Page 73 of Rewitched

Artorius and Rune both wandered over in unison, quietly observing the two witches at work. Belle turned her attention back to the table for a proper look at everything that had cascaded unceremoniously from her mother’s bag. Her rummaging noises made Jinx’s ears scoot backwards horizontally in alarm.

“Mum, I mean this in the nicest possible way. I know it’s important and special to you, but…you can’t seriously tell me that these things all lead to healing or…well, anything at all. Other than compost.”

“Of course they bloody do. What could possibly be more powerful than nature? Say you’re out walking, and you’re wearing those silly cropped jeans of yours. Why you’re paying more for less denim, I’ll never know. But a stinging nettle catches your ankles. It’s itchy, it’s sore, it feels like it’s burning. What do you do?”

“Look for a dock leaf.”

Bonnie gave her daughter a smug, satisfied look. “Exactly. Nature heals.”

To her surprise, Belle found that she recognised most of the chaos covering the table, with knowledge that had been long dormant and neglected. She began separating it into a selection of different small piles.

“Basil, gardenia, lavender…easy enough, they all pull towards love.” Belle racked her brain for the dregs of past schooling in Bonnie’s greenhouse. “Cedar and elderflower, healing. Juniper…cleansing, right?” She shot a look at her mum, who gave her a quick nod of encouragement.

A few moments later, everything had been arranged neatly.

“Not bad, darling. You’re almost spot on with everything. There tends to be a lot of overlap with certain ingredients, anyway, different types of spells for different souls.”

Belle beamed at the praise and noticed how good it felt to have these three encouraging presences around her.

“Now, how about we get the next of those blasted challenges lit up like bloody Blackpool, shall we, love?”

THREE MORE MOONS had passed with Bonnie nearby and still no satisfactory glow from the book. “Remind me what the grimoire says again?” she asked her daughter patiently.

Belle let out an exasperated sound like some kind of flattened frog. She knew the Earth Sorcery ballad entirely by heart:

Beneath the ground, a warmth of riches,

Hotter than the flames of witches.

A blaze that stills the breath to naught,

Drowning lest the mind is taught.

Fire to earth, earth to fire,

Create that which thy most admire.

Water to air, air to water,

Powers for the firstborn daughter.

Sitting on an old crate in the attic, she bent over to touch her toes, letting her head flop between her knees. Bonnie was walking continuous laps around the room, driving Belle slowly insane with the repetitive movement. Artorius was poring over a purple-bound book entitled The Nature of Nature. Rune was downstairs on the sofa watching late-night television after Belle stropped that his observation was off-putting and temporarily banished him from the attic.

“We are still no closer to figuring this one out. And will you please stop pacing before I rugby tackle you to the floor?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s the nerves, I’m a dither,” Bonnie said, flapping. “We’ve addressed about every single possible plant, weed, tree, shrub, potted plant, cactus…Flora and fauna has provided nothing. I’m at a dead end.”

“We have concluded that we must think bigger than the average spell jar,” Artorius spoke up. “For one reason or another—likely the heritage of Earth Sorcery talent—the grimoire has decided that this particular challenge must be more…challenging.”

“If I have to conjure one more ray of sunlight or emit one more rainstorm from my fingertips, I think I will probably surrender to madness,” Belle whined. They had been attempting small-scale spellwork with sunshine, wind and water to grow plants more quickly, and she struggled with them all. It was soggy, muddy, grubby work.

Artorius suddenly exclaimed, looking up at the Blackthorns with an expression that indicated he had made an important discovery. “Look.” He pointed to a particular page in his research, beckoning the mother and daughter to his side.

Calling for the elements relies on a steadfast belief that a witch is worthy of such potent magic. The dynamics of the elements being brought to hand, a power bestowed only upon a firstborn daughter, is almost entirely reliant on a potent confidence in her own deserving.

“That’s it. That’s what the grimoire is asking for. Earth, wind, water, fire, firstborn daughter…all there in the allegory,” Bonnie said, referring back to the words of the challenge.

No one said anything for a moment.