Revealing <i>The Grimoire Grammar School Parent Teacher Association</i> by Caitlin Rozakis

Two parents and their recently-bitten-werewolf daughter try to fit into a privileged New England society of magic aristocracy. But deadly terrors await them—ancient prophecies, remorseless magical trials, hidden conspiracies and the PTA bake sale…

We’re thrilled to share the cover and preview an excerpt from Caitlin Rozakis’ The Grimoire Grammar School Parent Teacher Association—publishing May 27, 2025 with Titan Books.

Caitlin Rozakis specializes in tech marketing and lives in Jersey City with her husband and son. Her short fiction has been featured in multiple anthologies and publications including Cast of Wonders, Aurealis, Daily Science Fiction, Weirdbook, and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and won LUMINA’s 2018 Speculative Fiction contest. Dreadful is her first novel. Visit her online.

“I’m just saying that, given how much this school apparently costs, you’d think some of this stuff would be included,” Daniel said, frowning at the list.

“It’s not like we can complain, under the circumstances,” Vivian said. She couldn’t entirely disagree with him—the list was ridiculous. Colored pencils and pastels seemed excessive enough, but where was she supposed to get papyrus? And herbs? Half the list could be found in the spices section of one of the better supermarkets, but the other half sounded like something from a botanic garden. Some she’d never even heard of. Was verbena a thing you could actually buy? Monkshood? Why was a Belgian Coticule whetstone preferred over Belgian Blue, and why the heck did a kindergartener need a whetstone at all? Ms. Immacolata had said something about “food preparation works”, but Vivian had been picturing something like banana slicing, not knives sharp enough to need whetting.

And the volunteer list—they had to sign up for at least two weeks of providing class sacrifices? The asterisk on that one did helpfully remind them that animal sacrifices were not on the approved list which had been more alarming than soothing. But if they weren’t supposed to supply a biannual goat, she had no idea what would be considered a suitable sacrifice. Wheat? Wine? Silver the parents had personally removed from the earth by the light of a full moon? It all seemed terribly presumptuous. Oh, and look at that, they also had to bring in flowers for the classroom at the same time.

But what were they going to do? Complaining about it wouldn’t change the school’s requirements, it would only get them singled out as the ones who didn’t belong. And now that Daniel had started grumbling, she was going to have to be the reasonable one, she thought with a little resentment. She knew from experience that if she joined in, he would get wound up. “I guess this way we can pick out our own blank grimoires or whatever.”

“That means we have to figure out which one’s the right one,” he said, rolling his eyes a little. “Whatever the magic spellbook equivalent is of buying jeans from Walmart when all the cool kids are wearing Abercrombie. Everyone knows that unicorn hide is so last season, or whatever. Sweetie, I know that you’re trying to make this work, but you don’t have to jump to defending every decision from an authority figure, ok?”

She didn’t love defending them, but she also wanted to move past the part where they got upset over something they couldn’t control, and get to the part where they figured out whether Whole Foods carried henbane. Surely they didn’t need the full kit on the first day?

“I’ll text Moira,” she said, trying to end what was brewing into an argument.

“Selkies text?” Daniel asked, raising his eyebrows. “You mean we don’t have to train carrier seagulls?”

“Hey,” she said sharply. “She’s the one person who’s been nice to me so far. Don’t be a jerk.”

He stopped. Closed his eyes, breathed through his nose. Opened them. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them. He nuzzled the side of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. She let some of the tension drain out of her shoulders.

“Sorry,” he said again. “It’s just… I’ve been this kid, you know? I mean, not like this, obviously, but I’ve been the scholarship student. And it doesn’t matter how much you try, you’ll never belong. Your clothes won’t be quite right, and your references won’t be quite right, and you’ll never be able to ask people to come to your house because your house is absolutely not right. And even if people are nice, even if they want to be nice, you’ll never actually fit.”

“So you’re saying I should just give up?” she said, trying to pull away a little.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t worry so much about what they think of us,” he said, pulling her back. “She’s an awesome kid. You’re an awesome mom. They should have to prove they deserve to hang around you, not the other way around.”

“You’re biased,” she said, letting him fold her in. It didn’t work like that, but just for a moment, she could pretend.

“I can be biased and be right at the same time.” He nuzzled her neck and despite her worry, she felt a flush of heat race down her spine. They didn’t get nearly enough time alone together these days.

“We need this to work,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Do you need help? With the school supplies?” He stroked her hair, trying to soothe the tension he probably could feel radiating from her.

He didn’t need another thing to deal with. She should be able to handle this, that had been the deal when she’d decided to stay home, even before the complications. That she’d caused. “No, I’ll figure it out.”

“I still think we should consider homeschooling.” His hand paused, as her shoulders knotted up again. “We know she does better when she gets a lot of exercise, and adding more red meat to her diet helped a lot. I mean, other than the one night a month.”

They both glanced at the old-fashioned paper calendar pinned to the wall, the day in question circled in bright red where all three members of the family could see it.

