Spellbind and Hoodwink
Break free of limiting patterns while you follow the plight of Max Quigley. Read this Enneagram and Satsang novel of murder and mystery.
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Read Chapter One below
It was not the first time Max found herself wishing she could tell Flynn she was a Reversible €” and what that meant and how she could see bird spirits but couldn’t cast spells. Not to mention, that a deceased monk was cursing her and she may be dead in just four days and all the rest of her sorry plight. She wanted to tell Flynn the lot but feeling her owl ghost shaking in fear, she decided to say nothing. Instead, she hurried out of bed saying, ‘I’ll teach you martial arts too if you want. That’s if I’m any good that is.’
Beneath every personality lies a treasure.’
‘There are only nine character types. Which one do you have?’
– sharp eyed, can see precisely what’s wrong and strives for perfection. (Really hates mess.)
– caring, kind and wants to please everyone (a little bit too much perhaps?)
– efficient, successful and wants to be seen to look good – (dare I say, a bit of a show off?)
– creative, emotional and romantic (undeniably moody.)
– intelligent, analytical and private (maybe just a tad obsessed with knowledge.)
– heroic, loyal, protective and scared of everything (sees danger everywhere.)
– charming, enthusiastic and restless for new things. (Loathes boredom.)
– powerful, bossy and generous but tends to see others as weak. (Anger can be an issue.)
– placid and peaceful, friendly and supportive (They can talk the leg off a chair and mess piles up around them.)
Hiding in the dark shadows in the corner of the room, Max looked on in horror. A young fair-haired boy lay in the hospital bed and screamed for help as he struggled to escape the spell that pinned him down. Assembled in a semi-circle around the boy, stood grown-ups in purple robes. They held long shiny magi-sticks aloft. A stooped elderly magus shuffled softly into the room. In his right hand he clutched an enormous syringe filled with thick yellow fluid. He crept closer to the screaming boy.
Max felt a sharp tug on her sleeve and jumped. Heads swiveled towards her. The stooped man’s eyes blazed when he caught sight of Max. A blonde woman’s blue eyes bored into her. Max felt the tug again and turned. An ugly toothless oriental ghost dressed in dark red monks robes stared menacingly at her. Max screamed. She made to run but couldn’t move. She struggled against the weight holding her down.
Inhaling loudly Max sat up in bed. Her first thought was that it had been a dream. But then suddenly the ghost materialised inches from her face. He was real and he was floating cross-legged over her bed. His head leaned in so close to hers she could feel his cold breath chill her skin. Max stared in shock at the bald headed monk. He grinned a gummy smile at her. Unable to peel her eyes away from his impenetrable black ones she held her breath. Still hovering over her bed, the monk fumbled for something inside his robe sleeves. He thrust a rectangular framed slate up to her face. Max jerked her head back to read the spidery writing in chalk. It read, €œTruth or spells?€ The monk shook the slate urging her to answer.
Max’s mind was a blank. She stared back at the monk who pointed at the question and tapped his finger impatiently. Max lifted her right hand and stabbed at the word €œtruth€. Expecting her finger to make contact with the slate Max was surprised when her hand passed right through. The monk giggled and vanished. Only his laugh could be heard retreating into the distance. Max shuddered.
A movement next to her caught her attention. Max turned and stared into large yellow glaring eyes. She drew a quick intake of breath. ‘Get used to it Max,’ she muttered to herself angrily, wondering why the sight of the ghostly owl still spooked her after all these years. The bird nipped her sharply on the shoulder. ‘Ow,’ cried Max rubbing her skin. ‘Shoo!’ The grey owl spirit flew to the curtain rail and stared coldly down at her.
The town clock chimed in the distance. Max counted the tolls and when the seventh bell chimed Max anxiously leapt out of bed and raced down the hall. Crack! She tripped over something large and invisible and fell heavily just in front of the bathroom door.
A snicker let her know Maurice was hiding and playing tricks. For a moment Max lay on the thin worn hall rug and stared at the peeling yellow paint on the ceiling. She clenched her fists. Max hesitated, knowing Maurice was watching. She sat up and pointed her index finger where she thought the invisible object might be and mumbled the well-known spell to make it appear. ‘Manifest!’ Nothing happened except for gales of laughter from Maurice and the sound of a thud as Maurice fell to the ground and rolled on the floor gasping for breath between splutters of laughter. Max sprang to her feet and raced red-faced into the bathroom. She locked the door, hoping to shut out the irritating hoots of glee aimed at her through the door.
