Page 30 of Uncharmed
It was late. After the nightly battle with Maeve over the fact that, yes, she did have to go to bed at a half-reasonable hour and, no, they could not pull an all-nighter, a dense lick of darkness covered the meadow and its surrounding woodlands in a sooty black.
Annie towelled off behind the privacy screen that wrapped around the tin bathtub, the last of her tears still lingering on the back of her hand.
Stars studded the sky like scattered dice; the moon had shyly tucked itself in, only a thin scratch of silver peeping up from the blanket of night.
A tiredness hung heavy across Annie’s shoulders, the exhausting weight of the spell’s familiar voices seeping through her body, before the kick of endless energy had arrived in the magic.
Cloudy, spectral shimmers of a whole range of visitors had appeared, desperate to share their secrets, leaving their burdens behind on Annie’s shoulders. She was exhausted from listening.
She closed her eyes in half-sleep as she wrung out her wet hair.
The noise of the droplets tumbling into the draining tin tub sounded impossibly loud against the garden, an orchestra of crickets hidden in the grass flooding the open air as she wrapped up the ritual.
She watched the last of the crimson liquid drain safely away into secrecy, then gathered up her ingredients to stow them away, casting a simple Caecus Abscondo invisibility enchantment over each of the bottles and stowing them beneath an empty crate for good measure.
She was drying her hair into plaits with Capillus Aura , when a loud rustle caught her attention.
Among the long grass, it sounded fuzzy and coarse.
Annie faltered, straining to tune back into the specific sound, which had passed as quickly as it came.
Then there it was again. Something big. Likely a deer or a fox slinking past. There had been an almost constant stream of woodland wildlife since they’d arrived at Arden Place, further ensured by the fact that Maeve insisted on leaving out plates of leftover dinner for them each night.
But this time the rustling had changed – fractionally closer now and more of a shuffle. The grass was brushing up against something over and over. Like heavy legs, wading through. It was making its way towards the front of the house, growing closer, louder with each sweep against the meadow.
A dense dragging along the ground. And.
..was that a grunting? Were there...
bears in the English countryside? Annie liked to imagine that bears were just adorable big babies and could be tempted out of any situation with enough pots of honey, like Karma and her custard, but it wasn’t something she wanted to put to the test.
A voice. Deep and rough. She definitely heard it.
The hex was complete, the residual spirits had all departed with the dregs of the drained potion, and it wasn’t Maeve pottering out of bed this time.
The voice was much too gruff. It sounded surly, only just audible from this side of the cottage.
Annie was frozen to the spot, unsure of what to do.
They were so vulnerable here. No one knew where they were, other than Morena.
Even Annie couldn’t be exactly sure where Arden Place was, tucked away from the ‘real’ world.
One thing was certain: she couldn’t very well fight an intruder in her fluffy white towel, so she tiptoed with haste back into the cottage, moving extra slowly to ensure that the squeaking hinges didn’t give her away.
Silently, she dipped behind the curtains and hurriedly threw on the only thing that she had taken outside to change into – her buttoned, pumpkin latte-print pyjamas were not the most threatening choice for battling an intruder, but they would have to do in a pinch.
Annie gasped sharply as the cascade of lanterns around the front of the cottage shook, casting just enough light along the porch to reveal a silhouette.
Someone was trying to peer through the window.
A large hand came up to the glass. A man’s hand, the darkness obscuring everything else.
Annie tried to remain calm, but intense fear clipped her breath.
Her heart was in her throat as she stayed hidden behind the curtain, not daring to move while her mind raced.
Her only clear thought was keeping Maeve safe.
She wondered how to get herself across to the bedroom without revealing her whereabouts to the intruder.
And she would have to wake Maeve up gently so as not to frighten her.
Maybe she could tell her that there’d been an emergency, that they had to transfer quickly, right away.
She wouldn’t even have to know that someone was trying to get inside.
‘Do you hear that?’
Maeve hissed through the darkness, standing in the dark kitchen clutching a glass of water. Annie leapt in the air with a stifled squeal, clutching at her chest from the fright.
‘I thought you were asleep! Of course I hear that. I was trying to make sure that you didn’t hear that,’ Annie whispered back dramatically.
‘I don’t sleep much here. I hear stuff outside all the time. But that’s...’
‘A man? A real-life man?’ Annie said, wide-eyed.
‘Right,’ Maeve nodded slowly, looking distinctly less sure of herself than usual. Her eyes darted from Annie to the front door and back again. She gulped. ‘What do we do?’
Hesitating for only a second longer, Annie dashed over to the kitchen in an awkward, hobbling crouch and pulled out her favourite wooden spoon from the cupcake-shaped utensil holder. She lunged in front of Maeve and wrapped a protective arm backwards around her.
‘Get behind me,’ Annie wheezed.
‘What are you...’
‘I’ll protect us. I might not look particularly tough, but I am,’ Annie said, flicking her ribboned, bedtime pigtails back and sounding as though she was trying to convince herself of the fact more than anything.
Holding Maeve behind her as they shuffled into the living room together, she brandished the wooden spoon out in front.
Heavy footsteps pounded the length of the porch and something else cumbersome thudded against the edges of the wooden steps, over and over, being dragged with great effort towards the door.
‘Do you think that’s a body?’
‘Maeve! Don’t say that!’
Annie and Maeve both let out involuntary gasps when the handle rattled once, then again more wildly.
‘This feels quite bad,’ Maeve admitted, swallowing hard.
‘We can take him,’ Annie said with an unconvincing, quivering voice. ‘We’re witches. We might not have weapons, but we do have spells. Loads of them.’
‘I don’t know any spells!’ Maeve seethed. ‘What am I going to do? Paint him into submission? Milkshake him to smithereens?’
Annie’s pigtails shook decidedly once again. ‘On the count of three, I’m going to open the door...’ she said calmly.
‘What? No, don’t do that! Why are you politely opening the door for someone who’s trying to kill us?’
‘One, two...’
‘Annie, no!’
‘Three!’
Channelling the wooden spoon as a temporary wand for dramatic emphasis, Annie fired her magic towards the front door and a crescendo of brave and extra hot-pink sparks shot through the cottage.
The hinges blew off and the door came crashing to the hallway floor in a (hopefully) controlled explosion.
She and Maeve quickly crouched down together behind the sofa, Annie shielding the girl with her body, Maeve flinging her hands over her ears.
Against the night sky, a shadow filled the doorway, tall enough that he had to duck his head to be able to come inside, broad shoulders intimidating against the small frame of the cottage. He lugged an enormous sack over his shoulder and dumped it over the threshold with a final groan of effort.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ he said.
Annie shot to her feet, still wielding the spoon wand. Maeve stayed crouched, unsure whether she was supposed to follow for moral support or remain hidden, as Annie leapt around the side of the sofa to confront the intruder.
‘I should ask you the very same thing, you scoundrel! Who do you think you are, barging into my house like this? Get out. Right now. Or I’ll...’
‘You’ll what, spoon me to death?’
‘I will do no such thing, brigand!’ Annie shouted, horrified by the assumption.
‘Not like that, I mean...Oh, will you please put that thing down before you take my eye out, waving it around like that? And I think you’ll find that this is my house.’