from behind the shelf.

The movement caught his eye, and he turned to look at her. With a small gasp, she saw the mole on his right temple. She had the same mark, which annoyed her parents to no end. When she was four, they had had an operation performed to get it removed. It had grown back the next day, in the same exact spot. And her uncle had the same mark, in the same spot...No wonder they hated it!

But her uncle smiled at her, and she immediately decided there couldn't be anything disgraceful about him. "Guinevere, right?" he asked, and she nodded. "I've been wanting to meet you, but Herman won't let me near your house. Don't worry, we'll get to know each other sometime. Here, I have something for you..." And he pulled out a small, glossy picture of himself. As he gave it to Gwen, he said, "Well, I must be going now, must return to work. Be sure to learn your French, Gwen!"

Then he walked out into the busy streets of Halifax, but whens he followed him, he was gone. That was her only meeting with her uncle.

Now Gwen rumaged around the laundry room, muttering, "Lumière, where is lumière?" She had taken her uncle's advice and fervently studied French, although she didn't let anyone know. When she was alone, she often spoke random French words. She still didn't know why her uncle had told her to study the language, but she wasn't accustomed to explanations of any form.

Suddenly she froze, hearing voices above her. Once she was out of sight, her parents often forgot she existed. This was one of those frequent times.

"What can we do, Herman?" her mother asked. "If Guinevere even catches sight of those - abnormals, she could ruin us!"

"I don't know what to do, Darcy. It's your sister."

"Yes, but your brother's wife, and Guinevere's family. We should have never raised her, she's been nothing but trouble..."

"Yes, but it was our duty as honourable citizens to try and bring her up respectively. So, what should we do?"

At that moment, the washer turned on, drowning out any other noise. Gwen silently cursed it while wondering what her parents had been talking about. She would have to find out somehow...

She finally found a candle and matches and sat down on the floor. She took out a piece of paper and a pen from her pillowcase and started writing.

12 August

I'm back to living in the laundry room, which means I had an actual bedroom for two weeks. Of course, I think the laundry room is better than sharing a room with spoiled, self-centered Julia. At least the clothes don't try to chop my hair off, and while I'md own here, they forget I exist.

Today, I overheard an odd conversation between my mother and father. It doesn't make sense to me, but I'll write it down anyway.

And she did write it down. She had been writing journal-like letters to her uncle since she had met him, but she had never sent any; her parents wouldn't have allowed it. Instead, she kept the papers neatly hidden on a backshelf in the laundry room, behind the furnace. The picture he had given her was also hidden behind it. She put the newest paper there as her mother called her up for supper.

"We're going to Carmody tomorrow," Herman Fireblossom announced as Gwen sat down at the table. "Your mother's sister has died, and although she's just as disgraceful as my brother, she is family and it would be wrong of us not to pay our respects."

"Yes," Darcy said. "Julia, this will be a fine time to show off your new black cotton dress, and we can do your hair in long, gorgeous plaits. Guinevere..."

"Yes?" she asked, hopeful. She had never been out of Halifax.

"I expect the house to be spotless when we return." Gwen's heart plummetted. "Just because we're going to Carmody is no reason to shirk your duties. If I see even one speck of dust, you will not get new sneakers for school."

*I won't anyway,* Gwen thought glumly as a toe poked out of a hole. These sneakers were two sizes too small already, and Julia's feet had stopped growing a year ago. Gwen would never have properly fitting shoes, and it looked as if she would never see anything except Halifax.

The hum of the vacuum drowned out all other noises, letting Gwen feel momentarily at peace. That might have explained why she didn't hear the front door open and clse; at any rate, she found herself looking up to face her father.

"Did you forget something?" she asked immediately, and then looked closer. He was not Herman, but Uncle Mortimus. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were my father, but if he learns you were here..."

"So he still detests me?" he asked.

"More than that."

"Yes, but he has gone to his sister-in-law's funeral, so there's hope yet."

"How do you know about that?" Gwen asked.

"My dear, don't you know anything at all about your family?" She shook her head. "Franchesca, whom you were named after, was my wife. So how else would I know who's at her funeral?"

"But if you were her husband, shouldn't you be at her funeral?"

"Yes, and there's time yet for that, and I knew this would be the only chance I got to see youk. How dreadful of Herman and darcy to not let you go to Franchesca's funeral! But, quickly, is there anything you wish to give me?"

"Well - yes," she said, and ran downstairs to the back of the laundry room. She grabbed her treasured papers, ran back upstairs, and handed them to him. "I've poured my heart and soul into these papers for the last four years," she told him. "I thought I could confide in you."

"Of course you can," he replied. "I wish I could give you something as valuable, but this will have to do." He pulled out a silver envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. "Farewell, Gwen." And then he walked out the door and was gone.

