They say if people have nothing to hold over you, you're immune to blackmail.

But what if the thing they're threatening to destroy is someone you love?

What then?

Surely we can all be blackmailed over something.

Someone.

It's how you get your revenge that really matters.

Wow, 'mom' was Darth Vader in a powder blue suit and pearls.

I mean, she had a point about never mentioning a woman's age, but that was no reason to zap my dads into oblivion. Maybe they had ample defenses against her since they were obviously fully grown warlocks, but since I didn't know this until a few minutes ago, I wasn't sure about their repel-a-witch potential. Don't get me wrong, I was furious with them for the years of lies, for squelching my powers, for making me go into the attic to retrieve stuff too often, but mostly for the endless smoothies.

I suppose if I'm being honest, this is what all parents do: tell us lies and keep us from our power. They hook us up to a metaphorical leash, letting it out a few inches at a time, only when they must. And even when they're not physically with us, they can tighten that leash anyway.

But none of that gave the evil queen the right to kill them.

That was my job!

Just kidding.

Sort of.

I pursed my lips and glared at them. My dads were huddled under the table, surrounded by the broken remnants of our kitchen, holding on to one another while lightning leaked from the evil queen's fingertips.

"Don't listen to her, Rowen," Papa said. "Whatever she says is a lie."

"You're the liar, Nigel Keckilpenny," the queen mocked. Did you ever tell Rowen who she was? What she was?

I found myself nodding my head.

What?

She had a point!

"Rowen, run!" Dad called out, uncorking a small vial of black swirly liquid, the one that looked like liquid evil. He must've swiped it from the elixir shelf when the queen showed up. He flung the contents at Petronella. "Run now!"

With a wave of Petronella's arm, time slowed. Globules of inky evil hung in the air, glittering with ill intent.

I don't know if you've ever thought about what it would be like to live in slow motion, but it's weird. It was as if my heart, which only a second ago was pumping wildly, had stilled. My lungs were in the midst of expanding with breath. I wanted to scream, but it came out low-pitched and slow. How was I supposed to run when even lifting a toe took hours?

The evil queen wasn't affected, though. She floated out of the way of the slowly advancing potion, waved her arm, and time sped back up. The potion rained to the floor, where it sizzled and smoked all the way through the wood. We now had a steaming pit in the middle of the kitchen. I could only imagine how Dad would feel about his floor now.

"My floor!" Dad cried.

(I didn't have to just imagine.)

The evil queen drifted to the floor, hands on hips. "Paul Brown. A witch-dissolving potion? I thought I'd taught you better."

Dad looked sheepish. "It was all I had."

"Points for trying, I suppose," Petronella said. "And now it's time for you to pay for your insolent remarks about my age." She raised both arms, the blue lightning once again sparking from her fingertips, and unleashed her power.

As I said, no one got to zap my parents except me, so I dove between her and my parents, screaming, "no zapping in the house!" because that was all I could think of on short notice. (And don't remind me it is a dumb rule because I had already zapped inside the house and destroyed the kitchen and broken all the windows, which allowed my 'mom' past the wards.)

"Rowen, no!" Dad yelled. Too late.

The queen's power struck me. It was like a million needles going into my skin all at once. I fell to the floor, barely missing our new pit, and lay there, heart pounding, my breath coming in short quick gasps. The sharp pain on my skin intensified, seeping into my body. I waited to dissolve or burn to a crisp, but instead, the magic settled in and became, well, part of me.

My breath slowed. The pain lessened. I felt incredibly strong. Like I could fly to the moon or generate a hurricane. I scrambled to my feet. The queen and my dads watching me with jaws dropped and eyes wide.

"What?" I said, spreading my arms defensively.

Dad conked his head on the table, trying to come out from beneath. "Ouch." He rubbed his dark head. "You absorbed the queen's power."

"Is that what I did?"

The queen smiled with something that seemed alien to her face, like the lines surrounding her mouth weren't at all used to this new position. It was something like affection. "My dearest daughter, you are my heir. My power is your power. We share the same essence. You will come to the castle with me and take your place as the rightful queen. I will teach you everything you need to know, how to walk, talk, fly, zap, destroy, and punish like a queen. You'll learn field blighting, how to barnstorm on your broomstick, creating slime for fun and profit, how to subjugate your minions, torturing telemarketers, and most of all, how to rule. In one month's time, you will take the oath and the job."

Is it wrong to say most of this kind of sounded fun? "Will there be servants and tiaras and pretty dresses? A few Prince Charmings vying for my attention?"

Petronella looked up. "Hmmm. Certainly, no Prince Charmings." She glared at my dads. "Did you fill Rowen's head with fairy tales?"

