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Abel, suitably admonished, went back to jiggling the container less violently.

‘What shall I do?’ Temperance ventured.

‘Tea, please,’ Susie spoke from behind a rack of lightbulbs, tea towels and ash trays.

‘Coming up.’

Temperance tried to be normal as she made the tea, standing right next to Abel. She tried to stand normally, move her hands normally, drop the tea bags in normally. But every now and then she would realise she’d been holding her breath, watching him in her peripheral vision, and all the air would come stuttering out of her mouth like an avalanche. Something about being in his orbit made her forget the most basic things. It was just so fascinating to see how he’d changed and how he hadn’t: he had a good few inches of extra height, but still the same silver slice of a scar behind his right ear. Temperance bet that if she ran her fingers over it, it would feel the same, and her hand even lifted briefly in the air before she snatched it back.

Abel had never pressed his mouth into such a rigid straight line in the old days and his lips were maybe a little fuller now too, but that easy laugh Temperance had seen him give Susie earlier was classic Abel – his eyes closed in happiness, his head shaking twice, and the way each burst of laughter seemed to charge through his body and make his whole being lighter, warmer.

But studying this new version of Abel was like looking at a museum exhibit behind glass: Temperance would never get close enough to really understand him. And mooning over a boy was not going to solve any magical doom riddles. Temperance needed to distract herself from the way his strong hands were gripping at the dispenser, rattling it, the swear words he was murmuring under his breath that sent a strangely delicious shiver along her spine. So she took up a mental checklist of all the boring little things she’d need to run Stevie through in the shop: how the till got rebooted, where the receipts were stored, the accounts software. Plus, all the things she’d need to hide from her: their ancient cauldron, the drawers full of dried herbs, the fact that sometimes she went—

A sharp flash of bright purple preceded a short but loud pop and Abel jumped backwards. ‘Fuck!’

Before she knew what she was doing, Temperance had moved towards him, taken him by the wrists and blurted out, ‘Are you OK?’

Abel looked too stunned to be able to register that she was now right in the middle of his personal space, even closer than they had been on the stairs. ‘The damn thing shocked me! How do you get a static shock off plastic and paper?’

He blinked and set the paper roll he’d been holding down on the work surface, next to the big industrial hob. ‘Any chance that tea is ready? I could do with eight sugars in mine.’ He blew out an exaggerated sigh and smiled.

But the minute he lifted his eyes to Temperance’s, almost hidden under a frown of concern, it was like a director had called ‘Action!’ and Abel switched back into his grumpy old sod performance. He yanked his arms away from her touch and Temperance fought hard not to flinch.

There was a deep tingling in her fingers: the same sensation she had when reading magic, but right now her hands were only held in mid-air, her fingers still shaped around the dimensions of Abel’s wrists as if refusing to believe they were no longer making physical contact.

‘What’s going on?’ Susie emerged from the stock cupboard, her cheeks pale, and Temperance could tell by the way her little sister was flexing her hands that she too had the same strange sensation.

‘Honestly, nothing. I’m just . . . ready for a break. That mine?’ He pointed at one of the teacups and Temperance nodded dumbly.

Susie’s eyes bore into Temperance but she could only give the tiniest, mystified shrug. She’d felt the wave of magic in the air, but she had no explanation for it.

Abel sniffed. ‘Is it Earl Grey, this? Something smells floral in here. Or like lavender?’

‘Argh!’ Susie lunged forward and threw a tea towel over Abel’s abandoned paper roll, which now had a column of flames licking up one side. She went to switch off the hob burner, but all the dials were set to zero. ‘What the . . .? How?’

‘It smells like wildflowers,’ Temperance said, almost to herself. ‘But burnt.’

Chapter 8

Susie and Temperance walked in numb silence over the green, past Stevie on the cash desk at Honeycomb Corner Vintage, and then slumped into their desks in the office.

‘Believe me now?’ Temperance asked, her fingers fiddling with a tape measure. ‘I know you felt that weird magic surge too. And the fire smelled like wildflowers, Suse. Just like I dreamt. This isn’t some boozy nightmare. This is . . . well, I don’t know what it is. But it can’t be good.’

The loved-up wedding gown was lying over Temperance’s desk and she scrunched her fist into the silk skirts, grounding herself with an echo of second-hand joy and devotion.

‘Right. Shit.’ Susie’s eyebrows were up around her hairline. ‘So some sort of magical . . .’

‘Doom,’ Temperance provided.

Susie nodded. ‘Some sort of magical doom is coming for Abel, but we don’t know what and we don’t know why. We just have to stop it. You see, this is where it would help to have a big Buffy-style library full of magic books.’ She kicked her legs up on her desk.

‘Let’s just keep Abel in the village, for starters. Once FairyFest is over we’ll have a bit more head space to work it out. Somehow.’ Temperance winced at the paper-thin substance of her own plan.

‘OK. That makes sense.’ A small smiled warmed up Susie’s features. ‘Do you know what Abel said to me this morning, in the pub?’

Temperance’s head shot up. ’What?’

‘He called me Wipeout. I’d completely forgotten that nickname! From my old surfing phase.’