Max stared angrily at her reflection in the mirror. She quickly checked herself thoroughly all over. At least Maurice hadn’t covered her face with warts this morning. ‘Not yet anyway,’ she muttered to her frowning reflection. Max’s thoughts turned longingly to the large garden she practically lived in, leading a perfectly happy, secluded life, within the high red brick walls surrounding the house. She didn’t care that it had been built especially for her own protection. She didn’t care that she rarely left its confines except to cycle round the suburbs when it was least likely she’d be spotted by anyone. She would have been fine if only that hateful letter hadn’t arrived informing her parents that, according to the Ruling Council of Magi, all young magians who turn twelve have to go to a proper seminary. A sharp rap on the bathroom door from her mother and a muffled shriek, which she deciphered as ‘hurry up or you’ll be late for Orientation Day’ did nothing but worsen her mood. By the time she’d showered and pulled a blue cotton robe over her shorts and t. shirt it was much later than she expected. ‘Breakfast is on the table,’ shrieked Mrs Quigley up the stairs.
Max rushed down but the sight of dozens of open jars of jam and marmalade strewn about the kitchen stopped her in her tracks. Maurice looked up at her and scowled. He pointed at the magi-stick in their mother’s hand. Max frowned when she saw the ancient broken twig that had long since been unable to distinguish fruit from fish. A fact that didn’t seem to deter her mother from bringing it out on special occasions, like this morning. Max looked across at her untidy mother. Sugar crystals hung from the wispy trails of hair that had slid out from her mother’s bun and she’d managed to spread blobs of jam down her front and across all the laminated bench tops.
Max peered suspiciously into some of the jars and blanched at the smell. She watched her dad bravely bite into his toast with a feigned hearty gusto that didn’t fool anyone except his wife. Maurice scowled mutinously as he baulked at biting into his green covered toast.
‘Come along Maurice,’ encouraged their father, ‘special stick, for a special day. Very thoughtful of your mother.’
‘Warped obsession more like,’ muttered Maurice under his breath so only Max could hear.
A soft but angry hissing at the other end of the table made Max look across at her older sister. Max looked at Maurice and rolled her eyes. Veruka, who was sixteen, was ignoring everyone with disdain, her nose glued to the fashion section of Magus Monthly. Maurice had fused her nose to the paper. Veruka was pretending to be reading but all the while hissing various incantations to un-stick her nose. Max looked at her family and not for the first time wished she wasn’t related. Unfortunately, she bore the same distinct markings of all the Quigleys. They were all dark haired, brown eyed, freckle faced and skinny. Max sat gingerly at the wooden table taking care about where she placed her elbows so she could miss the sticky bits. Dreading the day more than the breakfast Max looked dolefully up at her mum, who gave her a look to let her know she understood.
Suddenly, her mother’s bird spirit fidgeted. It was a large turkey and it spent much of its time perched on her mum€™s head. Max accidentally glanced at it. Her mum caught her looking. Max looked up into her mother’s frightened eyes and her stomach knotted in fear. She’d promised never to look at anyone’s bird spirit ever since her mum had found her drawing pictures of them. ‘No one sees bird spirits. You understand! No one and you don’t either,’ she’d hissed fiercely.
What Max can see when she looks at her family
Max looked across at her father. He’d no idea what she could see. Just behind his hunched shoulders and balding head perched a ghostly owl. Max glanced at Veruka’s beautiful swan sitting across her lap. It looked miserable as usual. Max avoided looking at Maurice’s hawk. It had sharp, beady eyes that didn’t miss a trick and it would catch her looking at it if she stole a glance. Max felt her skin prickle. Scurrying beneath her robes her owl had brushed past her ankles. It gave her the shivers to see the ghostly birds and she did what she could to not see them but it was impossible.
Max ate her breakfast in silence with her head down trying to avoid catching any of the birds’ eyes. It would spook the family if she did, thought Max quelling a shudder. She tried not to think about it. She’d done it with strangers and knew not to do it. There’d be an unnatural silence while the effect of looking into their eyes somehow transmitted to its magus. The person would then suddenly steal suspicious glances in her direction –without ever knowing why. Max knew. She just didn’t know why no one else could see them. She didn’t know why she had to keep silent as if it were the most terrible secret. But fear gripped her whenever she saw her mother glancing apprehensively in her direction and Max knew she’d never let on.
Midway through sampling an unsavory lump of jam, Mr Quigley turned to Max, ‘Bicycle or couch?’ Gloom set in. Bicycle meant she’d yet again disappoint her father because she wouldn’t be able to make it fly, and she’d have to pedal her way to school and everyone would see what a useless magian she was. Couch meant flying with the whole family but because she’d no noticeable powers as yet it meant she’d be strapped in like a toddler. So either way all the new students would see her for the hopeless magus she was and they would see it in an instant. ‘Bicycle,’ muttered Max into her juice, ignoring Maurice’s snicker.