"No," Papa said. "She did that herself."

Petronella shook her head. "You won't have servants but minions, which are far better. There might be a tiara stored somewhere, and you'll have a complete wardrobe made for you." She pursed her lips and gave me the once over. "Surely something better than whatever that is that you're wearing. I haven't kept up on fashions in your realm, but I thought jeggings were the latest style."

I scrunched my face. "Jeggings? Ugh. No way."

"A loss, certainly," Petronella said.

"Would everyone love and respect me?"

"Respect, definitely. They wouldn't dare, not because you could send them to the dungeon or the torture chamber."

I liked this idea. No one would make fun of me. Or treat me poorly. Because if they did, I could send them to my dungeon or state-of-the-art torture chamber. Lots of plusses. "So let me review," I began. "If I go with you to the castle, I will boss everyone else around, people will do my evil bidding, no one will treat me like a pariah, I won't have to go to school, I won't have to drink smoothies, and I'll have an expansive wardrobe of couture?"

"Yes."

This sounded pretty amazing. Why wouldn't my dads want this life for me? The power inside warmed my blood. I looked at my hands, which were positively glowing. I could taste the word "yes" on my tongue. It was sweet and bitter at the same time. I wanted this. So what if I had to be evil for the rest of my life? Better to rule in hell than be a servant of heaven, or however that went. Who said it? No clue. Maybe I just made it up.

"Well," Petronella said. "I have a manicure to get to. What do you say, Rowen?"

Just as I was about to utter the word 'yes,' I saw my dads. They beckoned me to stay with their eyes. I seriously questioned my morals. Was I ready to walk out on them merely because they lied and suppressed my powers for my whole life?

Was that just the way they showed me their love?

In storybooks, love is so clear. But in real life, it's like a beautiful garden interlaced with weeds and predators and snails and moles.

The Evil Queen extended her grandmotherly hand toward me. Her cheeks were rosy against the powdery white of her skin. As if she was wearing a mask. A snake of acid slithered in my stomach.

I cleared my throat. "Um, Your Highness ..."

"Petronella. I insist."

"Petronella. I really appreciate the offer to go with you to your castle and become a powerful magical despot, but I must respectfully decline."

A flash of rage crossed the queen's face. "Rowan, I don't think you understand what you're giving up," she said through gritted teeth. "You have the potential to be the most powerful witch of your age. You were made for this. Made to be my heir."

"Don't listen to her, Rowan," Dad said. "She herself taught the devil to lie."

The queen laughed sweetly. "Oh, my. I'm not quite that old. Now, Rowen, either you come with me, or I shall turn your fathers into toads."

"You wouldn't," I gasped, but at the same time, I reviewed the major benefits of having parents in toad form: no curfews, no smoothies, all the underage driving I wanted, etc.

"Oh, I would. With pleasure."

Dad leaped toward me, yelling, "Rowen, I will save you!" But before he could touch me, he hit an invisible wall and fell to the floor, grunting, barely avoiding the pit. The Queen must have surrounded me with a protection shield.

Papa knelt by Dad's side. "It's okay, Rowen. We would rather be toads than see you become the evil queen."

I was pretty sure that was love.

And I loved them too. So much. I would do anything to save them from an amphibious fate.

"Okay," I said. "I'll be your heir. Just leave my dads alone."

"Terrific. Doryu should be here in ..." Petronella glanced at our clock, which was about to strike thirteen. "... two minutes."

"Doryu?" I said.

"Our transportation," she said. Although he isn't the largest dragon. I'm afraid some of us will have to travel Toad Class. She snapped her fingers, and a terrarium with little rocks and plants and a tiny pond appeared at her feet.

"What is that?" I said.

"First class toad transport," she replied, turning toward my dads. "Amphibiavos!" she said, flinging out her arm with a flourish and zapping my parents with lightning. After a cloud of smoke cleared, two bumpy-skinned, pale-yellow toads squatted where my dads had been.

"What?" I screamed. "You said if I agreed to go with you wouldn't turn them into toads."

"No, I said if you didn't go, I would turn them into toads."

"That is just semantics."

"What are you? A fifteen-year-old lawyer?"

Oh no! Ro's dads are toads! Evil queens gotta evil queen. Am I right? Will they remain in amphibious form or will they become human, er, warlocks again? Can't wait to show you guys the castle!!! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did ...

VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE!!!

This chapter is dedicated to one of my oldest friends on Wattpad, Monrosey. I met her in 2014 when were were both invited to be part of the Wattpad Class of 2014. She is an incredible author and a dear friend AND she just won a Watty award for her mystery/thriller, EMMA THAT IS DEAD. Head on over to her profile, and get to know her! You'll be happy you did. xoxoxo