Page 36 of Uncharmed

Channelling the wooden spoon as a temporary wand for dramatic emphasis, Annie fired her magic towards the front door and a crescendo of brave and extra hot-pink sparks shot through the cottage. The hinges blew off and the door came crashing to the hallway floor in a (hopefully) controlled explosion. She and Maeve quickly crouched down together behind the sofa, Annie shielding the girl with her body, Maeve flinging her hands over her ears.

Against the night sky, a shadow filled the doorway, tall enough that he had to duck his head to be able to come inside, broad shoulders intimidating against the small frame of the cottage. He lugged an enormous sack over his shoulder and dumped it over the threshold with a final groan of effort.

‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ he said.

Annie shot to her feet, still wielding the spoon wand. Maeve stayed crouched, unsure whether she was supposed to follow for moral support or remain hidden, as Annie leapt around the side of the sofa to confront the intruder.

‘I should ask you the very same thing, you scoundrel! Who do you think you are, barging into my house like this? Get out. Right now. Or I’ll . . .’

‘You’ll what, spoon me to death?’

‘I will do no such thing, brigand!’ Annie shouted, horrified by the assumption.

‘Not like that, I mean . . . Oh, will you please put that thing down before you take my eye out, waving it around like that? And I think you’ll find that this is my house.’

Chapter Fourteen

THE BANCROFT COMPROMISE

Annie’s eyes darted to Maeve’s, silently asking whether she understood what in all the realms the man was talking about. The girl, still hiding behind the sofa, looked equally stumped, but she gestured her head towards the man, encouraging Annie to keep pressing on with the interrogation.

‘What do you mean, this is your house? I think you’ll find that this house belongs to Selcouth, the esteemed coven of the United Kingdom.’

‘Oh does it, indeed? Who told you that, hey? Bloody Morena Gowden, was it? I bet. I swear to the zodiac and back . . .’

‘You’re telling me you live here?’ Annie’s voice was supposed to sound strong and certain, but was in fact only getting squeakier.

‘Too bloody right I live here. I go away for a few months and come back just wanting a decent kip and a nice dinner to find . . . What in the hell and high waters have you done to my living room? Everything’s bloody pink.’

As he stepped a little further out of the shadows, Annie could just about make out a few of his defining features in the last of the candlelight. His scowling face was rugged and a little weathered, deep lines across his forehead and furrows between his brows, a scattering of freckles that hinted at time spent outside. A slightly crooked nose, dark green eyes, which were scrutinizing her closely, and an unkempt beard that looked brown until he stepped further into the light and revealed the slightest red tint. He shoved back the long, dishevelled hair that was falling into his eyes. The furious look across his face softened a fraction as he took a step closer towards her, but Annie promptly mirrored it by taking one back. She noted that his clothes were dirty, his boots caked in mud, and she crinkled her nose at the sight.

‘Well, then. There’s clearly been some kind of . . . administration error,’ she said.

The man gave a resigned sigh, thumbing at his eyebrow in exasperation. ‘No, there hasn’t. I should have known that Morena would have revenge planned. She’s furious with me for not coming back sooner, for refusing to be at her ludicrous beck and call. This is her reminding me who’s in charge at that bloody coven, whether I like it or not.’

Annie squinted. ‘You . . . you work at the coven?’ she stuttered.

‘Aye.’ Not only did this man look like some kind of lumbering . . . lumberjack, perhaps crossed with a cowboy-pirate, he spoke like one, too. Annie purposefully forced a more intimidating scowl back on her face.

‘Then why have I never seen you at Hecate House before? I spend a lot of time there,’ she said importantly. He had to be lying. For various reasons that she didn’t allow herself to contemplate because they were highly inappropriate when she was trying to be menacing, she would definitely have noticed this man before, if they had ever crossed paths.

‘Because I try to spend as little time at that fate-forsaken place as possible,’ he replied grumpily. ‘Mostly thanks to Bronwyn, always asking me to join her crochet club or set me up on a date with some witch or other. And if it’s not her meddling in things, then it’s Morena telling me that field work is a waste of time and that she’ll land me in a paperwork role before next Halloween.’

Annie still refused to drop her weapon spoon. ‘I don’t believe you.’

The man breathed out deeply through his nose with closed eyes, seemingly willing himself to find patience. He shrugged off his jacket to hang on the heart-shaped hook next to the door that, until Annie’s redecoration, had been a nail jutting out of the wall. He paused, scowled at it, then turned back to her with his hands on his hips. ‘Suit yourself. Either way, this is still my house.’

‘And we’re staying in it. Aren’t squatters’ rights a thing, Annie?’ Maeve bolted up to her feet from behind the sofa.

The man jumped and muttered a curse under his breath. ‘Where the bloody hell did you come from? There’s two of you, is there? Any more uninvited witches lurking behind my curtains?’

Annie decided that nobody needed to know that she had indeed been hiding behind the curtains earlier. Instead, she folded her arms crossly.

‘Who are you?’ She eyed him with suspicion. He firmed his jaw, then took a deep breath again, apparently relenting a small fraction of his surly demeanour with the dawning realization that it wasn’t getting him many answers.

‘Hal,’ he said, in a softer voice now. ‘Well, Harry. But no one’s called me that since I was wearing babygrows.’

‘Couple of years ago, then?’ Maeve said. He glowered at her.