Page 21 of Uncharmed

‘I dunno. Stuff.’

‘Stuff is wonderful. I love all kinds of stuff, too,’ Annie replied, desperate to not let the conversation die completely. Maeve’s confidence seemed to flare and shrink with the flip of a coin. But, despite Annie’s best efforts, the two witches continued their unplanned hike in silence, until the briefcase eventually fell to the floor with a sudden thud.

‘Are we here?’ Maeve peered around Annie’s side.

Annie let out a small, disturbed squeak. Unwelcome visions of a two-man polyester tent grew stronger. She recalled Faye once telling her all about a weekend camping trip when they’d had to use a tiny portable stove to heat a tin of beans and suddenly Annie felt as though she might cry.

She willed herself to find a solution, looking for some kind of signal from Morena that they had reached their destination. Anything would be reassuring. It was almost entirely . . . leafy. And orange. And brown. Autumnal certainly, but she couldn’t concentrate on the cosiness potential at a time like this. The October evening light was quickly dwindling. What was Selcouth thinking, sending them to the middle of nowhere on a whim, with no further help or even some kind of treasure map? What kind of covert magical organization didn’t at least leave a treasure map lying around? She’d be having words with the admin department, that was for sure.

‘There, look.’ Maeve pointed.

Through the gaps in the dense trees, a single glow of lemon-yellow fell just ahead of them, like a singular firefly to guide their eyes. The place was well disguised from prying eyes, a blanket of enchantments knotted together tightly to keep it from view. Only a very particular angle of light and shadow, as if caught and trapped through a prism, revealed where to look through the thickets. Each step closer brought it more clearly into view and, when Maeve parted the foliage, an open, dusk-drenched glade was tucked away and waiting quietly. Annie gave a sigh of relief, waiting for the manifestation to complete itself. A gorgeous lakehouse would suit them nicely. Maybe a sprawling luxury farmhouse. Or a classic castle, freshly renovated for the modern witch’s requirements.

Instead, exactly in the centre of the meadow and framed in the orange of the woodland, sat a tiny, shabby cottage.

Chapter Nine

SALTED CARAMEL

‘Oh no.’ Annie’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

Even from a distance, the cottage looked as rundown and dishevelled as if it had been rudely awoken from a long, unintentional nap, one that had only left it even sleepier than before. Its sandy thatched roof stuck up at all angles like ruffled, sleep-styled hair, trails of moss as thick as pistachio cream lined the gutters, and the wooden slats of the walls were a hodge-podge of wonky angles and slipped lines. A crowd of tangled greenery wound its way up the building, one crooked window peeping through the leaves, with red gingham curtains just about visible behind the murky glass like an embarrassed blush. It was a pocket-sized, abandoned trinket left behind, as though someone had left their most prized possession hidden away to come back and collect later, but moved on and forgotten all about it.

‘Come on then,’ Maeve called, already skipping ahead through the tawny long grass.

‘Mmmhmm,’ Annie replied through pursed lips. In her admittedly unsuitable footwear choice, she delicately followed Maeve who had already reached the porch, chasing the winding path towards the burgundy front door. The circle of woodland around the meadow blazed with autumn colours and encased the cottage in a backdrop of fiery oranges, rich scarlets and buttery yellows. As she approached the boarded porch, which housed a broken swing that blew in the breeze, Annie spotted clusters of polka-dot red mushrooms nestled in the beige grass, bursts of soft heather and bunny ears like cream-coloured, fluffy fountains. And, she had to admit, the wildflowers in lavender and blue that bloomed through were beautiful and matched the evening sky perfectly, as though the meadow had decided a handful of sprinkles would be a suitable finishing touch.

‘Well, this is . . . quaint. Rustic. Um, pastoral?’ she said, mustering her last drop of positivity as she stepped straight into a muddy puddle. Splendidus Infernum was being tested to its limits. The hex would need considerable attention this evening. Her stomach plummeted even further as she realized – the spell. Would she even be able to manage it here? Did filthy, abandoned cottages come equipped with large bathtubs and a full arsenal of quality alchemy ingredients to peruse? Annie let out a squeal and karate-chopped the air as a persistent dragonfly began to circle her head, accidentally wobbling the string of lanterns that hung along the breadth of the porch. She cursed her signature sweet vanilla scent.