‘Oh Veruka!’ Mrs Quigley cried out, frustrated by her daughter’s many failed attempts to free her nose from the magazine. ‘Un-stickem!’ she shrieked, flicking her fingers in the direction of Veruka’s nose only to find Maurice had added an extra spell to make it especially difficult to undo. Veruka’s nose flew off her face; followed by a gush of blood; while remaining firmly stuck to the magazine. Veruka screamed with horror and ran to the bathroom mirror to check the damage. Mrs Quigley raced after her — with the nose and magazine.
Veruka losing her nose
Max knew not to expect Maurice to get into trouble — being the goody two shoes of the family. His room was incredibly neat and he got straight A’s at school and for some reason unknown to Max, it gave him the license to be a complete prat as a brother and get away with it.
‘Maurice, what book did that come out of?’ enquired her dad with interest.
‘Chemistry of Spells,’ he said throwing a triumphant look across at Max
‘That’s the best of all the journals. Well done, Maurice. What a good lad. I remember that one. Did you study the nostril-exploding spell? From memory, it required a certain potion placed on the hairs in the right nostril. Not intended for sisters but diabolical villains if I recall,’ he added as a mild reproof. Far from looking chastised, Maurice only grinned.Max avoided Maurice’s smug expression.
‘I’m particularly looking forward to studying hexes this year,’ announced Maurice, sucking up to their dad.
Max glowered at Maurice. It wasn’t her fault not a jot of power poured out of her fingers, as it should. For the thousandth time Max wondered how she’d survive the seminary. She experienced an unpleasant sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She knew she’d be an abysmal failure. She’d already been an embarrassment at Kindergarten and made to repeat it for several years until her father had pulled her out for her own protection. Ever since her dad had been teaching her the basics from home.
‘Now I wonder where that book would be?’ pondered Mr Quigley. Max knew her father was about to leave the room to search for the book because his owl ghost was flying back and forth in the direction of his office. Her dad loved an excuse to go through his books and read up on his preferred subject of science and this moment was no different from any other. As she predicted her dad followed his owl out the room.
Maurice looked across at Max and scowled. Any friends he made at the new school would know after today what a lame magus he had for a twin. This thought made him irritable and more inclined to taunt Max.
‘Going to get your bottom jabbed this morning,’ he sneered, knowingly.
‘What?’ demanded Max, playing out the scene in her mind and feeling instantly queasy.
‘And the needle will be ever so fat too, ‘ he added with a nasty grin.
‘What’s this about a needle?’ Max queried her mum as she walked back into the kitchen.
Mrs Quigley€™s turkey began to loudly cackle and fidget in irritation. ‘Maurice, do go and do something useful like getting ready for school instead of disrupting everybody’s peace of mind this morning,’ she chided irritably. Maurice opened his mouth to protest. Mrs Quigley flung her fingers at him and in a puff, he was gone and probably to his bedroom, presumed Max. As it happened, Mrs Quigley hadn’t been concentrating. Maurice wasn’t in his bedroom as she intended. Much to his disgust he arrived in the bathroom with one foot firmly planted in the toilet bowl. Max could hear his cries of disgust as he yelled angrily at their mother for not focusing as usual.
Maurice is not happy with where he has landed
Wringing her hands Mrs Quigley mimicked the awkward trot as the turkey at her side and Max knew her mum was agitated but not because of Maurice. ‘First thing before you start school, you are sorted into different, er, . . . . , different Wing factions. A sample of blood is taken and depending upon the er, . . . .the er . . . results, you are placed into one of nine bird groups.’ At the word ‘bird’ Max’s mouth dropped. Before she managed to say a thing the doorbell rang, the door burst open and in trouped three women looking remarkably similar to one another. Max surveyed her aunts with a grin. Even though they were triplets, they neither dressed nor acted alike.
Dot was the first to enter the kitchen. Her chicken spirit sprang into the room first and marched up and down the room looking flustered. Almost mimicking the movement, Dot paced the room in agitation, her orange robes swishing about her and the numerous terracotta beads hanging loosely down her front clinking with every step. Didi followed next, with her swan spirit gracefully gliding at her feet. Didi was dressed in her finest hand sewn robes, which she’d adorned with amethyst buttons that began at the ankles and rose up to the highest point on her neck. She swept dramatically into the room clutching a book in one hand and a tissue in the other. She looked like she’d been crying with tell tale black mascara smudges down her cheeks. Didi parked herself on a chair and carefully spread her purple robe so as not to wrinkle the delicate cloth. Her swan sat at her feet and stretching its long neck upwards it laid its head sorrowfully on her lap. Dierdre entered last. She wore a sombre black robe with a white collar and cuffs. She marched purposefully into the room with her hawk spirit perched on her shoulder. She looked about the room and half gasped half shrieked.
