Page 9 of Rewitched

“It’s never the right time. Ever. If you’re waiting for all of the stars and planets to align before you make decisions that’ll make you happier, you’ll be waiting forever.”

Belle sighed. “I’m so behind already. We’re supposed to be leading empires and bringing down the patriarchy by now. It was on the calendar for last week.”

“I told you, I had that epiphany. We’re past the point of having to think we can take over the world. We can just exist happily if we want to. As long as it pays the bills. And you would be happy, which is really all that matters. You could be spending your days recommending fiction to old people in your own bookshop, reading stories to sticky-fingered kids, stressing over barely making ends meet but loving the quiet day to day. That’s the dream right there, Belle.”

Belle gave a thoughtful “Hmm.” What would happen if she really did allow herself to seize it with both hands? She always felt embarrassed when she was confronted by her own cowardice like this, but the fact was that it was less disappointing and much less painful to refuse to give your heart and soul to any one thing for fear of an imperfect result.

“It’s just about breaking the spell,” Ariadne added. Belle sniffed under her breath at the irony. “Ow! What the…? Oh look, you dropped a birthday card.” Ariadne yanked a slightly crumpled black envelope from between the sofa cushions, where it had surreptitiously tapped a sharp corner of itself against the back of her arm to interrupt. “If that has cash in it, then it’s now rightfully mine.” She closed the pizza box and placed it on the patterned rug.

Maybe it wasn’t a totally failing spell. Thankfully, only Belle noticed in that moment how the handwriting shone with a distinctly magical glint: Tonitru, Fulgur, Pluvia.

SEPTEMBER NIGHTS HAD been drizzly and dark in London, the storm from yesterday leaving petrichor stuck to the streets and the sky, but tonight was exceptionally still. Everything outside seemed to be waiting with a held breath. The moon sat silver like a milk top.

Ariadne slunk off to bed once the movie had finished, taking the final piece of pizza for luck. Belle knew that touching wood, salt over the shoulder, rabbit feet and wishing on eyelashes were all well and good, but the best results she’d had with luck-related magic always came from their own bizarre, superstitious inventions. The final piece of pizza had long ago become a talisman between the two of them.

Since her mystery visitor at Lunar yesterday, Belle had been doing her level best to pretend that the whole encounter had never happened. With the chaos of the day, it had been easy to ignore. But once Ari uncovered the letter, Belle spent the rest of the evening sitting on her hands, attempting to focus on the television, her gaze practically boring a hole through the paper. Who on earth (boldly assuming they were even of this plane) had been in touch from Selcouth, and why? She had no magical contacts, no colleagues or friends or wizened old mentors to speak of.

Only when Ari was fast asleep and snoring at rhythm through her door did Belle allow herself to finally reach for the envelope. She curled her feet up underneath her and adjusted Jinx on her lap, pulling the blanket closer as a chill wove itself through the notches of her spine. The silver star on the stamp felt distantly familiar, lingering in the back of her mind like a dream.

Maybe Selcouth was sending birthday cards now, although that would make mystery man’s insistence on delivery a little overblown. This one was a milestone birthday, or so everyone kept reminding her with dramatic knowing looks. Belle blew her hair out of her eyes and lifted the deep purple seal. A stack of pale papers tumbled into her lap from an intricate fold, and as her eyes scanned the letter, each word lit with a warm glow perfectly in time with her reading. Magical texts tended to do that, words illuminating like fireflies trapped in amber when met by the eyes of a witch.

Ms. Belladonna Blackthorn,

An abundance of the happiest returns on your thirtieth Orbital Completion.

“Happy Birthday…probably would have been fine,” she muttered before reading on.

In accordance with the ancient and binding rules of Selcouth, which claims you by birthright, it is with much pleasure and pride we inform you that you will soon complete your inaugural Hecate House visit for the EquiWitch trial hearing and manifest assessment.

Saturday, October 1, 11:30 ante meridiem

Hecate House, Highgate Cemetery, London

All witches, warlocks and wicchefolk between must adhere to the EquiWitch trial to suitably mark their equal years of non-wicche existence versus years of holding sacred sorcery powers. Following your hearing, a jury of Selcouth’s esteemed membership will conclude whether you have behaved with suitable mysticism and fervour since said sacred powers were first instated.

The overwhelming majority of wicchefolk pass their trial and assessment with flying technicolours. However, in the unlikely outcome that your esteemed power is agreed to stand as underused, abused or entirely neglected altogether, your magic will be regretfully removed with immediate effect and returned to Selcouth.

Please bring with you to your hearing your bestowed sooth stone for the Selcouth endarkenment presentation in Hecate House courtroom following the (assumed) successful hearing.

With all the best on your thirtieth birthday! Cheers!

In thunder, lightning and in rain,

Caspar Strix

United Kingdom Coven Balancer

Tonitru, Fulgur, Pluvia

Disclaimer: Selcouth will not be held responsible for feelings of fatigue and lethargy following magic removal on possible expellation. We politely request that all witch familiars are left at home following the infamous toad incident of 1962. Your cooperation is well appreciated.

Belle gazed blankly at the letter, looking at the words elegantly inked on the paper. They seemed to loop themselves into one big tangled knot as she read them again. And again.

Your magic will be regretfully removed with immediate effect.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Belle stared at the unfurled papers, chewing relentlessly at a cuticle until it bled. Obviously, this didn’t mean what it appeared to mean. It couldn’t. Could it? She willed her mind to slow down, but her nervous system said otherwise. October 1 was tomorrow. Her first thought was that her birthday plans were almost certainly ruined. But a larger feeling of pure, burdensome dread began to brew up through her insides, an awful, anxious dismay bristling across every nerve ending like a wire broom.