Page 37 of Uncharmed

‘Hal Bancroft?’ Annie asked, the name coming to light. She’d seen it countless times in coven records and always wondered why she’d never bumped into the mystery warlock in question, seeing as she made it her business to be firm friends with anyone and everyone at Hecate House. All she knew was that he headed up Selcouth’s work within the Mythical Beasts department and, from what she’d heard, he much preferred the company of animals to other wicchefolk. Now that she thought about it, she had also definitely heard Bronwyn mention numerous times what a ‘handsome devil’ he was. Annie made sure to scowl even more enthusiastically at the devil in question.

‘Right. And you? I got as far as Annie, but didn’t catch much else,’ he said, arms folding.

‘I am Andromeda Wildwood,’ she said, puffing her chest out a little to assert her dominance of the situation. He simply gave her a slow, single nod in return.

‘And your sidekick?’

‘Oi,’ Maeve said, smoke practically projecting from her ears at that.

‘That’s Maeve Cadmus, our newest Selcouth recruit. We’re staying here for a while to get her magic under control, until the coven is confident that she’s got hold of her amazing abilities.’

‘Brilliant. Very nice of Morena to offer up my home to an out-of-control kid and the Babysitters’ Club.’

‘Who do you think you’re calling . . .’

‘Maeve,’ Annie said sternly, holding her back with an arm as she lunged towards the man over the top of the sofa. ‘It’s very late. Why don’t you go back to bed and let me handle this, okay?’

‘But . . .’ Maeve rolled her eyes, sensing that she was fighting a losing battle if she bothered to protest. ‘Fine. Seeing as he’s clearly not a troll or a minotaur or something else cool, this all just became a lot less interesting. But I won’t be sleeping, so come and get me if this bozo makes you walk the plank or starts asking where the treasure is.’

Annie couldn’t be sure in the low light, but she was almost certain that the cutting assessment earned a wry smirk from Hal. She offered Maeve a reassuring smile in the hopes that it would seem as though everything was under control, but knew already that she’d pay for shutting her out in the morning. Annie waited until the bedroom door was closed before she turned her attention back to Hal.

‘Look, this certainly isn’t ideal,’ she said. ‘And I apologize for . . .’

He grunted. ‘I’ll sleep on the porch. We’ll sort this out in the morning.’

‘What?’

‘Look, Andromeda Wildwood. I’ve crossed four realms today and you don’t even want to know how long it’s been since I had a shower. But, even so, I’m hardly going to kick you out and send the kid packing, am I? We’ll sort this out tomorrow, when my head isn’t pounding and my eyes aren’t about to fall shut.’

‘The porch? You can’t sleep outside on the porch,’ Annie scoffed.

‘Oh yeah? You’d rather a strange man was in here with you, would you? I know that bed isn’t fitting us both in it,’ he said. Even in the dark, his eyes glimmered green. Annie blushed crossly. He bent down to pick up the heavy sack of belongings that he’d dumped on the floor, a sleeping bag, what appeared to be horse reins, a cracked glass lantern spilling out of it. He groaned at the weight as he threw it all back over his shoulder. ‘Obviously. It goes without saying. I’ll sleep outside.’

‘Well.’ Annie relented an inch, slightly baffled by how considerate he was. For a ruffian. ‘That is very understanding of you.’

Hal grunted again. ‘Don’t mention it. The Bancroft Compromise; why wouldn’t there be two strange witches having a sleepover in my house, after I’ve spent three months in a French shed monitoring the nocturnal patterns of banshees?’

He turned and reached for the handle of the front door, before realizing with a start that there wasn’t one any more. Hal flexed his magic for the first time, sending a quick and graceful burst of bronze-tinged sparks to lift the smashed front door, bring the panels back together and set it into place. Looking back over his shoulder, he gave Annie a lazy, one-fingered salute.

‘Nice pyjamas, by the way.’

Annie shoved her arms into a fold across the cartoon latte cups and scowled once more for luck, her most determined yet. When the door closed behind Hal, she made sure to fire a double-locking spell across all the doors and windows. Just in case.

Annie rose early again, barely allowing her eyelids to close before springing back up out of bed. The spirits of the hex had been particularly vocal, tormenting her with dreams of painful wrong decisions. But she had to put their troubles aside as best as she could and confront the immediate problem, which, she saw from the bedroom window, was currently lounging on the porch swing with a partially undone shirt and a grubby Stetson pulled over his face against the dawn. What kind of self-respecting warlock wore a Stetson?

Annie was determined that she would deal with this. Not that she doubted for a second that Maeve could handle herself and would reality-check the man into questioning his own existential worth, but it was unthinkable. Part of her was even slightly grateful for an interaction where she could rely on the spell again, to navigate things successfully in a perfectly polite and friendly manner. At least it had come back to help her last night; Hal had backed down so quickly, the effects of renewed Splendidus Infernum helping to defuse the tension of her spoon-based threats.

The memory of Hal’s snarky comment about her pyjamas ensured that she dressed quickly and made herself look more put-together, conjuring jeans and a pink shirt and sweeping her hair into a curly ponytail and headscarf before heading downstairs to make a coffee-based peace offering. He had, albeit unwillingly, given them his home after all.

Manoeuvring the front door open with her hip, she tiptoed out onto the porch with two mugs of her favourite maple spice blend, placing one down on the wooden boards next to the swing. Hal was still fast asleep on his back, an arm swung lazily behind his head to rest on. He hadn’t even bothered to conjure himself a pillow or a blanket, covering himself with his heavy, sheepskin jacket instead. He was at least two foot too long to even be attempting to sleep on the swing. Somehow he’d managed it though; he was clearly used to sleeping uncomfortably for his field work.

Leaning on the porch rail, watching his chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm of sleep, Annie took the chance to size him up a little better than she’d been able to in the dark. He was, she noted with a wrinkled nose, still filthy from head to toe and, judging by the way that he’d managed to fall asleep in such a ridiculous position, he must have been roughing it while out on his banshee scouting. But, beneath all of the caked-on mud and smudges of grubbiness, he did have nice hair, she had to admit. Long and scruffy to his shoulders, pushed back but stubbornly still falling into his face while he slept. Long, thick eyelashes that were wasted on a warlock, a slightly crooked nose and, behind the tangle of beard, she could see a strong, square jawline.

‘Stop watching me sleep.’

Hal lifted his hat and lazily opened one green eye. His surly voice croaked extra deep with his first words of the morning and Annie startled backwards in her slippers.

‘Stop pretending to be asleep!’ she retorted, embarrassed to be caught out.