Gwen looked at the envelope, forgetting all of her chores. It was addressed to her, Gwen Fireblossom, of 14 Mulhill Lane, Halifax, Nova Scotia. She opened it, and out fell three letters, the first two looking very professional, the third a note written on a scrap of paper. She read the first paper, which was written in gold ink.

She looked at the next paper, wondering if this was some joke her parents had thought up, only they had no sense of humour and wouldn't allow "magic" to be said in their house. But she had never heard of Minerva Lane from her parents' trips, and they wouldn't allow her to go to Carmody for such things. So she wondered where she would get all of the things listed in the gold writing.

First year students will require all of the following:
1 wizard's wand
1 cauldron, iron, standard size
1 pointed black hat
1 winter cloak, waterproof
1 telescope
1 standard supply of herbs
4 wizard robes, nonflammable, 3 must be black
1 flying broom (optional)
1 bird, cat, or dog (optional)

Books:
Standard Spells: Level One by Geofferey McShane
Herbs and Their Uses by Natilda Humphrey
A Magical History by Phyllis Bunglewood
Tranfiguration: A Beginner's Manual By Quentin Haggerty
Magical Theory by Eric Cummyngton
Protecting Yourself from Jaggles by Jonathon Banks
Star Gazing into the Present and Future by Franchesca Fireblossom

"What are Jaggles?" Gwen wondered aloud, but then her thoughts moved to something more important: If this was real, how would she afford it? And how would she get her family to agree to letting her go? Quickly, she looked to the other paper. It was a note from her uncle that read:

Don't worry about particulars right now, just be ready when I pick you up on 19 August. I'll handle my brother and sister-in-law. Until then, don't mention this or my visit to them, or they'll lock you up and forbid you to go. Although, they won't have that power once everything is revealed. I'll explain everything then. And I hope you've been studying your French like I told you.

Love,
Mortimus

For the first time in her life, Gwen truly smiled. If her uncle said not to worry, she wouldn't. Not much else made sense in his letter, but that did. So, still smiling, she went to put her letters in her most secret hiding place. Then she fell asleep, forgetting the mound of chores she had to do.

"Guinevere Franchesca Fireblossom!" The piercing scream woke her out of a blissful sleep.

"Oh no," she moaned, her perfect mood shattered. "I completely forgot about my chores!" She quickly ran upstairs. "I'm sorry, Mama-" All apologies suddenly dropped from her mind as she looked at the main portion of the house. The rugs were spotless, the windows gleamed, and there was an altogether sparkling atmosphere surrounding the house. Gwen tried not to stare as she silently wondered how everything had become so clean.

"Guinevere, how did you get the house so clean?" her mother demanded, expressing Gwen's own wonders. "Nevermind," she said after a split second of silence. "What is important is that I shall expect such cleanliness from you every day."

Gwen inwardly groaned. If she didn't know how everything had become so clean, how would she repeat it?

But it seemed she didn't have to worry about that, either. For the next five days, she followed a leisurely pattern. She would wake up for breakfast, dust until her father left for work and her mother and sister for school shopping. Then she would retreat to her bed in the laundry room, where she would sleep and study French for the rest of the day. The circle under her eyes that had existed since she was five disappeared, and the house was mysteriously gleaming when everyone returned for supper.

But this only annoyed her mother even more, for her favourite activity was bossing Gwen around, and if everything was already done to perfection, there was no reason to boss Gwen around. So Darcy Fireblossom became even more grumpier by day, and Gwen was relieved when Thursday the 19th finally rolled along.

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER, SHE'S IN OUR CARE!"

"Yes, and fine care that is! I want to see my daughter, and you're not going to stop me from doing so."

"You are not going to corrupt her with your freakish ways! She is our family now, and happy here-"

"HAPPY? You describe her life as a happy one? Not knowing who, or what, she really is, being forced to live in a laundry room and tormented by your spoiled daguther?"

*That's Uncle Mortimus,* Gwen thought faintly as she was roused from her sleep, *and he's defending me. But as usual, nothing else he's saying is making much sense...*

"It's friendly sibling rivalry," Mortimus' brother put in, defending his precious Julia.

"It's not friendly, they're not siblings, and it's not rivalry, since Julia completely dominates everything!" There were footsteps across Gwen's ceiling, and then her uncle shouted down the stairs, "Gwen, please come forth and oblige us with your presence."

"She is not going to come up here and see your scandalous face!" her mother protested.

There was a laugh, and then: "Do you really think you can control me now where it concerns Gwen? You were supposed to raise her, not teach her that I was a demon! But look here, I've a paper that claims I now have legal guardianship of her, and you can do absolutely nothing about it." Gwen had now come into the parlour, clutching a plastic bag with her scarce belongings inside it. Mortimus went over to her. "Now, Gwen, do you want to go with me to a wizard school and learn magic?"