Maeve on the other hand had perked up dramatically, impressed by the reveal of her first ever magically disclosed secret location. She did a terrible job at suppressing a loud laugh as Annie battled the dragonfly, then excitedly discovered the front door was already unlocked after rattling the handle. They stood side by side as it swung back with a pained squeak, as though its bones were aching and hadn’t been moved for quite some time. Maeve was quick to hop inside and gave a little shiver as she stepped across the threshold. It was chilly – colder inside the place than out, having evidently been left empty for quite some time.

‘Home sweet home,’ Maeve laughed as she rushed into the kitchen, clearly finding the whole thing hilarious.

Annie laughed too and her hands flew to her hips. ‘There must be some mistake.’ The heel of her shoe promptly slipped through a gap between the floorboards as she followed the girl inside. She clung onto the doorframe to wrestle herself free. ‘They can’t possibly expect us to . . .’

‘This is the right place. Look, that stamp is from the coven, isn’t it? I recognize it from the paperwork the sisters gave me at my endarkenment,’ Maeve said. She had picked up a black envelope, adorned with an intricate silver star illustration. It was addressed to Andromeda Wildwood and had been lying patiently on a simple square dining table for her to find. She took it from Maeve and began to read, the copperplate handwriting lighting up with an amber glow as her eyes scanned the page. Magical correspondence always glowed whenever it was read by the eyes of wicchefolk.

Andromeda,

I trust you shall find your accommodation satisfactory. We were in somewhat of a pinch to house you and your ward in such last-minute circumstances, as most of the coven’s usual options were already reserved for October. It is of course busy season in this line of work and wicchefolk do enjoy their inane mini breaks for Samhain celebrations. Most inconvenient, if you ask me.

Arden Place belongs to a trusted and acclaimed coven member but has remained unused for some time, so the cottage is yours for the task at hand. I thought its understated, solitary nature would provide a suitable and safe blank canvas for you and young Maeve to become comrades. There may be a minor issue with the hot water,* but surely nothing that a little magic can’t fix. You’ll find the wood supply out back (I imagine you are a dab hand with an axe), along with the bathroom facilities.

I shall be monitoring closely and aim to be in touch in due course when Maeve’s magic has settled to something more harmonious. I would ask you to remember your esteemed duties to the coven above all else and, as previously agreed, to report trouble to me immediately. Strays can be unpredictable and Selcouth does not appreciate anomalies.

Have jolly good fun and do send a postcard. Address it to Bronwyn, as I shan’t care to read it.

Morena

* See also, the electrics, the heating, the lights, the locks. There may also be rather a lot of creatures about the place. I cannot confirm any further details than that, for fear that you may leave and never return.

‘Bathroom facilities? Out back?’ Annie spluttered.

She sprinted to the rear window and smeared a clearing through the grime with her sleeve to press her face against, leaving a touch of lipstick on the glass. True enough, a small wooden outhouse stood in the garden – which was in fact just more meadow, surrounded by even more woodland. She spotted the basic facilities: a water closet, a free-standing sink, a silver metal tub and simple shower system, all behind a movable wooden privacy screen and directly beneath the stars. A small, babbling stream of periwinkle blue wrapped around it all like a ribbon. She gulped so hard that it may have been audible, as Maeve stepped closer looking concerned.

‘Everything alright?’ Maeve peered through the window next to Annie, her glasses slipping and clinking against the glass.

‘Absolutely. Couldn’t be better,’ Annie rushed to reply. Her grin stretched a little madly. ‘Well, you were right. This really is the place.’ She had to force herself to turn back around and face the girl. The pair stood in silence for a moment with matching, uncertain expressions – Annie’s slightly maniacal, Maeve more intrigued, as they took in their unexpected new home.