Page 35 of Uncharmed

She was drying her hair into plaits with Capillus Aura, when a loud rustle caught her attention. Among the long grass, it sounded fuzzy and coarse. Annie faltered, straining to tune back into the specific sound, which had passed as quickly as it came. Then there it was again. Something big. Likely a deer or a fox slinking past. There had been an almost constant stream of woodland wildlife since they’d arrived at Arden Place, further ensured by the fact that Maeve insisted on leaving out plates of leftover dinner for them each night.

But this time the rustling had changed – fractionally closer now and more of a shuffle. The grass was brushing up against something over and over. Like heavy legs, wading through. It was making its way towards the front of the house, growing closer, louder with each sweep against the meadow.

A dense dragging along the ground. And . . . was that a grunting? Were there . . . bears in the English countryside? Annie liked to imagine that bears were just adorable big babies and could be tempted out of any situation with enough pots of honey, like Karma and her custard, but it wasn’t something she wanted to put to the test.

A voice. Deep and rough. She definitely heard it.

The hex was complete, the residual spirits had all departed with the dregs of the drained potion, and it wasn’t Maeve pottering out of bed this time. The voice was much too gruff. It sounded surly, only just audible from this side of the cottage. Annie was frozen to the spot, unsure of what to do. They were so vulnerable here. No one knew where they were, other than Morena. Even Annie couldn’t be exactly sure where Arden Place was, tucked away from the ‘real’ world.

One thing was certain: she couldn’t very well fight an intruder in her fluffy white towel, so she tiptoed with haste back into the cottage, moving extra slowly to ensure that the squeaking hinges didn’t give her away. Silently, she dipped behind the curtains and hurriedly threw on the only thing that she had taken outside to change into – her buttoned, pumpkin latte-print pyjamas were not the most threatening choice for battling an intruder, but they would have to do in a pinch.

Annie gasped sharply as the cascade of lanterns around the front of the cottage shook, casting just enough light along the porch to reveal a silhouette. Someone was trying to peer through the window. A large hand came up to the glass. A man’s hand, the darkness obscuring everything else. Annie tried to remain calm, but intense fear clipped her breath.

Her heart was in her throat as she stayed hidden behind the curtain, not daring to move while her mind raced. Her only clear thought was keeping Maeve safe. She wondered how to get herself across to the bedroom without revealing her whereabouts to the intruder. And she would have to wake Maeve up gently so as not to frighten her. Maybe she could tell her that there’d been an emergency, that they had to transfer quickly, right away. She wouldn’t even have to know that someone was trying to get inside.

‘Do you hear that?’

Maeve hissed through the darkness, standing in the dark kitchen clutching a glass of water. Annie leapt in the air with a stifled squeal, clutching at her chest from the fright.

‘I thought you were asleep! Of course I hear that. I was trying to make sure that you didn’t hear that,’ Annie whispered back dramatically.

‘I don’t sleep much here. I hear stuff outside all the time. But that’s . . .’

‘A man? A real-life man?’ Annie said, wide-eyed.

‘Right,’ Maeve nodded slowly, looking distinctly less sure of herself than usual. Her eyes darted from Annie to the front door and back again. She gulped. ‘What do we do?’

Hesitating for only a second longer, Annie dashed over to the kitchen in an awkward, hobbling crouch and pulled out her favourite wooden spoon from the cupcake-shaped utensil holder. She lunged in front of Maeve and wrapped a protective arm backwards around her.

‘Get behind me,’ Annie wheezed.

‘What are you . . .’

‘I’ll protect us. I might not look particularly tough, but I am,’ Annie said, flicking her ribboned, bedtime pigtails back and sounding as though she was trying to convince herself of the fact more than anything. Holding Maeve behind her as they shuffled into the living room together, she brandished the wooden spoon out in front.

Heavy footsteps pounded the length of the porch and something else cumbersome thudded against the edges of the wooden steps, over and over, being dragged with great effort towards the door.

‘Do you think that’s a body?’

‘Maeve! Don’t say that!’

Annie and Maeve both let out involuntary gasps when the handle rattled once, then again more wildly.

‘This feels quite bad,’ Maeve admitted, swallowing hard.

‘We can take him,’ Annie said with an unconvincing, quivering voice. ‘We’re witches. We might not have weapons, but we do have spells. Loads of them.’

‘I don’t know any spells!’ Maeve seethed. ‘What am I going to do? Paint him into submission? Milkshake him to smithereens?’

Annie’s pigtails shook decidedly once again. ‘On the count of three, I’m going to open the door . . .’ she said calmly.

‘What? No, don’t do that! Why are you politely opening the door for someone who’s trying to kill us?’

‘One, two . . .’

‘Annie, no!’

‘Three!’