Page 53 of Uncharmed

He glanced at her with a lip twitch. ‘Maybe a little burnt. Don’t you own a bakery?’

‘That’s how I like them, actually,’ Annie replied haughtily, trying her best not to laugh. ‘It’s still good, just . . . extra smoky.’

But the more she resisted, the more the laughter insisted on bursting out of her. And as laughter here always seemed to be, it was catching. The sight of Annie’s charred black marshmallow smoking pathetically on the ground had Maeve snorting, then cackling so loudly and freely that it enveloped the whole of Arden Place in an echo. A moment later, Hal was bent double, too, a deep and hearty sound that made his eyes crinkle with fine lines. Soon, Annie was laughing so hard that tears began to pool. Happy ones. Real, happy ones. It was a moment that seemed to wrap warm arms around her. A twinkle, a glimmer, a memory that she would miss before it had even come to an end. Something precious and truly perfect.

Yes, she thought to herself between laughs. This is it. This is how a life is supposed to feel.

A spray of ash fragments blew from the top of the bonfire in a puff and fell like fireflies.

It took Annie a second to slow her laughing and register the way the ashes flickered as they landed on the grass. At first, she thought it was the night’s cool breeze, catching the fragments like amber lights. But then they moved again. Further, more definitely. They were not just fire ash. Gradually, each translucent fragment pulled together, the scorched edges melting back into one another with trails of smoke. Eventually, a full piece of paper had unscorched itself to reveal an intricate silver star illustration as a rain of magical sparks scattered at her slippers. It was a letter. She glanced uncertainly at Hal, then Maeve. The laughter had stopped.

‘Is that . . .’

Maeve swallowed down the end of her question. Silence strung itself between the trio as the letter levitated above the bonfire, the envelope catching its glow so self-importantly that it filled Annie with a quick hatred. It was showing off its power, its ability to make everything vanish. Finally, Hal spoke into the quiet.

‘Don’t open it.’

It might have been the bonfire smoke or the knowledge of what was inside that envelope that made Annie’s eyes smart with sharp, stinging tears.

‘I have to,’ she said quietly.

‘No, you don’t. Who said we have to take any notice of them?’ Maeve’s voice was light and scoffing, but Annie recognized that slight, exposing shake to it that she used to hear when they first met all those weeks ago. The girl had frozen stock-still, a half-eaten s’more still between her fingers.

Usually, Splendidus Infernum would kick in at any moment, intuitively fogging the scene to pleasantly temper things. Instead, Annie could see the reality with no rose-coloured tint.

Annie reached for the letter, grabbing it quickly to avoid the flames. The papers unfurled of their own accord and the handwriting glowed as intensely as the fire behind it.

Andromeda,

The magical monitoring department has informed me that there have been no significant spikes in Miss Cadmus’s magic use for some time; twenty-one nights, in fact. As a result, I send the official decree that you may both return tomorrow to your usual circumstance within the non-wicche realm, on the trusting that Selcouth shall continue to maintain a close eye over her and her magic in a new placement for the endarkenment process. Please consider this an immediate conclusion to your guardianship responsibilities.

Some readings have correlated particularly strong magic use to the coordinates of Arden Place, but I have informed our watchman that this is due to three wicchefolk residing within one single accommodation and that you would have of course reported anything curious to me. I assume that I am correct, as I always am.

Morena

P.S. I do hope the unannounced arrival of one Mr Bancroft did not cause an overt amount of disruption and that he has not insisted on plaguing you with the same nonsensical, usually griffin-related requests that he so enjoys haranguing me with.

Annie swallowed, glancing at the others. ‘It’s from Selcouth.’

Hal simply shook his head, and returned to sit back down on his own hay bale.

‘The coven says your magic is contained. We . . . we have to go home,’ Annie said with a swallow. It felt surreal and uncertain to say it out loud, like a sting landing across her cheek from a slap. Memories of her other life, her real life, the life that she was supposed to be leading, came crashing back.

She had been sure they would have more time. It had felt as though this could be an infinite, a forever.

Maeve scoffed, the uncomfortable noise a plaster slapped against a new, raw wound. ‘Well, that’s a stupid decision. And obviously the wrong one. So, what, I go a few measly weeks without blowing something up or turning someone into a tangerine and they think I’m fine to go back to school with all of this . . . this magic?’ She practically spat the last word.

Annie turned to her. ‘Technically, they’re right.’

Suddenly, the jaws of obligation and expectation bit back down. She had prised them open without realizing at some point between that moment and three weeks ago. Now, her arms gave way under the weight of keeping them at bay. She thought of the Sorciety. The coven. Her work. All of the expectation.

Maeve faltered, the treacherous answer evidently not what she was expecting to hear.

‘I mean we’ve seen your magic do amazing things over the past few weeks,’ Annie went on, taking a step closer to Maeve. ‘You’ve achieved so much.’ Her voice was too high-pitched. She tried her best to make it sound like good news, but it felt as though it would choke her. ‘I’m so proud of you. You did it.’

‘Then why are you sending me away?’

‘Maeve,’ Annie laughed – or tried to. It was dry, scratching. ‘I’m not sending you away. Don’t say that. We have to go home.’