Page 22 of Uncharmed

To one side of the cottage was a small open kitchen, everything made from rough-hewn wood and worn brass. A line of well-used copper pots and pans was hanging from a rack above the stove range and a rusting, scratched-up cauldron had been left to the side, an encrusted layer of something dark green and over-stewed sitting in the bottom. Bunches of old dried herbs hung with damp-stained string from the ceiling beams. The few shelves were packed with a clumsy clutter of half-empty jars. The kitchen’s one saving grace was the wide window above the sink, which, although filthy and framed with frankly offensive lace curtains, offered up a view of the glade outside.

The other side comprised the living room: a flattened sofa, one threadbare armchair with stuffing weeping through the seams, a rocking chair. The hearth was covered in a thick layer of soot and feathers that had tumbled down the chimney. Crowded bookshelves flanked the fireplace, but were thick with dust.

Even as someone with a terrible habit of landing herself in unwanted situations to keep others happy, this one had to take the biscuit. And the cake. And the cinnamon bun, too. What had she gotten herself into? The pair of them clearly had next to nothing in common, polar opposites in all ways. That fact alone was guaranteed to make it next to impossible for Annie to have any kind of breakthrough or teach anything of value. The girl clearly thought she was hopeless and would take no notice of her if she attempted any discipline or learning. It was like adding unwanted sugar to a distinctly savoury recipe, two different flavours that clashed dramatically.

Although – Annie’s optimism elbowed its way through as Splendidus Infernum fired up – someone had invented salted caramel with entirely excellent results, she contemplated. And ketchup, as a concept. And apple sauce, specifically on a roast dinner. Perhaps she and Maeve could be a similar unexpectedly sweet combination.

She clapped her hands together decidedly, making Maeve jump. ‘New plan. This place needs a magical makeover and, if there’s one thing I know, it’s makeovers,’ Annie chimed. ‘It’ll be like we’re on one of those home-renovation shows. An extreme deep clean, a lick of paint, some throw cushions, a drastic and immediate change of curtains . . . This place will be gorgeous. Right?’ Her fingers waggled as her imagination began to awaken and a spray of pink sparks glittered around her waist.

Maeve laughed. ‘Gorgeous might be a bit strong. Why does it feel like you’re about to turn this dump into your Malibu dream house?’

‘You think there’s dream house potential?’ Annie said, firing a wink in Maeve’s direction.

She spun on the spot and delivered a swirl of magic in the direction of the wooden ceiling beams. A dainty floral pattern chased its way along the wood, chains of hand-drawn bluebells, daisies and lilacs painted across each one by an invisible brush.

‘It just needs a witch’s touch . . .’

Annie’s magic conjured more alterations. The sofa changed to a pale blush pink, a whole assortment of soft throws and floral cushions springing up to match like marshmallows on the top. The threadbare rug turned fluffy under their feet, making their toes wriggle and Maeve cackle as it tickled. Vintage teacups appeared with a rattle on the simple coffee table, a roll of floral wallpaper unfurled itself above the fireplace and a wreath of pink roses and baby’s breath wove itself around the pane in the front door. Finally and most crucially, she summoned a duster, a dishcloth and a mop and set them to work, feathers and suds flying to tackle the cobwebbed nooks and crannies.

‘This feels like the part in a kid’s film when you’re supposed to be singing a catchy song with a talking badger or something,’ Maeve said with a stubborn eye-roll. But Annie noticed that even she couldn’t hide a childlike glint of delight in her eyes as the transformations unfolded, a sparkling twirl of incantation surrounding them.

Perhaps not quite a dream house just yet, but it was clean and the soft colours made Annie feel more at ease. She itched to go wild with her visions for the place, but she held herself back, realizing that the transformative incantations would be some of the most overt displays of magic that Maeve had ever seen. It should be a gradual process – she didn’t want to completely overwhelm the girl, who already thought that she was too much.

