Page 13 of Rewitched

She rebalanced her blanket cloak and grabbed the two mugs, then slunk back into bed with the steaming drinks.

“I can’t join you guys today anymore. Something’s…” Her voice trailed off reluctantly. “Something’s come up.”

She glanced warily over the brim of her cup. Ari laughed before realising that her best friend wasn’t kidding and froze mid–cat stroke.

“Oh, come on! You’re joking. Your own thirtieth?”

Belle winced.

“You can’t not turn up to your own birthday picnic, weirdo. It’s your thirtieth! I made you a bloody pavlova, look in that lunchbox. I was on the tube with giant helium balloons, and one got caught when the doors shut, and I nearly died. All for the grand cause of your birthday celebrations. What am I going to tell the stripper?”

Belle spluttered on coffee, horrified.

“Okay, the last bit is a lie, but the rest is true.”

As feelings went, this one was particularly awful. Not only cancelling plans that they had all been excited about for weeks in exchange for one that she was dreading but also lying to her favourite person about the reason.

“I’m so sorry. I am the saddest person in the world. It’s a…work thing.”

“Please? You have to come.” Ari sounded genuinely upset. Belle shrunk back against the pillows. She stretched her pyjama top over her knees to her ankles and racked her brain for anything that might sound plausible.

“You know what Christopher is like. He’s a demon, wanting the stock check completed, like, yesterday. And there’s his general zero respect for my having an actual life…You know I’d get out of it if I possibly could.”

Ari gave her friend a cutting, unimpressed look. “I don’t understand your loyalty to that place, especially with him at the helm.”

In fairness, Belle had never understood her friend’s job, either (something about pensions?). Although they’d been friends for what might as well be forever, the two girls had grown up polar opposites, with Belle diving into the world of words and Ariadne opting for systems and numbers. Confident and instantly charming, she walked the line between chaotic day-to-day disorganisation and being keenly logical and focused when her mind was put to something important. Unfortunately, that meant that she could spot a lie from a mile away, which was somewhat inconvenient for her magical best friend.

“Just don’t cancel the whole thing, okay?” Belle pleaded. “Have a good day with the others. I can call you when I’m done and see where you guys have ended up crawling to. You won’t even miss me.”

She tried to wave a white flag. How long could a magical hearing take, anyway? She might be out by lunchtime.

“If this isn’t the final straw for you to tell Christopher to take a hike and grab Lunar for yourself, I don’t know what will be.” Ariadne sounded distinctly peeved.

Belle’s guilt rattled. She wanted desperately to explain the real gut-wrenching problem currently ruining her birthday. It was exactly the type of scenario that Ariadne would be able to offer some solid reassurance on. But somehow “I was so excited for my birthday with my best mates today, eating all the fancy packets of tiny autumn picnic food, but now I have to go and see a coven about procuring a magical destiny” felt a little much to get into.

Her powers were the one and only secret (albeit a big one) that Belle had ever kept from Ariadne since they met on their first day of school. They’d been inseparable since Ari had gone home and told her mum about the strange girl with the silver hairband, Belle sharing the same encounter with Bonnie while standing on tiptoes to peer over the kitchen cauldron.

There’d been a close call when Belle had almost blurted out the events of her fifteenth birthday, the day after her endarkenment debut. The girls had been three hours deep into a film marathon, and she’d spent the whole evening falling down a dark pit of overwhelm. Shy wallflower teenage Belle was desperate to share with her closest ally, seeking a crumb of precious reassurance.

She’d stopped herself from spilling the secret, even to her best friend, after remembering the sage witches’ warnings of non-wicche knowledge, of sharing the truth with non-powers. Bonnie, too, had sat her down with a cup of soothing velvety hot chocolate to talk about the dangers of their potentially world-shattering secret. Even with those who were closest to you—even Ariadne, Bonnie said—it was never a good idea. It was a sad fact of life that those who you would trust with your life were often the ones who could inflict the most damage when put to the test. Selflessly holding on to the secret of magic when you cannot partake in it yourself was a torment that even the strongest non-wicche could be driven out of their mind by. History had proved that non-powers couldn’t typically exercise much restraint when presented with close proximity to magic. Something about torches and pitchforks.

“I’m not going to pretend this isn’t dreadful,” Ari said, cutting straight to the point, “but”—she sighed and held up a finger—“do not stress, for it is your special birthday. We will just have to celebrate on your behalf because we are very good, noble friends.”

Belle felt herself physically relax just an inch.

“Birthday cake breakfast?”

They fell into their usual talk, most of it indecipherable to anyone but them, between generous slices of sweet Victoria sponge, a cloud of dusty sugar on their fingertips, the red jam bright and nostalgic. For a while, Belle almost forgot about what lay ahead.

Eventually and reluctantly, Ariadne headed out to enjoy Belle’s birthday without her, taking the mash of pavlova in a Tupperware under one arm and a bag full of tequila under the other. The balloons were left tied at various intervals around the flat, much to the horror of Jinx, who was convinced that they were out to fight her. Belle shut the door behind Ariadne and tilted her head back heavily against it with closed eyes. The outright lying never got easier.

She flicked out her spell finger at nothing in particular to release the pent-up block of magic that had been aching to escape all morning. As a stream of tiny stars cascaded across the room, like leaves carried on a gust of wind, Belle felt instant relief. The fringed lamp flickered on and off, the drooping peace lily stirred itself to a freshened state and curtains billowed dramatically as magic filled the room. Resisting the urge to cast always felt like an itch that she couldn’t quite scratch. She crossed the room, cheering herself with small tasks. Reviving the wilting sunflowers in their vase for a few more days. Sending the heaped fresh laundry into the right bedroom. Refilling the cat food bowls. Abandoning balloon enemies for biscuits, Jinx chirped a thank you.

Belle hauled herself in the direction of the shower, feeling like the worst person in the non-wicche world and probably the magical one to boot. Did Selcouth really have to host the trial on her actual birthday? A little inconsiderate but, knowing the coven’s nature, probably a wildly old tradition that inflicted some kind of generation-spanning curse if broken. Plus, Belle imagined, medieval folks probably didn’t do much to celebrate their thirtieth birthday. There was dysentery and the plague to worry about. Not to mention witch accusations getting in the way of most party plans. Maybe her own hand wasn’t so bad.

In her bedroom, filled with a jumble of yellowing second-hand books alongside bright brand-new ones, Belle sat lost in thought on the bed. All great thinkers knew that contemplation came best when wrapped in a towel, with another precariously balanced on one’s head. Jinx giving her a headbutt on the shin eventually snapped her out of it.

“I need to get my act together, don’t I?”