‘You’re a sentimental sausage Polly,’ accused Dierdre sharply to Max’s mother. ‘Where is it? Let me fix the thing at least,’ she demanded.
Mrs Quigley looked stubborn.
‘The smell is rank in here Polly. How could you subject your children to this?’ Max’s mother frowned and then sighed before handing the broken magi-stick to Dierdre. ‘Take it then!’ she wailed. And then stifling a shriek as Dierdre went to break it in half she quickly added, ‘Just remember, it’s all I have to remind me of Grandmama.’
Dierdre rolled her eyes and snapped the magi-stick in two.’There, it definitely needs fixing now. Don’t worry, I’ll drop it off on the way to work,’ she added as she pocketed it. She then noticed Max staring up at her in both fear and awe. Dierdre winked quickly before turning her attention to the kitchen. ‘Ghastly,’ she muttered under her breath. She pulled out a shiny lacquered black magi-stick and raised her hand.
‘Spick and span,’ she called out. The jam jars flew straight into the cupboards and the blobs of jam vanished.
‘Now I can think straight,’ she said with a pleasurable sigh as she perched herself on one of the high kitchen stools.
‘Honestly Dierdre, its not all about cleanliness and that’s not why we€™re here,’ cried Dot. ‘Look at this, Polly and tell me what you make of it,’ she said tugging at the strings of a silk pouch she was clutching. She pulled out a handful of little rectangular rocks with designs etched on one side and threw them up in the air. Three of the rocks hovered in space and the rest landed with a clatter on the kitchen floor.
Dierdre, tsked and waved her magi-stick. The dropped stones flew to her hand and she pocketed them.
‘What do they mean?’ cried Dot.
Max heard Didi sigh loudly and mutter, ‘probably nothing,’ as she pointedly opened her book titled Withering Heights and began reading. As soon as Didi started to read, tears filled her eyes and she had to wipe them to see the print.
Looking at one of the hovering rocks, Dot was mystified. ‘This one looks like a nose but what could that mean?’
‘It might have something to do with Veruka’s nose,’ suggested Max.
‘Veruka’s nose!’ cried Dot puzzled and staring hard.
‘She lost it this morning,’ said Max.
‘Lost it?’ cried Dot turning to Polly for an explanation.
‘Maurice,’ began Mrs Quigley but Didi didn’t let her finish.
‘Say no more. Where is my darling Veruka?’ she demanded leaping up.
‘She’s in her bedroom getting ready for school. She’s fine now. I repaired it myself,’ cried Mrs Quigley anxious to soothe her older sister.
‘The psychological damage she’s probably suffered,’ gasped Didi. ‘What a tragedy!’ she cried, her chest heaving. ‘I will do what I can,’ she stated dramatically as she swept out of the room and up the stairs.
‘Well that’s one rune solved. Now what about these two?’ said Dot gazing at her stones with a frown upon her face.
‘That one looks like Harold looking sad,’ piped in Dierdre.
‘Really?’ quizzed Polly and Dot at the same time and with the same inflection and stepping closer to have a better look.
‘Yes and that looks like you Dot cheering him up,’ she added. Polly glanced up at Dierdre suspiciously.
‘Then I’ll go to him at once,’ declared Dot bustling off to Mr Quigley’s office.
‘Honestly Dierdre, you shouldn’t have,’ said Mrs Quigley disapproving.
‘It will give us approximately 3 minutes with Max,’ she said brusquely, pulling a mouse out of one of her pockets and placing it on the kitchen table. She waved her magi-stick. ‘Double trouble,’ she whispered. Suddenly there were two mice. ‘Hand me the cleaver Polly.’
Max’s mother hesitated and then went to the kitchen drawer and pulled out the heavy bladed knife. She nervously handed it to Dierdre.
‘Which one is real and which one is the spell?’ Dierdre asked Max, lifting the cleaver high in the air over the little creatures.
Max’s heart raced as she anxiously peered at the mice, trying to decipher which one was real and which one was an illusion as they ran in circles around the table with Dierdre following above with the sharp blade. They looked exactly alike.
‘Quick now,’ ordered Deirdre.
