Page 73 of Uncharmed

‘Six now,’ Enid said cautiously. ‘But once, there were seven. The Cadmus family.’

Annie startled. There was a pause.

‘Hence the dead mum,’ Maeve said, a tone of wonder in her voice.

‘I would never, ever have left you behind willingly, beautiful girl,’ Enid went on. ‘I had long suspected my father was intending to push the ritual to its limits. He had changed, been mad with secrets and unexplained absences, obsessed with further research for more magical investment. So, with the full moon arriving and the Sorciety symposium looming, I stowed Maeve away safely, where I knew that whatever was to unfold wouldn’t reach her.’

Annie sensed Maeve tense next to her.

‘I’d seen the greed in his eyes when he compared himself to the rest of the Sorciety Heralds,’ Enid went on. ‘Our family’s magic was always the most naturally potent, it was capable of dominating all the rest, if only it was permitted. And my father wanted more. There would never be enough and I knew it would doom the rest of us eventually. It cost us all our lives. My mother, my siblings . . . For some wicchefolk, there is never enough. They will always be deserving of more, in their minds. Even if “more” risks the safety and security of their own family.’

Annie, in her confusion, knew at least that much for herself. Her own father had shown the same.

‘Of course, the Heralds could never reveal what had happened to the Cadmus family. They could never confess that the ritual had gone too far in my father’s hands, for fear of exposing what they themselves were conducting behind the curtain to keep such firm control. And so our existence was wiped from all records, the most mighty of memory charms exacted by the Heralds across the rest of the Sorciety, ensuring that no members could ask the wrong questions or wonder where we’d gone. The six families made us vanish from history.’

Annie’s eyes smarted. That explained why she had been so blind to the truth, unknowing of the Sorciety’s real malevolent secrets. But that was no consolation for everything else she’d caused.

Her worst fears were true, coming to life. She had brought all of this to Maeve’s door, her family’s twisted ties to the Sorciety and her own pathetic desperation to keep proving herself, to keep everybody needing her, whatever it took. ‘I’ve led them right to her. It’s all my fault.’

‘No,’ Enid said softly but firmly. The sentiment was echoed by Hal and Maeve.

‘Sounds like giving me the . . .’ – Maeve mimed cutting her throat – ‘. . . was always going to be on the cards eventually, Annie. If it wasn’t you they used to get to me, it would have been somebody else.’

‘The moment Glory Whitlock heard Maeve’s name entwined with yours, it was written in the stars,’ Enid explained. ‘The last remaining member of the most powerful family, returned in a perfect twist of fate. And they’ve traced you here. They’re coming for my baby. They’re coming for you, Maeve.’

Annie’s heart thumped, a crash against her ribs that made her want to flip the table, to grab Maeve in one hand and Hal in the other and run. She felt a forlorn ache for Enid, a wish with all of her magic to make such a young witch feel better about her decisions – they had been the right ones in the end. She had saved her daughter’s life. The alternative was unthinkable.

In Annie’s world, no one had protected her younger self. No one had ever cared enough to step in and sweep her up, to promise her that everything would be okay or that she could leave it to them to safely solve. But she would step up to protect Maeve. She would be the witch that her younger self had needed so desperately.

‘They’re coming. They’re coming.’

Annie’s eyes flew open, tears spilling as Enid’s voice suddenly grew more frantic. Her octave had changed, the sound choked.

‘I love you, Maeve. Whenever you need me, I’m always close by.’ Enid’s image flickered, fading into the haze of the room as she began to trail back towards the fireplace in a cloud of smoke. The connection waned. ‘Annie, Hal, I beg that you protect her. Maeve, you must run.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAOS AND REVELRY

Hal’s chair scraped back loudly against the wooden floorboards as he jumped to his feet. He shoved back his hair and began to pace the room, deep in thought as he did what he did best, putting together a pragmatic plan to look after them as best he could.

‘Maeve, stay in your room,’ he called over his shoulder as he began to gather his coat and boots.

‘Oh, what? I just successfully hosted a seance, in case you missed that. I’m literally being hunted by the Sorciety because my magic is so bloody brilliant. Did you not hear that I’m the rightful heir? I think that earns me a free pass to the action!’ Maeve shouted.

‘Maeve, I’m not letting you get within one hundred million miles of any action,’ Annie interrupted, casting a quick wave of magic around the room like a lasso to vanish the seance setup and pull the cottage back together.

‘That’s right,’ Hal replied, still pacing. ‘The only free pass you’re getting is one to an early night in a locked room. Then we’ll see about any rightful heir. You might not even have rightful air, if the Sorciety has anything to do with it.’

Maeve made an incredulous noise. ‘I thought you guys were going to be cool parents. Do you want to skip straight to the part where you lock me up in an ivory tower so I can lob my hair out of the window for a handsome prince to shimmy up? Save us all a bit of time?’

‘Now that you mention it, a tower is not a bad idea,’ Hal said. ‘Although no princes, handsome or hideous, will be getting anywhere near you until you’re at least fifty years old.’

‘If everybody could just take a breath,’ Annie called at the top of her voice over their bickering. ‘Then we might be able to actually hear ourselves think and come up with a plan that doesn’t involve Maeve’s unlawful imprisonment or my nervous system shutting down.’

The three of them paused, chests rising and falling in unison.

‘Look,’ Annie said softly. ‘I fix things. It’s what I do and it’s what I’ve always done. This is no different. Granted, the scale is slightly larger than I’m used to, but . . .’