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Since her mama died, thirteen-year-old Lavender has a disastrous memory problem. She forgets her lessons with her papa, an apothecary. She develops elaborate evasions to hide her lack of memory of the herbs and remedies she must learn to attain her dream of being an apothecary apprentice. Worst of all, she forgets memories of her mama. Despite her papa’s disdain for magic, Lavender seeks a memory remedy from a clothing enchantress named Frey. As the two develop a friendship, Frey uses her spinning magic to help Lavender re-experience past moments with her mama.

Stinky's Stories #4: Moldy-locks and The Three Bears has descriptive copy which is not yet available from the Publisher.

Adventure always seems to find Emily Windsnap! So when she discovers a bangle with a unique crystal under Rainbow Rocks, she and her friends are soon unraveling a whole new mystery. After learning that the crystal originally came from a familiar place—Halflight Castle! Shona and Emily reunite there with Aaron . . . and none other than Neptune, king of the oceans. The bangle leads the mermaids to a cave full of crystals, and, with Mandy's help, they discover the truth about the jewel's origin—and what's at stake if they don't make things right.

As whispers of winter beckon, Anna Ballinkay and Colin Pierce brace for change. The Ravenfall Inn, a magical nexus between worlds, is bustling with preparations for the Winter Solstice ball, which will bring together a mix of otherworldly guests and festive enchantments. Amid the festivities, a young boy named Declan arrives and claims his new identity as a Raven, sparking a mission to rebuild the legendary Ravenguard.

Meet the bold, the brave, and the brilliant–over 100 individual heroes of legend from cultures around the world are profiled in an engaging and fun way!

Step into the magical world of Hedgewitch, where the land of Faerie lies just beyond our own . . . The fourth book in the enchanting Hedgewitch series, perfect for children age 9+ and fans of Nevermoor and Michelle Harrison.

It was in the latter part of January, and a heavy snowfall was driving down. It whirled through the streets and the lanes, and the outsides of the windowpanes seemed plastered with snow. It fell down in masses from the roofs of the houses. A sudden panic seized the people. They ran, they flew, and they fell into each other's arms and felt that at least for that little moment they had a foothold. The coaches and horses seemed covered with sugar frosting, and the footmen stood with their backs to the carriages, to protect their faces from the wind.

Far away in the land to which the swallows fly when it is winter, dwelt a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, named Eliza. The eleven brothers were princes, and each went to school with a star on his breast, and a sword by his side.

There was a man who once had known a great many new fairy tales, but he had forgotten them, he said. The fairy tale that used to come to visit him of its own accord no longer came and knocked at his door; and why didn't it come any more? It's true that for a year and a day the man hadn't thought of it, hadn't really expected it to come and knock; and it certainly wouldn't have come anyway, for outside there was war and, inside, the misery and sorrow that war brings with it.

Near the shores of the great Belt, which is one of the straits that connect the Cattegat with the Baltic, stands an old mansion with thick red walls. I know every stone of it," says the Wind. "I saw it when it was part of the castle of Marck Stig on the promontory.

Have you ever seen "a maiden"? I am referring to what road pavers call a "maiden," a thing used for ramming down the paving stones. "She" is made entirely of wood, broad at the bottom, with iron hoops around it, and a stick run through it at the upper, narrower end, which gives the maiden arms.

The well was deep, and therefore the rope was long; the wheel went around with difficulty when the waterfilled bucket had to be pulled up over the side of the well. The sun could never mirror itself down in the water, no matter how brightly it shone; but as far down as its rays penetrated, green weeds were growing from between the stones.

There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers. They were all brothers, born of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets and looked straight ahead of them, splendid in their uniforms, all red and blue.

A mother sat by her little child. She was so sad, so afraid he would die. The child's face was pallid. His little eyes were shut. His breath came faintly now, and then heavily as if he were sighing, and the mother looked more sadly at the dear little soul.

There is an old fairy tale: "The Thorny Road of Honor was trodden by a marksman named Bryde, to whom came great honor and dignity, but not until after manifold adversities and peril of life." More than one of us had heard that tale in childhood, and perhaps read it in later years, and thought of his own unsung "thorny road" and "manifold adversities." Romance and reality are very nearly alike, but romance has its harmonious ending here on earth, while reality more often delays it and leads us to time and eternity.

Belonging to the lordly manor-house was beautiful, well-kept garden, with rare trees and flowers; the guests of the proprietor declared their admiration of it; the people of the neighborhood, from town and country, came on Sundays and holidays, and asked permission to see the garden; indeed, whole schools used to pay visits to it.

A top and a ball were lying together in a drawer among a lot of other toys. The top said to the ball, "Since we live in the same drawer, we ought to be sweethearts."

There came a soldier marching down the high road-one, two! one, two! He had his knapsack on his back and his sword at his side as he came home from the wars. On the road he met a witch, an ugly old witch, a witch whose lower lip dangled right down on her chest.

On one of the Danish islands, where old thingsteads, the judgment seats of our forefathers, loom up in the cornfields, and mighty trees raise their heads above the beech forests, there lies a little town of low houses with red roofs. In one of these houses strange things were being prepared on the open stove, over the coals and embers. There was boiling in test tubes, mixing and distilling, and pounding of drugs in mortars. An elderly man was in charge of everything.

Once there was a poor prince. He had a kingdom; it was very tiny. Still, it was large enough to marry upon, and on marriage his heart was set. Now it was certainly rather bold of him to say, "Will you have me?" to the emperor's own daughter. But he did, for his name was famous, and far and near there were hundreds of princesses who would have said, "Yes!" and "Thank you!" too. But what did the emperor's daughter say? Well, we'll soon find out.