Page 84 of Uncharmed

‘He was by the bins! Screamed so loudly at me that I thought I must have trodden on him, but on closer inspection I think he’s just gobby.’

Annie rushed over so that they could speak quietly together. ‘Imagine that, hey? Your familiar, a gobby little terror,’ she whispered.

‘You think he really is?’ Maeve asked hopefully.

‘No doubt about it,’ Annie smiled, brushing a finger over the crown of the kitten’s small head. ‘Witches don’t just stumble across kittens for no reason. That’s fate up to her old tricks again. You’re meant to be.’

‘What shall I call him?’ Maeve frowned, opening up the question to Faye, too. ‘Trash?’

Annie gasped. ‘You cannot call that adorable kitten Trash, Maeve. I forbid it.’

‘How about Darkness? Death? Soul Stealer?’

‘You are impressively grim, my child,’ Faye called from behind the counter, shaking her head.

‘Grimm . . .’ Maeve said, her voice wandering off with quiet approval.

‘He’s totally your familiar,’ Pari chimed in happily as she sauntered back onto the shop floor, arms laden with stacks of her new spiced apple crumble cookies that had recently taken Celeste by storm. ‘Your auras match, both kind of crimson.’

Annie almost choked on her latte, the last dribble of it spilling out of her mouth and straight down her shirt as her brain short-circuited. This could not be real life. She exchanged a panicked glance with Maeve. They both stared at Pari in nervous confusion, unsure of the next move.

‘What?’ she asked off-handedly, placing the cookies in neat columns behind the counter glass with her tongs. ‘All witches need familiars – and clever little Grimm has made it very clear to all of us this morning that he’s Maeve’s. Obviously.’

Annie spluttered a strange, incomprehensible noise.

‘Oh, we’ve known since you moved in,’ Faye said with a shrug, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to be identifying Annie’s highly secretive magical existence as a witch in the non-wicche world. ‘Pari is . . . of a magical persuasion, as you might say, so she smelt your magic among all the vanilla from a mile off. Knew those éclairs of yours were witchcraft the moment we saw them.’ She turned back to the coffee machine and began to shine the steam spout. ‘Sorry for the shock. Tricky one to just casually drop into conversation, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, I’ve known there’s something going on with me for years, ever since I was Maeve’s age. I seem to accidentally make things float, like . . . all the time,’ Pari said, waving her tongs around. ‘Kind of annoying, really. You don’t know of any sort of covens or anything who might be able to help, do you?’

While Annie and Maeve were frozen mid-motion, it felt as though Celeste breathed a sigh of relief between its walls. It had grown rather used to having a witch in charge of things, serving the most beautiful, bewitching treats in all of London. The place would remain magical after all, as it rightfully deserved, with Pari’s undiscovered witchery to take the reins. The bell above the door caught the peachy light that poured in through the windows as the day’s queue began to form for opening, giving a charmed wink, thoroughly pleased with itself. Business as usual.

The girls returned to Arden Place together that afternoon with linked arms, Annie’s transference spell landing them just on the edge of the meadow. Two dashes of silver jotted like a spill of metallic ink in the sky as the sun and moon sat together. Karma had been waiting for their arrival and, more importantly, her dinner. She leapt up from the porch swing and scampered over to them the moment their tumble of magic arrived on the grass. Annie laughed as her cloud of a tail bobbed through the heather. November was already proving extra beautiful.

Maeve skipped ahead towards the cottage, her bag of books slapping her side, the young witch laughing as she chased towards Karma with Grimm, her new familiar nestled in her arms. Mage gave a whinny at the side of the house, evidently feeling much braver around the cat these days – although he would not be pleased that he was now officially outnumbered by felines. Annie felt her heart flood as she saw Hal step out onto the porch, hands on his hips and his hat pulled low. Noticing their arrival, he threw an arm into the air and gave a wide wave with a shy grin that he appeared to be unable to control.

Annie waved back, but stood for a second to soak it all in. Never in her life had she had the time to press pause on any moments that deserved to be held and admired. To stop and feel, to appreciate the apricity – the warmth of the sun in winter – beaming down onto her face and around her body as though spinning her very own gown of liquid gold.

And she felt it, every inch of brightness in the moment. She felt it all, so grand and gorgeous that it seemed impossible that the moment could ever end. It felt as though her whole life was supposed to be this exact photograph, the shades of orange and brown and rusted red in the trees, the sky a brilliant, bold blue. And an all-important dash of pink from the wildflowers climbing up the beams of the porch like sugar decorations, framing their home together. But it would change and that would be okay. She would welcome whatever came next, too.

Annie marvelled at the moments that she must have missed, living for so long in a life that was never truly hers, and maybe she would mourn for them when the dust had settled. But she could have burst with golden gratitude for the ones that she had found for herself now.

Finally, Annie felt it. She felt it all, authentic and joyful and hers.

It felt perfect.