Page 70 of Uncharmed

Maeve nodded.

Annie tried to jump from one logical stepping stone to the next.

‘And what did she have to say for herself, then, this mystery spirit?’

‘Well, that’s the problem.’ Maeve hesitated, frustrated. ‘My intuition felt like it was on fire from the minute I left this place. I thought the presence was strong while I was here, but the first night I found myself on my own again, she followed me – and it was like everything was flashing red. Like she had a warning for me. I knew I needed to talk to her, that she had something to tell me. So I tried to make it happen, but I couldn’t hold up the necromancy spell. I tried to follow the instructions in my grimoire, but the connection kept dropping. I had no clue what I was even trying to do.’

‘You’re telling me you’ve never had a casual chat with a haunted spirit before, kid? Sounds very unlike you.’ Maeve shot Hal a look and he pulled a face back.

‘I think . . . I think she’s trying to tell me I’m in trouble,’ Maeve finished uncertainly.

‘Then we need to speak to her. Properly,’ Hal said, slapping his thighs decisively. ‘We’ve all learned that your intuition is something that shouldn’t be taken lightly. So this is something we can orchestrate. Together.’

‘And what are you proposing, exactly? A seance?’ Annie squeaked as he rose.

The idea was entirely preposterous. She had always firmly believed that no good could come from that kind of sinister magic. She had experienced it for herself, dragged under in a sweeping sea of Splendidus Infernum. It had brought her nothing but heartbreak.

‘Well, why not? The kid has already made contact, she’s opened up the gate to whatever or whoever this spirit is. And they’re not going to leave her alone until we figure out what their problem is. In fact, this spirit girl is probably already here,’ Hal said, so casually that Annie felt like throwing her biscuit at his head.

‘Absolutely not,’ she said firmly, slicing the air. ‘Out of the question.’

‘But that’s why I’m here, that’s why I came back – for you to help me get it right. It’s Halloween! The timing is fate,’ Maeve said, her voice whining as she stamped her finger onto the table for emphasis.

Annie frowned, realizing that, yes, perhaps Maeve was right about that, as usual . . . But it wasn’t as simple as that. She grasped at any possible reason as to why this would all be a terrible idea.

‘Even if we wanted to,’ Annie tried, ‘we would need some kind of imagery or beloved connection to the spirit to guarantee success. A photo, an object . . . Seances never work properly without some kind of identifiable tie to the spirit – and we don’t even know who she is. You can’t just open up a random connection, Maeve. I understand you might like the idea of a ghosty gal pal, but . . .’

‘It’s her.’ Maeve blurted it out. She promptly began to chew on the inside of her cheek, as though she regretted saying it out loud. Hesitantly, Maeve reached under the dining table to unzip her backpack and pulled out the fullest sketchbook of her collection. She dropped it onto the table with a thud that sent Karma’s ears scooting back. She flicked through the pages, reams and reams of the same sketches, over and over.

The dark-haired girl she had drawn.

‘That’s who’s been trying to talk to me,’ Maeve said. ‘That’s why I’ve been trying to draw her for such a long time. I’ve always been able to see her in my mind, then it got stronger when my magic kicked in. I’ve spent ages trying to piece her face together as she’s become more in focus for me. Then it all got sharper and clearer when we came to Arden Place and I saw her. I need to speak to her.’

Annie faltered. She had assumed the girl was a crush from school, maybe a book character that Maeve had a soft spot for. But this was the spirit who had, for one reason or another, chosen Maeve as her conduit.

The sketches had become even more detailed, more realistic over time, until the most recent rendered like a photographed portrait through Maeve’s artistic talent. As she examined them more closely, a new suspicion began to creep in for Annie. It couldn’t be possible . . . could it?

‘Well, this is all very intriguing, isn’t it?’ Annie said, shaking her head effusively even as her cheeks began to turn red. ‘But, young witch, if you think I am allowing you to hold your very first seance at fifteen years old for an unidentified, troubled phantom, I think you’ll find that you are very much mistaken.’

An hour later, Hal and Annie were preparing as best they knew how for a young witch to hold her very first seance at fifteen years old for an unidentified, troubled phantom.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

INCOMING CALL

Hal had moved the dining table into the middle of the cottage, shoving the sofa aside (while Karma clung on with her claws) to make sure they had plenty of room. Annie wasn’t sure for what entirely, but she suspected he just wanted to keep them safe as best he could and was kidding himself that ‘room’ would make any kind of difference when dabbling in communication with the dead.

Distracting herself from mountainous worry by making something look pretty was Annie’s specialist subject, so she had conjured up a handful of extra sorcery regalia to complete the scene. A rich green velvet cloth was now draped over the table, stars and moons stitched into the tasselled hems. She had filled the cottage with candles across every possible surface, transformed the flames in the fireplace to an amethyst purple and had even switched out the gingham curtains for dark, heavy drapes, with a promise to Hal that they’d change them back the moment it was over. With a few scarves thrown over the lamps, Annie had to admit that, despite her fears, it looked just right for Halloween.

She had also, of course, provided suitable outfits for the occasion. Hal had outright refused the smudge of black eyeliner that Annie had promised would darken his whole look, but had reluctantly accepted the fact that he would join the girls in wearing his coven cloak for a sense of formality. Annie had opted for a patchwork dress of pinks and purples, a little lavender woven into her braid for a dash of luck and calm. She insisted that Maeve at least tuck a small bunch into her scrunchie. While Hal and Maeve set about digging out an old crystal ball that he swore was in the shed somewhere, Annie threw together a simple dress for Maeve, black with giant bell sleeves. She strung a handful of lucky silver charms around the waist like a belt – a tiny artist’s pencil, a stack of books, a star – and she hoped Maeve would find the poignancy in a little silver flame as the finishing touch.

The two witches – one eager, one apprehensive – and the warlock – ever-vigilant – sat at the table, all highly unsure of what they were about to enter into. Their faces glowed in the candlelight, a sheen from the fireplace highlighting the shadows in the cottage and turning them purple. In the centre of the table, Hal placed a dusty crystal ball and polished it up with the end of his sleeve, its surface swirling with the faintest wisps of smoke. Seeing them triggered something in Annie, their hypnotizing motion reminding her so strongly of being swept up in Splendidus Infernum that she had to look away.

‘So what do we do?’ Maeve asked, eager eyes wide behind her glasses, which reflected little glowing orbs from the candles. She shuffled her chair in closer to the table until her ribs were pressed tightly up against it, peering as closely as she could into the crystal ball.

‘We start by placing our palms onto the table,’ Annie said calmly. If they were going to do this, she would at least ensure that it was by the book, following every rule possible – a good girl’s seance. ‘And our fingertips need to touch.’

She lay her hands down onto the tablecloth, feeling the crush of the velvet, followed by the tips of Maeve’s fingers placed against her own right hand. Hal’s soon followed and touched her left. A moment later, perhaps feeling braver, he placed his full palm over the top of her left hand and squeezed it tightly instead. Annie felt her heart give a flutter at the comfort and she could have cried there and then when, a moment later, she felt Maeve make exactly the same decision. The smaller palm landed on top of her right hand. While it could never entirely quell her fear, it felt as though she had donned a suit of armour over her dress. The care of others was so powerful.