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‘The connection I felt,’ something prickled deep in her heart, like it was waking up with pins and needles after a long sleep, ‘seemed so real.’ She took her hand back from her sister’s grip. ‘But it was the costume. Putting me in a trance. Along with all the mead, ugh. Someone else’s love story had me fooled that I was dancing into one of my own. I’ve been so obsessed with tripping over The One that I convinced myself I . . . God, I must have looked so pathetic to him. Not that I care.’

They set off walking again, in an uneasy silence.

‘It’s good that we don’t care, about either of them,’ Susie said flatly, the sound of waves interrupting her as they rounded the path to the top of Swift Cove. You couldn’t walk around to Swift Cove from the next beach along, or land a boat there as the waves were too rough much of the time, meaning they could safely count on it being deserted.

‘You get some rocks, I’ll start digging.’ Temperance started unpacking the tarpaulin and small plastic shovel from her backpack when they reached the sand, leaving the paper bags of herbs and flowers inside until the bath was ready.

‘Roger.’ Susie moved with a little more of her natural bounce towards the cave at the back of the beach, searching out some big stones that were still light enough to carry.

After about twenty minutes, the sisters had a big hole in the sand lined with tarpaulin and rocks, and had dug a small channel in from the sea so that it filled up with water.

‘Perfect.’ Temperance dusted the sand from her hands. ‘Let’s start with that really sad black silk shirt.’

‘Definite funeral vibes.’ Susie nodded, opening her bag and gently floating the woman’s blouse away from the top of the pile using her powers. It was beautifully cut, liquid-like silk, but it also echoed with a deep sense of longing and loss as it dropped into Susie’s hands. She shivered as she pressed it down into the sea water.

She could see drawn curtains, a barely touched buffet, polished black shoes, tissues scrunched nervously in a pocket.

‘Plenty of rue for this one.’

Temperance passed her sister a paper bag of rue. Susie closed her eyes, dipped her hand in and felt the paper-like dried flowers tickle her palm, the familiar tingling sensation beginning.

The pain has ended. All the goodbyes have been said. We release the burden: we set it free.

She closed her fingers around a big handful of the dried flowers and then sprinkled them into the bath. Temperance was sat cross-legged now on the sand, her eyes also closed. Lee had never specifically spelt out a script of what each of them should think as they worked these rites to cleanse negative feelings: she insisted that each witch felt her own, unique way into her magic and all that mattered was that you focused, you meant what you said and you said it with a full heart. She couldn’t tell what her sister was thinking exactly in this moment, but she knew that in her own way she was also showing the lingering sadness that it was time to move on, to let go.

Susie imagined herself opening the curtains to winter sunlight, putting the black shoes back in the cupboard, dusting a mantlepiece of treasured photos. She spoke to the images in her mind: These things have passed. We let go.

As her hand moved in one more complete circle, the images slowly faded to nothing like a swirl of paint from a brush disappearing into water. Susie took a steadying breath, exhaling and releasing that memory from her mind and back into the universe. She then gently lifted the shirt out. She carried it to a waiting towel and laid it down, smoothing the sleeves flat. It felt different to handle now: reassuringly blank.

‘I’m ready for the next, Tee. What have you got?’

‘I’ll do it, you have a moment to yourself. There is a very angry but posh gilet that I want to have a go at. I think the boating crowd round here would snap it up at a chunky price.’

A thought of Mark rankled at the back of Susie’s mind and her own anger flared. All that natural charm he had, his intellect, his knee-weakening kissing skills – and he chose to use them for evil. They could have had something so special if only . . . And what did it say about her, that she’d felt the deepest connection ever with a man who turned out to be a soulless corporate goon? Not that she was going to give up and let him win, oh no.

‘Does it ever piss you off that we can only ever use our magic after the fact? Like, we come along and clear up the messes but we can’t step in before the mess is made.’

Temperance pulled on a glove to root around in the bag full of clothes. She looked up and to the right. ‘Sometimes. But I suppose I’ve just always thought it was pretty special that we are tuned into the magic at all. That we can feel things other people can’t.’

Susie’s shoulders hunched up. ‘Me too, me too. But . . . imagine if we weren’t just working around the emotions people have already had? What if we could influence what they’re about to feel?’

Temperance frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Susie started stalking in circles, throwing little clouds of sand up with her heels. ‘I’m so . . . frustrated,’ she growled, ‘that I can see Mark is clearly up to something, but I’ve just got to watch from the sidelines. I know he’s burning with ambition and that ambition is potentially going to change our village forever. His family owns a property investment portfolio and the village will be on the market in two years – how much more proof do I need? So what if I could wash that ambition away right now?‘

Temperance blinked, the gilet now abandoned beside her. ‘How?’

‘Well . . . we know that some clothing holds on to strong emotions, and that can influence the next person that wears it. So if I could find a fisherman’s sweater, say, absolutely riddled with anxiety and self-doubt and misery, then maybe it would take the wind out of Mark’s sails a bit. But it could take us years to come across just the right memory in the right kind of clothing to do the job. And then he might not want to wear whatever it is. I don’t know. What if . . . what if there was a way to put a feeling into something on purpose? Exactly the feeling we need. And fast.’

‘I’ve never heard of anything like that before.’

‘Neither have I. But maybe we could email that person mum told us about, the one that might have some emergency magical answers?’

‘I’m not sure. It feels a bit dodgy, doesn’t it? Like we’re hypnotists tricking people into believing they’re chickens or whatever. Feels morally grey, Suse. And mum always told us never to cast – this feels dangerously close.’

Susie blew out her cheeks. ‘Saving our whole community is morally grey, really?! And – and if we managed that kind of magic,’ she pointed at her big sister, picking up momentum in her argument, ‘you could make sure Abel sticks around long enough for you to figure out this doom nightmare situation thing you’ve got going on. Maybe smooth out some of his animosity towards the village so he doesn’t do a runner right after Margie’s party. It would be useful, right? We need this.’

Temperance sighed. ‘I’m still having the nightmares. I can’t be sure Abel still is, seeing as he’d rather dive into a shrub than talk to me, but they’re coming thick and fast. Every night. Sometimes when my mind drifts off in the day, too. Storms. Wildfires. Cracked glass. They feel so real.’