‘Neither are real,’ called out Max suddenly.
Dierdre swooped the cleaver down. Seconds before the blade snapped one of them in two, the mice turned into sugary meringues. Max breathed out a sigh of relief.
‘How did you know,’ quizzed Deirdre handing her two halves of one of the meringues to eat. Max looked up into Dierdre’s sharp, intelligent eyes. ‘You’re not the type to have mice in your pocket,’ she confessed.
Dierdre let out a chuckle. Swiftly glancing up at Polly she said, ‘She may not have the spells but she’s got the smarts.’ She turned her attention back to Max. ‘First day at the seminary today, has your mother prepared you?’
Max heard her mother gulp.
‘I was just telling her about the, er, the, er days events,’ faltered her mother.
‘Really,’ said Dierdre. ‘And you left that till now? Does she not read? Do you not give her the flypaper to read each day?’
As Mrs Quigley fidgeted and blushed, Dierdre’s brows rose sharply. ‘Are you telling me she doesn’t know what is going on in the world or about the temples going up around the country?’ When Max’s mother nervously twiddled a dishcloth in her hand and pretended she needed to wipe a perfectly clean bench, Dierdre stared hard at Max and then cast a stern gaze upon Polly. ‘You’re sending an unusual child to the seminary where she will be subjected to all sorts of . . . .’
‘My dearest Dot, I’m telling you I’m absolutely fine,’ announced Max’s father as he shot out of his office with Dot on his heels. He tore into the kitchen to give his wife a look full of meaning. Mrs Quigley read him perfectly. ‘Dot, I think we should leave Harold to work on his lecture papers for the university. He needs time alone. You know he does,’ she recommended in a soothing voice.Before Dot could answer, Deirdre glared at Harold. ‘Max hasn’t been told anything about what to expect at that dreadful new school.’
‘Dreadful?’ choked Max, coughing up bits of meringue.
‘Not dreadful,’ said Mrs Quigley suddenly, patting Max on her shoulder and glaring at Dierdre.
‘Well I think it’s dreadful,’ said Dierdre, shrugging her shoulders.
‘A little too contemporary and too willing to follow the pious rules and regulations,’ admitted Mr Quigley, but we have no choice in the matter. And Maurice will be there to protect her.€™ Dierdre€™s stern facial expression didn€™t change. Mr Quigley sighed as he realised he was losing the argument. We’d have liked to have continued her studies from home,’ he began.
Dierdre sniffed loudly. ‘A fat lot of good that’s been. You’re sending her off as a complete ignoramus about the bird spirits and what will happen to her today and what it all means.’
Max looked at her mum in fury at having kept her in the dark but she suddenly found herself in her bedroom. Max immediately looked down at her owl mystified. It stared coldly back at her before scurrying beneath her bed. Loud shouts to Didi to come downstairs, followed by the slamming of doors below, told her, her aunts had left and not on good terms with her parents.
Max crept quietly down the stairs and out the back door. With a satchel at her back, she wheeled her bicycle through the front wrought iron gates. Swiftly glancing up at the house before pushing off, she saw her father at the large bay window, shoulders sagging at the sight of his daughter about to pedal her bicycle in a fashion unbecoming to even the lowliest wizard. Max wheeled her bicycle out and along the street until her father could no longer see her. Only then did she clamber aboard and pedal along the footpath.
A loud whoop from above made Max look up. Maurice skimmed passed Max narrowly missing her head. ‘See you at the needle ceremony,’ he hollered down to her before disappearing amongst the traffic of chairs in the sky.
Max gazed longingly at the colourful bicycles whizzing through the air and big plush comfy couches purring along slowly, many of them crowded with children and pets. Some of the chairs were old and rickety, others new and high backed. Several young children flying solo dashed past Max at break neck speed followed by their mothers at a more leisurely pace. She did see some magi pedaling as furiously as she was but they were all of an immense size and probably cycling for health.
The latest way to walk the dog and not miss an episode of Spells of Our Lives
According to all the latest health reports too many magians were succumbing to the ease of the modern wizard’s life and rarely left their flying chairs anymore. From Max’s night riding she knew this was probably true. In the evenings, she saw quite a number of magi in their flying chairs, glued to their favorite soaps on floating television sets while they walked their dogs through the leafy suburbs.