‘Much better,’ Annie said triumphantly, dusting off her hands. ‘Never let it be said that I can’t make the best of a bad situation. Do you want to help me do something about these ghastly net curtains next?’

Maeve flinched with a shiver and her smile dropped a fraction. Annie cursed herself for not being thoughtful enough to immediately light a fire. A string of pink sparks towards the hearth rectified that immediately, roaring flames springing up behind the grate with a crackle.

Maeve just shrugged again and turned to face away. ‘I think I’ll probably just get an early night.’

‘Oh.’ Annie’s shoulders sagged, taken aback by the sudden flip. Teenagers really were as unpredictable as everybody said. ‘I thought we could do face masks. I packed us a few.’

‘I have sensitive skin,’ Maeve mumbled.

‘But . . . they’re fruity?’

‘And homework to do, so I should probably just . . .’

‘Well, afterwards? How about I conjure us some pizzas and a Halloween video and you can tell me about how you’ve been finding your magic so far? Is it just oranges you’re dabbling in? Or have you ventured into pineapples yet? Considerably more spikes involved, so I guess the health and safety aspect is questionable.’

Annie could have punched the air when an almost imperceptible twitchy smile came back to Maeve’s face for a second, but the girl quickly caught it. ‘Thanks, but like you said, I’ve brought you enough of a bad situation to handle today. Sorry to be a burden. It’s kind of just what I always do. Besides, I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just . . .’

Frowning, Maeve scooped up her sketchbooks from the dining table and headed over to the one separate downstairs room. It was slotted next to the narrow, winding staircase at the back of the cottage. In her mini makeover, Annie had conjured a delicate script of purple and blue to paint ‘Maeve’s room’ in looped letters on the door. Maeve peered around it, noted the simple bed frame, bare mattress and side table and rocked back on her heels, waiting for permission to leave.

‘Right. You go relax, decompress, of course it’s been a big day for you. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I just . . .’

‘It’s fine,’ Maeve replied, their words clashing, that early wall of awkwardness between them building itself back up tenfold.

‘Well, goodnight,’ Annie said, her voice uncomfortably high. ‘I’ll be right upstairs if you need me. If you need anything. In fact, silly me . . .’ She flicked her wrist and more sparkles glided around the bedroom door. ‘There. I’ve made up your bed and you’ll find some new pyjamas, plus a full drawer of my favourite toiletries. That should be everything you need, at least for tonight? We can get a bit more organized in the morning.’

Maeve nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. Annie, for some inexplicable reason, gave an enthusiastic wave and immediately regretted it as Maeve raised her eyebrows. Just as the door was about to close, Annie couldn’t help but blurt out a final thought. ‘Maeve?’ She cringed, adjusted her volume a little. ‘You are never, ever a burden, okay? Not with anybody, but especially not with me. I’m so pleased to be here with you.’

At that, Maeve peered back around the door and frowned for a moment, as though confused by how to respond. She only gave a tiny nod, then shut the door behind her with a click.

Annie felt her entire skeleton sigh as the tension broke. She hadn’t realized how tightly wound she’d been all day. Tightly wound was her normal state, a familiar rigidity that ensured nothing could go wrong. But today, it hadn’t worked. Everything was entirely out of her control and she had found herself in the middle of nowhere, with a difficult teenager who thought her new guardian was a ridiculous cupcake of a witch. Which, perhaps, she was a bit.

Her head fell into her hands and she cursed herself for every single silly decision she’d made throughout the day. With Splendidus Infernum entirely redundant when it came to her relationship with Maeve, Annie was already making huge mistakes: stumbling over her words, endlessly awkward, putting her foot in it over and over without even understanding how or why. Being here with Maeve meant that Annie’s real self was going to be more on display than she had allowed in forever. She wasn’t even sure she knew what – or who – that was any more. What was abundantly clear was that Maeve didn’t seem to like her much – and Annie didn’t blame her in the slightest. This was going to be a long, long stay at Arden Place.

‘What have I done?’ Annie asked herself in a whisper.