Yes, I am a witch! Deal with it!

Garnet, 17, is the responsible adult in her life. Her family are forced to run away to where a mysterious scholarship takes her to university and a discovery she'd never even dreamt could happen. Follow her through a life of discoveries, friendship, love and best of all... magick!

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1. Where to begin?

Garnet. That's what they called me. Or, more precisely, my father called me. I've never met my father and don't know anything about him. He left my mum, Leanne, before I was even born in the middle of a nightclub. You can't blame him really; she is never sober, smokes so much that the house needs constant airing and now dates a druggie. Typical.

Mum and her boyfriend, Steve, are always out at who-knows-where. Last week they were gone for four days while I had to look after my 6 month old sister, Hazel. She has mum's features; mousy brown, straight hair and nutty brown eyes with Steve's face; broad forehead and strong nose. I, however, get everything from my father, I presume. My hair is black as a midnight sky, my eyes as green as a fresh leaf, my skin, milk pale and a small, curvy figure.

Right now it is 10:30pm and Hazel has been asleep for about 3 hours. Luckily, I've never been to school. If I did, Hazel would be dead by now and I would never let that happen even if she is half Steve.

The sound of the front door slamming and something glass being smashed on the floor was my indication that my so called parents were finally home. I heard them drag themselves slowly up the stairs. One step. Two step. Three step... and an inevitable puke at the top. Yep, there it goes. There are two thuds as they collapse on their cluttered bedroom floor and, after a few minutes, the load snoring.

I carefully open my bedroom door and tiptoe down the stairs, stepping over the puke. Glass littered the tiled floor and crunched under my feet which were already smearing their routine blood around. The scarlet trails looked strangely beautiful among the glittering shards of glass. Shaking my head, I get a dust pan and brush and start clearing up the mess. Only then do I notice the mountain of mail under the door. I groan and gather the stuff I need to clean up the vomit puddles. It stinks of purely alcohol and I try not breathe any of it in, instead breathing in all the smoke around me. The smoke alarm must be broken; we would have had a million 'fire' drills if it wasn't. Next, I walk  over to the door and stoop down to pick up the junk mail. I may as well read it. I have nothing better to do.

As I plonk the mail onto my bed, I see a fresh uncrumpled envelope with the unmistakable council logo which always means something bad in our case. I hurriedly tear open the envelope then slowly open the folded paper... . Uh oh. 

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