Max was surprised to receive the thumbs up from a few passing adults thinking she was a disciplined wizard with a remarkable determination to stay trim. Had they but known it, she would’ve swapped her skinniness for a few pounds any day for the chance to fly. One lounge suite suddenly swooped in low and hovered just above Max. A head poked over the side and Max heard a father shouting at his family ‘There’s a good example for you, you good-for-nothing sluggards! You should be down there pedaling, instead of loafing about on the couch.’ Looking up, Max saw four hefty boys with eagle spirits lean over the edge of the lounge and stare angrily.Max flinched as one of the boys raised a meaty fist and cast a spell. In seconds, Max’s robes flipped inside out and back to front. The boys looked on and sniggered as Max had to stop and fumble with her robes. Luckily, the lounge lurched forward and upward. Max dashed behind a tree to fix her robes before cycling through the gates of Modern Magi.
She rode nervously along the driveway that swept in a grand curve around a sports oval. It stopped abruptly in front of nine imposing rectangular towers of glass and steel. The towers had concrete paths at their base creating a formal pattern of square fields of grass. Warning signs stood prominently with dismal messages, No sitting on the grass, Grass not for children, No chattering or laughing on grass, No spells allowed on grass and No walking on grass.
Max parked her bike and walked up to the large crowd of children and parents gathered on the front oval. Principal Prunella Plume was parading back and forth calling out names and checking them against her list. She looked magnificent in her iridescent green robes with her tawny hair swept back and her red cupid lips curved into a perpetual smile; advertising her whiter-than-white teeth for everyone to see.
Prunella Plume knows she is beautiful
Max pulled a face. The principal looked like she knew she was beautiful. At her side, Max couldn’t help but notice her stunning peacock spirit, its tail was in full display and it strutted back and forth at Prunella Plume’s heels. At her other side a wizened little man on a wooden chair hovered with the fattest and longest needles and syringes Max had ever seen. Beside him floated a microscope into which he peered every now and again muttering and nodding. He shared his mutterings with Prunella Plume, who checked and crosschecked her list. Max spotted Maurice in the crowd. She was satisfied to see that beneath his cocky appearance he looked pale.’Fotherby!’ called out Mistress Plume across the crowd. ‘Fotherby!’ she called out again. No child was forthcoming. After seeing the size of the needles Fotherby probably wisely headed for home, thought Max, wondering if she could do the same.
‘Horrorswaithe!’ called Mistress Plume. A small boy tentatively stepped forward. Prunella Plume pounced upon him in case his courage failed and hauled him up to face the needle.
‘Top part of your rump please,’ prompted the little old man. It was plain from his tone he’d made this request many times already this morning. Horrorswaithe dutifully exposed his rump, but only the top part and not his whole bottom like Maxhad envisioned with dread. Horrorswaithe grimaced when the needle went in and again when the needle pulled out. Max noted the parrot at Horrorswaithe’s feet grimacing too. Everyone else’s attention was fixed upon Horrorswaithe rump. Slowly a mark began to appear. Max pushed her way closer to the front of the crowd to have a better look. The mark enlarged to the size of an orange before turning into a colourful and distinct tattoo mark on his rump. Max blinked, unable to believe what she saw; a tattoo of a parrot.
Horrorswaithe exposes his rump
Meanwhile the old man peered at the blood through the microscope then muttered, nodded and crosschecked his list at which point Mistress Plume instructed Horrorswaithe to join the parrot students. Max witnessed countless needle jabs and tattoos appearing on rumps. Each time the tattoo matched the same bird Max could already see by their side.
‘Quigley!’ called out Prunella Plume. Max braced herself and marched forward. Maurice reached the front first. He looked mockingly across at Max as he lifted his robe.
‘First born goes first,’ he whispered in his typical superior way. Max bent low so no one else but Maurice could hear. ‘Bet you get the hawk.’
‘It’s a hawk,’ called out Prunella Plume.
Maurice’s head jerked up sharply to look at Max. She couldn’t read his expression and she instantly regretted saying anything.
When Prunella Plumed nodded at her, Max lifted her robe and slightly lowered her shorts and clenched her teeth. She felt the sting of the needle pierce her skin and another as it exited. Without thinking, she tossed her head at Maurice and headed in the direction of the students with owl tattoos.
‘Wait,’ cried Prunella Plume sharply. ‘We haven’t seen the tattoo! You cannot possibly know what group you belong to! Lift your robe please.’ Max flushed red at her mistake and did as she was told. ‘Hmmm. It’s an owl,’ Prunella Plume announced.
Her charming blue eyes turned cold and calculating. Max caught the faintest expression of suspicion on her face while she scrutinized Max’s face. Then as if she were realizing she was only an ignorant little magian she dismissed her.
‘No!’ gasped the little old man suddenly, as he peered down the microscope.
