Page 42 of Uncharmed

‘See? Even the cowboy knows I’m right.’

‘Don’t you two start ganging up on me. Maeve, they could challenge you better than I can.’

‘But I want to stay here,’ Maeve said, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. It didn’t linger, promptly replaced by confidence again. ‘You’re telling me that a magical coven would be thrilled to hear that a fifteen-year-old girl has extraordinary powers? That they’d be chuffed for me and want to help me to channel them and test them as much as I can?’ Maeve shook her head, as though she pitied Annie’s innocent mind. ‘Yes, that’s what always happens in stories like mine, isn’t it? It always works out so well for the weirdo, doesn’t it?’

Hearing the suggestion aloud made Annie pause. And, frustratingly, she could tell just from Hal’s cocked eyebrow that he was in agreement. He had technically remained silent, but had leaned up on his elbows. Annie could hear exactly what he was trying to say without taking sides in business that wasn’t his: ‘the kid’s right’. She tutted at him, despite the fact he hadn’t actually said anything out loud.

‘I know that Morena will want to know how wonderful you are,’ Annie said coaxingly.

‘Morena has never thought anything was wonderful in her life,’ Hal said. ‘Except maybe medieval torture techniques. She told me she’d revel in putting me in the stocks once.’ Annie shot him a look that made his eyebrows shoot up in innocence. He reached for his Stetson and plonked it on top of his face as he lay back down in resignation. ‘Alright, butting out.’

The coven would absolutely want to hear about her findings with Maeve. But Annie also felt the creeping scratch of a realization that the Sorciety would expect her to share this information with them, too. The idea made her bristle, a strange wave of nausea taking hold at the prospect.

‘I just don’t really know why it’s any of their business,’ Maeve said sullenly. ‘At least not yet.’

Annie considered Maeve and Hal’s prediction: the possibility that the coven wouldn’t be as excited as she thought to celebrate an up-and-coming protégée. That instead they might take no delight whatsoever in a spark of fresh potential. The elder wicchefolk might be threatened and concerned. Maeve would be nothing but their latest red flag. Selcouth had always made it crystal-clear that it did not appreciate anomalies in the system and spikes in the use of magic usually led to intense, controversial debate. Annie had even heard tell of powers being removed altogether.

Unwanted attention, strangeness, anomalies . . . These are never welcome things at Selcouth. It had never been something that she had considered before, but Selcouth’s determination to cap these things was not necessarily a bold and brave one. Maybe it was cowardice.

Annie thought back on what she’d seen of Maeve’s magic. Wonderful things. Beautiful, impressive things, full of colour and life, youth and joy. And the possibilities that it seemed to hold – so many that it felt fizzing, overflowing, sugary and wild. Maeve’s magic was too special to allow them to seize it, just as it was beginning to blossom into something beautiful. That especially applied to Glory and the Sorciety, too.

Something within Annie told her that, if she was ever going to break the rules, perhaps now was the time to try it, to go against what she knew she was absolutely supposed to do and choose what felt right to her instead. She had Hal here now, a talented and respected warlock who could provide assistance. And Maeve was always telling her to stop pleasing everyone. Maybe the kid . . . Maeve, was rubbing off on her.

Annie released a deep-seated, healing sigh. Being bad just once in a lifetime felt surprisingly good.

‘Your secret’s safe with us,’ she said, pulling Maeve into a hug. She felt Maeve’s shoulders sag with relief and it was the only sign that Annie needed to feel confident in her decision. At least for now. She was competent enough to monitor Maeve’s magic while in a place that the girl felt confident and relaxed. They could slow down, take time to learn more about it, understand its nature before the coven came barrelling in. Hal gave a satisfied, triumphant hum and, without even removing his Stetson from his face, held up a hand for the girl to high five. Their loud clap against the quiet brought a sudden, more pressing thought into Annie’s brain.

The moon swung heavily above them, like the polished pendulum on a sky clock. Surely it couldn’t be that late.

‘What time is it?’ Annie asked shakily, swallowing hard.

‘Just after midnight, judging by the moon,’ Hal said, lifting his hat to squint at her through the darkness, the three of them only lit to one side by the porch lanterns. ‘Why?’

Annie shot to her feet, spilling her drink across the last of the breadsticks as she frantically dusted dry grass off her jeans. She turned to Hal and Maeve, barely even registering their baffled expressions. ‘I have to take a bath.’

‘You don’t smell that bad,’ Maeve said.

‘No, no, you don’t understand. It’s . . .’ Annie stumbled over her words, holding her forehead. ‘Hair wash night. Of course! Can’t upset my hair wash schedule,’ she called back far too loudly, followed by a slightly hysterical giggle as she turned to run. She saw Maeve and Hal share a baffled side-eye, but she didn’t have time for that now. She ran back to the blanket. ‘In fact, it’s way past bedtime. Everybody inside.’

Annie promptly hustled them back inside the cottage, hastily snatching up a bundle of dandelions that were growing in front of the porch as she coaxed them in. She was fairly sure dandelions had some worthwhile qualities? Perfect digestion, at least. They would have to do for tonight’s spell. It had already slipped and paled, judging by her rash decisions to be bold and bad. She couldn’t let it fade any further.

Chapter Sixteen

BRIGHTER THAN THIS

Soon, the unexpected arrangement at Arden Place saw mid-October arrive and the trio fell further into a strangely comfortable, pleasant routine. One corner of the triangle was sugary sweet, the second all eye-rolls and curtains of dark hair, the third a perpetually dishevelled grumbler. But each of them had to admit that their triple combination of Annie’s optimism and positivity, Maeve’s straight-talking determination and Hal’s calming presence seemed to balance their counterparts surprisingly well. Like all marvellous potions, each ingredient was understated alone, but made something unexpectedly magical when combined.

After an arduous day of tackling deeper levels of Incantation theory (arduous only because Maeve kept asking extremely complex questions that Annie didn’t know the answers to), Maeve’s confidence burned brightly. After she successfully managed to conjure fire on demand for the very first time, using a gentle brume of Ignis Candela to light every candle around the cottage, rather than allowing it to be explosively dictated by her temper, Annie declared that her progress called for a celebration.

All day, she had been dreaming up an enormous roast dinner, with a showstopping dessert to follow, and she let her magic flow freely around the kitchen as it did best. Annie hummed at the stove with the radio on, sparks flying to keep spoons stirring in saucepans and trays shuffling inside the oven while a pot of spiced apple cider simmered at her side. A wonderful smell of stewed pumpkin combined with maple-glazed vegetables flooded the cottage, along with the faint wood smoke from the fireplace.

The three of them sat down at the table together (Hal only joining once he had scrubbed from head to toe, following Annie’s insistence that he would not touch her white tablecloth otherwise) and tucked into towering plates. They were loaded with herbed carrots glazed to a sweet shine, roast potatoes so golden and crispy that they crunched under their forks, and a rich, dark gravy at the perfect consistency. The latter was Hal’s contribution, who insisted that he didn’t trust anyone else to make it right – even Annie. Maeve had been given the all-important task of using her newly harnessed sorcery fire to char a handful of marshmallows for the pudding.

‘I’ll never eat again,’ Hal said, leaning back in his chair and cradling his stomach after dinner.

‘Pudding?’ Annie asked brightly.

‘Go on then.’