She looked at her mother, who had flinched dreadfully at the words "wizard" and "magic." "Of course I want to go," she said hesitantly and very quietly, "but I won't if it's against my parents' wishes."

"Oh, we're not your parents, you fiend," Darcy said, quite nastily. "Don't you understand anything?"

"You're...you're not my parents?" she asked. "Then...who are?"

"I am," Mortimus answered just as quietly as Gwen had asked.

"Oh yes, him and my wretched sister are," Darcy agreed. "Then they decided they didn't want you, and dumped you on us-"

"That's not true!" Mortimus interrupted, red with bottled-up rage. "Franchesca and I didn't want to give you up," he said, turning to Gwen, "but it was in your best interest, you have to believe me. A very evil wizard was after us, and the safest thing for you was to send you to live with your relatives, not knowing about us, because then they couldn't track you down and kill you. But you were supposed to know before now, only my brother and sister-in-law were too stubborn and afraid of magic to tell you. So, please forgive me, but I knew of no one else to leave you with."

"Of course I forgive you," Gwen asid with a genuine smile. "So, is it okay with my parents if I went to a wizard school?"

Her father - her true father - positively beamed. "We wouldn't have it any other way," he said. "Now, shall we bring your luggage outside to the carriage?"

She looked out a window and saw, in fact, a white carriage drawn by two pinkish, winged horses. Just as fascinating was the fact that people in the streets didn't even seem to notice it. She asked Mortimus why they didn't.

"Well, foggins don't really look properly, do they?" he asked.

"What- what are foggins?" she asked.

"Foggins are nonmagical people, such as this dreadful family you've been living with. Only, they're not all as horrible as this lot." He seemed to enjoy insulting his brother's family. "And most don't know the magical world exists, they only dream about it." He looked around the parlour. "Well, shouldn't you say goodbye to everyone? It's the polite thing to do."

Only the knowledge that it was the polite thing to do and that she would no longer be living with them brought Gwen to say goodbye. Herman and Darcy simply glared at her like she was poison, but she got a fairly pleasing reaction from Julia.

"Goodbye, perhaps we'll meet again at a family reunion," Gwen said, quite pleasantly. Julia emitted a squeak and hid behind her mother. Gwen grinned and turned to her father. "Are you going to say goodbye?" she asked him.

"What? Oh - yes." Then he turned and nodded. "Goodbye, couch. It was nice meeting you, even if you are a dreadful red. Well, we mustn't blame you for Darcy's poor taste." She turned as scarlet as the couch she now sat upon. "And farewell to you, faithful lamp. May you shed light on our darkest days." He went on like that, saying goodbye to every inanimate object in the room and pointedly ignoring the three foggins. Then he marched out the door, Gwen following with her bag of belongings.

"How do you know it's safe for me now?" she asked as the carriage flew over the Canadian countryside.

"Well, it's never entirely safe, but if you're going to be a wizard, you have to stick your neck out of your shell sometime. And the Jaggles - those are wizards who have turned bad - are all taken care of for the moment. The Dark Lady's followers have been dealt with, and as for the Dark Lady, Meldinif, herself-"

"Yes?" she asked after a pause.

"Well, your mother took care of her. Used all of her last strength to kill Meldinif - but it killed her as well. A wizard's Last Hope does that, uses all the person's energy to kill the other. Only, there's nothing left to save the wizard. She died a hero's death, but that's not what she wanted. She only wanted the world to be safe for you and the other wizards who deserved it. The school will be empty without her."

"Did she teach there?" Gwen asked.

"Well, she was the Headmistress, and she taught Divination. She was the most accurate person in that area that I've ever met. You know what her last prediction was?"

"No," Gwen replied.

"She said, 'I see a future in which Cinnamon will be a happy and safe wizard.' And then she went after Meldinif. You see, we always called you Cinnamon between ourselves, wanted to name you it. But Darcy wouldn't allow it, said if she was raising you, you would have a common name. I don't see what's so common about Guinevere, but she never made much sense. But we always called you Cinnamon."

"I like the name Cinnamon," she said. "It matches my hair. Guinevere didn't fit me, like everything else they gave me. They wouldn't even call me Gwen, which I liked a tad better. They insisted on calling me Guinevere. But I like Cinnamon a lot."

"You wouldn't mind being called it for the rest of your life?" he asked, and she shook her head. He then pulled out a rolled and faded piece of paper and a wand. He unrolled the paper, which was a birth certificate, and tapped is wand on a spot. Where "Guinevere Franchesca Fireblossom" had been now read as "Cinnamon Franchesca Fireblossom." Impulsively, the newly-dubbed Cinnamon threw her arms around her beloved father.

And that is how poor, abused Guinevere found a whole new world and in it, a much better life for herself as Cinnamon, with a father she loved.