Page 34 of Uncharmed

The vivid picture of a little, lonely version of Maeve being abandoned was one that felt acutely devastating, a prick so sharp and sad against Annie’s heart that she almost buckled. A ferocious, stormy defensiveness whipped itself up inside her like a hurricane, with an overwhelming wish that she could go back in time and protect that little girl. She would settle for looking after her just as she was now.

‘There’s no question that she must have been frightened,’ Annie said. ‘But I’m sure you were, too.’

Maeve took a sip of coffee. ‘It’s actually a really weird story. I was only found because the bloody postman heard me calling out for her. I snuck a look at my records once and they said that the house was empty, as though she and anyone else around had just vanished. Everything was as though she left quickly and meant to come back, teacups on the table, half-eaten bowls of porridge in the kitchen . . . Isn’t that crazy? And I was sitting at the bottom of a closed wardrobe, playing with a doll. I’ve always assumed that she got herself into trouble and she had to run, but . . . pretty bleak stuff, isn’t it?’

Annie could only nod at the top of Maeve’s bowed head.

‘I seem to attract . . . bad things. Dark things,’ Maeve said with a breathy laugh, quieter now. She began to tug at the skin around her nails again, but promptly picked herself up. ‘Like I said, I don’t have many memories because I was a baby. Only about four. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that she was kind. And she’d draw really good pictures for me to colour in when we woke up early. I guess that’s where I get it from.’

‘Maybe you’re like her in lots of ways. Probably more than you know.’

Maeve made a ‘hmm’ sound, twiddling the end of Karma’s tail. ‘I can’t say whether that would be a good thing or not, so I’ll just claim the art for now. Are you anything like your mum?’

‘I hope not,’ Annie said before she could stop herself. Her hand shot to her mouth and both girls giggled at the revelation. ‘I just mean we’ve never had a lot in common,’ she hastened to add. ‘Apart from our appreciation for the importance of the right handbag. She could be a bit . . . ruthless.’

‘Ruthless?’ Maeve said, surprised. ‘The total opposite to you, then.’

Annie squared her shoulders. ‘I can be ruthless if I want to be.’

Maeve rolled her eyes while draining the last of her coffee. ‘We’ve only known each other for a few days and I’ve already seen you cry maybe one hundred thousand times.’

‘A witch can cry a lot and still be a tough cookie.’

‘Sure she can, but you cried when I managed to successfully brew a cat-ears potion, Annie. You’re the most sensitive, compassionate person I’ve ever met. I don’t know how you ever get anything done.’

‘It does get in the way a bit,’ Annie admitted. ‘I do sometimes wonder what life would look like if I didn’t pay so much mind to what anybody else was thinking or feeling.’

‘Maybe it would look like it was your own.’

It was a revelation to hear aloud, so earnest and simple.

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Maeve went on. ‘You’ve admitted it all in bits and pieces. Exhibit A, you’re working too hard at your bakery. Which is great, obviously, but you’re allowed to let it go and watch it float away if it’s not making you happy.’

Annie squinted at Maeve, eyeing her up suspiciously. ‘Are you sure you’re fifteen and not a wizened old warlock in a particularly convincing disguise?’

‘It’s just not that deep. I let things go all the time,’ Maeve said with a lolloping stretch against the side of the armchair. ‘It’s like grabbing a balloon at the fun fair. You enjoy it for a while, but then it becomes this annoying, cumbersome thing wrapped around your wrist that bashes you on the head all the time as you’re trying to walk along. Sometimes it’s better to untie the bow and let it go.’

‘Maeve, it’s not that easy.’ Annie’s gaze fell onto their matching fluffy socks, bright orange and leaf-patterned, resting either side of the long, stretched-out cat.

‘Why not?’

‘Because letting people down is the worst feeling in the world,’ Annie replied in a quiet voice. Even saying it out loud brought a pebble-sized lump to her throat. It was supposed to be her teaching things to the girl, not the other way around.

‘But this is your life and you’re letting people make you unhappy in it,’ Maeve said, her voice rising in such a passion that Karma squinted one unimpressed eye open. ‘Just because you’re not doing what they expect of you. Keeping everyone happy, pleasing everyone all the time . . . It’s just a thankless game of putting out fires, one after another.’ Karma let out a passive-aggressive sigh, displeased that Maeve’s rant had resulted in a lack of continued strokes. ‘It’s pointless, isn’t it, Karma? Stoke your own fire instead.’

Life with Maeve Cadmus was one reality check after another. Annie exhaled deeply, then reached for a sofa cushion and gently batted Maeve around the head with it.

‘What was that for?’

‘For being too smart for your own good, little witch.’

‘Not fair,’ Maeve added, her grumpy tone firmly returning. ‘And yes, I do realize the irony of me talking about fires, when it’s exactly what has led to us both being stuck here.’

It was late. After the nightly battle with Maeve over the fact that, yes, she did have to go to bed at a half-reasonable hour and, no, they could not pull an all-nighter, a dense lick of darkness covered the meadow and its surrounding woodlands in a sooty black. Annie towelled off behind the privacy screen that wrapped around the tin bathtub, the last of her tears still lingering on the back of her hand. Stars studded the sky like scattered dice; the moon had shyly tucked itself in, only a thin scratch of silver peeping up from the blanket of night.

A tiredness hung heavy across Annie’s shoulders, the exhausting weight of the spell’s familiar voices seeping through her body, before the kick of endless energy had arrived in the magic. Cloudy, spectral shimmers of a whole range of visitors had appeared, desperate to share their secrets, leaving their burdens behind on Annie’s shoulders. She was exhausted from listening.

She closed her eyes in half-sleep as she wrung out her wet hair. The noise of the droplets tumbling into the draining tin tub sounded impossibly loud against the garden, an orchestra of crickets hidden in the grass flooding the open air as she wrapped up the ritual. She watched the last of the crimson liquid drain safely away into secrecy, then gathered up her ingredients to stow them away, casting a simple Caecus Abscondo invisibility enchantment over each of the bottles and stowing them beneath an empty crate for good measure.