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Clare, totally compelling and brilliant!! I just finished Spellbind. I can’t say enough about how wonderful a book it is! My true wish is that it become suggested reading in all the schools and it catch on like wildfire. It is true to you name Clare in pointing out the nature of trance and how easy it is to wake up from them and realize empty, aware love as our true nature.
Solane’ Verraine – Satsang and Enneagram teacher and therapist USA
Max’s story is very attention grabbing, so I was seduced into reading it very quickly. I like it that Max is a girl, we have enough boy heros. The book flies by so fast. The experience of Spellbind is thrillingly easy for a child of any age to receive. Bravo! Thank you, thank you, thank you for writing this book for children. It is so important to provide this knowledge in such an easily understandable way.
William Mariner Enneagram teacher and therapist USA
Dear Clare, I have finished reading the first book. It was FANTASTIC!!! The plot was great and it had an amazing end. I can’t wait to read the second book! From Lauren Waring (13)
Dear Clare, Your book is great. I love the pictures and the main characters name. I think people of all ages will read this book because it is funny and has even funnier pictures. From Daniel Waring
My ten year old daughter was one of the first to read Spellbind and really enjoyed it.
I loved it and I like very much Your love for details. The spell changer gift is my favorite and the playing with submodalities is brilliant. Covering the whole range of spells, language and so on up to even “on the other side” makes it so round and complete.
Dr. Michael BÃ¼hring
Got the book. Read the first few pages, loved the bird spirits for the enneagram fixations. Owl, swan, chicken, turkey… Dead on. Glad you’re already in sequel mindset! I’m totally hooked.
Randall Jay USA
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Read more from what others have to say about Spellbind
In this Issue of Enneagram Monthly:€œSpellbind€ is the new book by Clare Cherikoff that delivers exactly what the title promises. It€™s an entirely different and delicious approach to the enneagram, one with a lot of sparkle, magic and €œumpf.€It€™s for audiences of all ages and every bit as informative about human nature, type, NLP and wisdom as the more ponderous and scholarly tomes on the same subjects. It€™s disguised as a suspenseful story you can read to your kids or grand kids without fear of anyone nodding off too soon. In an age where Harry Potter captured the imagination of the young, Spellbind combines wholesome fun with a ton of learning that sneaks up on you. An nice gift to anyone who is young, young at heart or just wants to enjoy a guilt-free impish treat.
Clare, I’ve read Spellbind in a day and a night and love it. Then it was my 11 year old daughters turn – she couldn’t put it down either and it sparked a lot of fruitful communication re the bird spells in out family and how to look beyond the mask of pain someone’s displaying! Great stuff!!!Narayana Urban-Winterfield UK
“I absolutely loved Spellbind! Thank you for writing this book Clare. I was amazed how well you were able towrite a story that was not only fun and compelling, but rich with profound wisdom teachings. It is wonderful to consider how these seeds of liberation woven into an engaging children’s book will bear fruit. I hope this bookfinds many young readers who will enjoy both the story and the wisdom and understanding that it offers.
But besides being a book that kids will love, it is a book that I will heartily recommend to anyone wanting to a better understanding of their own personality and of the freedom of awakening to what is beyond personality. Well done! I am Looking forward to the next book 🙂 ” Saleem Berryman
I have to congratulate you on your book.It´s a great first novel and I couldnt put it down! The enneagram is so brillantly presented in such a fun way, even some therapeutic skills I recognized. How exciting for you to have published this book and introduce the spells we all put ourselves in and the possibility of waking up from them. When will you finish the 2nd book?Karen Ceballos Mexico
It is fantastic; wonderfully woven, engaging, powerful. In spite of the apparent simplicity of the story line, there is great depth. It is both fun and practical. As a long time student of the Enneagram and graduate of your ‘Lifting the Veils’ course, I found the book to be refreshingly useful. To view thought as an orb-spell allows you to step back far enough to begin to break through your own trance. And that crack in the trance leads to greater and greater freedom. It is simple and yet effective. Thank you so much for your work! Stephanie Chalmers, DVM, CVHUSA
This is a HYPER-COOL BOOK – I Mean Hyper Cool …- for Kids and Adults of ALL Ages – Female Harry Potter -Esque and huge deeper impact Andy Cooney UK
Loved it! Write a sequel. I’ve got loads of new stuff to think about. I love the whole idea of an enlightened hero. It sends the story off in unfamiliar ways. It got to the point where I had to stay up late to find out what happens next. Now I’m looking at people thinking ..now what bird would you be then…(and yes yes I get that it’s not really about birds, as such. some of the allegories were beautifully simple, -prickles in the forest ect- I hope it does well. The philosophy bits were the best bits by far. everything pointed to them so if they were’nt real the whole book would have gone limp. As it was I think youve come up with a new genre for the times. (it needs a name) I’m inspired.Russell Moore Australia
Just finished reading Spellbind… What a fun read! I love how it takes the seriousness out of the enneagram while holding the integrity of the teaching. Very helpful Clare! Well done and congratulations! My roomates and I are having a great time joking about the chicken…I now have a baseball card featuring a chicken named Julia that arrived from the farmer’s market…and each time I come from fear or do limit setting talking style..we squalk! fun and useful tool! Good luck with the sequal :)Julia McFadden USA
Fantastic, Clare!! I’m almost finished with the book and I absolutely love it. It’s actually delightful, yet very informative.Kaylene Williams USA
Just read your book. Really wonderful! It lightens things up for me when I find myself in a fixated response and can go “I’m under a spell.” Makes surrendering so much easier. Thank you! Atmara Rebecca Cloe.
