Page 69 of Uncharmed

‘We’re under the Cadmus dictatorship already, are we?’ Hal asked, leaning against the staircase with folded arms. ‘You’ve only just got here.’

‘No time for that now, pirate cowboy,’ Maeve muttered as she unceremoniously dumped her backpack on the dining table. ‘We need to talk.’

‘Is that right? Maeve, why do I get the feeling that nobody knows you’re here?’ Annie asked.

‘All in good time, my friend. Can I get a cup of coffee? I’ve thought about that maple blend probably five times a day since we all went our separate ways. And it’s been a long night. Transference really takes it out of you, doesn’t it?’

‘Did you . . .’ Realization dawned on Annie’s face. ‘Did you transfer here unsupervised? Maeve Cadmus, you know that you are not allowed to do that without an elder witch conducting the spell on your behalf,’ she said crossly.

Maeve scoffed. ‘I think a slap on the wrist from the coven is probably the least of our problems right now. Any biscuits to go with that coffee?’

Annie rolled her eyes, then headed over to the kitchen. There was some unbaked ginger and chocolate-chip cookie dough that she’d prepared for the morning, currently unattended in the Celeste kitchen. The bravery-laced brown butter that she’d used in the mixture might help to encourage Maeve to tell the truth about whatever it was that she had come back to them for.

‘Maeve,’ Hal said sincerely. ‘For once in your life, don’t be smart. No pirate jokes or cowboy puns when I ask you this. I need a straight answer from you, because we care about you above all else.’

Maeve only tugged at her sleeves, earning a resigned sigh from Hal.

‘Are you in danger, kid? Do we need to be worried?’

Maeve chanced a look back at him, knocked by his sincerity. She opened her mouth as though trying to figure out whether to give an honest answer, but then promptly closed it again. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’

‘What in the universe happened at the foster home?’ Annie called from the kitchen as the cookie dough arrived in a flourish of magic. With another, sparks falling like pastel-coloured sprinkles across the tray, the cookies rose, bloomed and baked instantly, bringing a warming scent of ginger with them. Annie scurried back to the table, heart racing.

Maeve began to fiddle with the petals of the pale blue hydrangeas that had been unceremoniously shoved into one of her old paint water jars in the middle of the table, a perfect, visual combination of the three of them. She kicked a muddy boot against the skirting board. Her reply was barely more than a mumble, but she was hiding a smile.

‘The weirdest thing happened. Their curtains caught on fire.’

Once an appropriate number of cookies had been inhaled by all three inhabitants of Arden Place – and once its fourth had been summoned in a cloud of fur and whiskers – Annie steeled herself for a serving of tough love. She could sense that what Maeve required in that moment was belief, support and a promise that she would be taken seriously.

‘We made a deal. Biscuits from me, the truth from you,’ said Annie.

‘And what does Hal bring to the table?’ Maeve said sulkily.

‘I seem to remember this was my house at one point,’ Hal answered with a scowl. ‘Although maybe I’m mistaken. Feels impossible to imagine it now without you two here, taking over my life.’

Annie noted that the latter part, which was probably intended to be a dig, sounded much more pleased than grumpy. Karma must have noted it, too. She gave him a mrow that might as well have been accompanied by an ‘oh please’, before she dismissively returned to grooming her exceptionally tufty ears.

‘We’re waiting,’ Annie said to Maeve, sounding a little too authoritative for her liking. She softened her tone. ‘What did I say when we first met? You can tell me anything.’

Maeve frowned harder. ‘You’re not going to like it.’

‘I very rarely like anything you have to say and you’re still here drinking all the coffee, aren’t you?’ Hal said. He nudged the plate of cookies over in Maeve’s direction. She chewed thoughtfully for a minute while Annie and Hal exchanged increasingly worried glances over the top of her head.

‘I made contact.’

Annie blinked. ‘With who?’

Maeve looked miffed. ‘The spirit. You know, the one that was haunting me day in, day out? The voice and the presence and all that other cool, slightly creepy stuff.’

‘Maeve! What have I told you about dabbling in Necromancy?’

‘I know, I know, keep your hair on. But at least hear me out before you completely flip your lid.’

Annie huffed. ‘I thought that problem had improved once we talked about it?’ It dawned on her that, even without the hex nearby each night, summoning spirits to haunt Maeve’s deepest and darkest dreams, this particular presence was still evidently determined to remain close by. There might be good reason for it.

‘It did, for a bit. But then it didn’t. And I know what you’re going to think, but something inside of me – that witch instinct that you’re always banging on about – I just knew that I had to speak to them. Her. I knew that she had something to tell me.’

Annie faltered at this new detail. ‘She?’