The sound of four sets of toenails skittering across the floor echoed back from the foyer. Frantic barking indicated that the mail had once again arrived.

“Don’t scratch the wood!” both parents shouted at the same time.

“You really think diet’s going to help with that?” Vivian muttered as they disentangled themselves.

Aria had managed to change herself back by the time her parents reached the front door. She had even remembered to pull on the bathrobe they’d started to keep on a hook. She hadn’t remembered to tie it shut, though.

“Aria, pumpkin, we don’t open the door naked,” Vivian reminded her once again.

Her daughter stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then a light went on in her head and she clumsily pulled the robe shut. Vivian tried not to sigh. No one seemed to write parenting manuals about this, but the books that were closest emphasized the importance of reinforcing the behavior you wanted to see instead of punishing the problem behavior. She got an extra half-hour of screen time each day she managed to get through without wolfing out during Human Time. Daniel had promised her the deluxe Lego castle she’d been begging for the first time she managed to go a whole week. Vivian didn’t foresee them ordering it any time soon.

“Is there anything for me?” Aria asked hopefully. There was something weird going on with her butt, Vivian noticed. With some dismay, she realized her daughter was trying to wag a non-existent tail.

Daniel pretended not to notice and retrieved the mail. “Bill, bill, charity I’ve never heard of, cruise catalog, same cruise catalog but with Mommy’s name on it, even more charities who hate trees and want our money, apparently chupacabras are endangered and the magical community charities also want our money, oh hey, here’s something for Aria after all.”

Aria squeaked with glee and grabbed at the whole pile. Daniel handed her a cruise catalog and the chupacabra rescue charity envelope.

“Daddy!” she protested, managing a remarkably world-weary exasperation for someone whose voice was an octave higher than an adult’s. “You’re being very silly.”

“You don’t want to donate two-hundred dollars and receive a free enchanted umbrella?” he answered, pretending to be surprised. “Actually, that might not be a bad deal.”

“Daddy!” Aria stomped her foot.

“Oh, wait, you couldn’t possibly want this boring old envelope?” he said, revealing the envelope addressed to Aria. “Instead of sixteen new Mediterranean routes?”

“Mommy, Daddy’s obstructing the mail again.”

Vivian loved when Aria parroted back the ridiculous formalities of adult language. She’d never believe in talking down to her child, and Aria’s multisyllabic vocabulary made her feel like maybe there was one thing she’d done right. She wasn’t a stupid child, for sure. Just not an easy one.

“Who’s it from?” she asked as Daniel handed the envelope to Aria, who promptly ripped into it like a feral animal. Vivian would have seen it as another distressing indicator of wolfish behavior, only she herself had not figured out how to open envelopes without completely destroying them until she was in her late teens. Why couldn’t they all come with little pull tabs like FedEx? She bet Cecily didn’t have this problem. Cecily probably just waved her hand, and the envelope would open itself then maybe fold into a little paper swan or something.

“Birthday party!” Aria’s eyes grew wide and she clutched the invitation to her chest. “Mommy, can I go? I can go, right?”

Sudden tears pricked Vivian’s eyes. The last birthday party Aria had been to was more than six months ago. After the incident, they’d started declining invitations. Then, as rumors had started to fly, the invitations had stopped coming.

This was why they had moved, why it was worth any amount of ridiculous shopping lists. Because people here would still invite Aria to birthday parties. And because they didn’t have to say no.

“Can I see the invitation, princess?” Daniel gently extricated it from Aria’s grip. “October, these people seriously plan ahead. Elowen Dragonsbane? Do we even know her?”

“She’s going to be in my class,” Aria said. “I met her at the picnic.”

Dragonsbane? What kind of person had a last name like Dragonsbane? And who named a kid Elowen, anyway? Vivian snagged the mangled envelope from the ground and held the pieces back together to read the return address. Cecily. Gareth and Cecily Dragonsbane. Wonderful.

For a moment, she thought about that raised eyebrow and the hovering wine cup and almost said no, but Aria was looking up at her with shining eyes. So the mom was a snob. She was exactly the kind of person her own mother would have made a beeline for; she could hear her cultured voice in her head, reminding her that some families were simply more consequential than others, and how important it was to mingle with the best if one wanted to be of consequence oneself. Well, she didn’t want to be of consequence. She’d turned her back on her parents and their snobbery, and had never wanted that for Aria.

But just because the mother was a snob didn’t mean the daughter was. And how could she say no to the first invitation to anything that Aria had received in months? Aria deserved friends, and making nice to the local Queen Bees was the quickest way to social acceptance. That was why they had moved in the first place, wasn’t it? To find somewhere Aria could be accepted.

“Of course you can go, cupcake.” Now she had to text Moira about presents, not just school supplies. She wasn’t showing up with another tray of brownies, that was for sure.

Excerpted from The Grimoire Grammar School Parent Teacher Association, copyright © 2024 by Caitlin Rozakis