I love the book you have written. It’s great! Hannelore Rueedi Switzerland
It’s delightful. It has received such praise from my facebook friends!Eldonna Leis USA
Just finished reading Spellbind. I loved itMichael Buhring Germany
Spellbind is an immediately engaging read that€™s empowering for children and adults. I felt like I was revisiting Eckhart Tolle €“ connecting with the collective unconscious and with a positive message that inspires and encourages personal growth. What a welcome change to have children reading this.
Dr Lydia Bennett – Clinical Psychologist
I thoroughly enjoyed Spellbind. On one level it’s a fast and quirky adventure story that will totally captivate children (and adults). On a more subtle level, it masterfully weaves together a deep understanding of personality and the trances we human beings unwittingly live by, and how to wake up from them by using the proven techniques of NLP and present moment awareness.
Lorna Stewart €“ Professional NLP, Coaching, training and facilitation
The story was fab on its own and you wouldn€™t have to be aware of, or interested in the enneagram to really enjoy the book.Emily 14 years old UK
Review of Spellbind in Amazon by Randall Jay –
Who do you think you are? What if that’s not true? What are words? They can be powerful spells, as it turns out. Most of us were taught that it was sticks and stones that break the bones. Words? Not so much. But words have a mostly unexamined (and therefore powerful) grip on our lives. When we believe them, they shape us and they shape us early. In this book for children and parents of all ages, author Clare Cherikoff spins a tale that shows us the seemingly magical spells woven by words, helps us to recognize them and learn how it is possible to live life more freely. After all, the words we believe + our personality = who we think we are.
Spellbind is written in such a fun and easygoing way that you mostly forget you are learning anything at all! One becomes quickly immersed in the adventures of young Maxine Quigley and her friends as they attend a secretive school for the magically gifted. This may seem something like a familiar set-up to readers of the Harry Potter books, well-known by now to most everyone on earth. I would call this a respectful homage with some big differences. Spellbind appears to take itself less seriously but it is deceptively deep. And as you turn the pages of the fast-moving story, insights pop up when and where you least expect them.
The other important theme here is that of human personality. The nine character types familiar to students of the enneagram play a major part of the story and are noted here with great humor and compassion. A simple and useful mythology arises within the story to explain this often unexamined system to us. I found myself laughing and marveling at this aspect of the book, and it is one that kids will be able to grasp and appreciate easily.
I found this book entertaining, funny and effortlessly insightful. Max’s journey is told in an effervescent way. She’s on an important journey of discovery and her timeframe is always Now. The pace moves so quickly that there are few spare moments for any character here to dwell in the past or worry about the future. And the issues they are facing are no less fascinating than #1: Who do you think you are? and 2: What if that’s Not True?
Any girl, boy, man, woman, magus or gribble who cares about the answer to these two questions is in for some very good news.
Well Done!…(the first reviewer says it all so well…), March 30, 2010By J. Levine (Washington, DC United States) This review is from: Spellbind (Paperback)I really think this book is a great addition to this genre of storytelling (indeed an homage to J.K. Rowling, etc.). It took me about 30 or 40 pages to get hooked, and now I’m savoring every page. I do think that it might help SOME PEOPLE to have some understanding of the enneagram, a topic which Clare deftly teaches among her many other gifts. For myself, having that knowledge only adds to the joy of watching the plot unfold. While, I’m sure there are some people who could argue the exact opposite, even more so, I hope that this book becomes a runaway hit for this talented teacher from Australia. It has the potential to make large impact on how young people of any age can approach the daunting inquiry of, “Who am I?”