Page 58 of Uncharmed

Chapter Twenty-Seven

INCOMING CALL

H al had moved the dining table into the middle of the cottage, shoving the sofa aside (while Karma clung on with her claws) to make sure they had plenty of room.

Annie wasn’t sure for what entirely, but she suspected he just wanted to keep them safe as best he could and was kidding himself that ‘room’ would make any kind of difference when dabbling in communication with the dead.

Distracting herself from mountainous worry by making something look pretty was Annie’s specialist subject, so she had conjured up a handful of extra sorcery regalia to complete the scene.

A rich green velvet cloth was now draped over the table, stars and moons stitched into the tasselled hems. She had filled the cottage with candles across every possible surface, transformed the flames in the fireplace to an amethyst purple and had even switched out the gingham curtains for dark, heavy drapes, with a promise to Hal that they’d change them back the moment it was over.

With a few scarves thrown over the lamps, Annie had to admit that, despite her fears, it looked just right for Halloween.

She had also, of course, provided suitable outfits for the occasion.

Hal had outright refused the smudge of black eyeliner that Annie had promised would darken his whole look, but had reluctantly accepted the fact that he would join the girls in wearing his coven cloak for a sense of formality.

Annie had opted for a patchwork dress of pinks and purples, a little lavender woven into her braid for a dash of luck and calm.

She insisted that Maeve at least tuck a small bunch into her scrunchie.

While Hal and Maeve set about digging out an old crystal ball that he swore was in the shed somewhere, Annie threw together a simple dress for Maeve, black with giant bell sleeves.

She strung a handful of lucky silver charms around the waist like a belt – a tiny artist’s pencil, a stack of books, a star – and she hoped Maeve would find the poignancy in a little silver flame as the finishing touch.

The two witches – one eager, one apprehensive – and the warlock – ever-vigilant – sat at the table, all highly unsure of what they were about to enter into.

Their faces glowed in the candlelight, a sheen from the fireplace highlighting the shadows in the cottage and turning them purple.

In the centre of the table, Hal placed a dusty crystal ball and polished it up with the end of his sleeve, its surface swirling with the faintest wisps of smoke.

Seeing them triggered something in Annie, their hypnotizing motion reminding her so strongly of being swept up in Splendidus Infernum that she had to look away.

‘So what do we do?’ Maeve asked, eager eyes wide behind her glasses, which reflected little glowing orbs from the candles. She shuffled her chair in closer to the table until her ribs were pressed tightly up against it, peering as closely as she could into the crystal ball.

‘We start by placing our palms onto the table,’ Annie said calmly. If they were going to do this, she would at least ensure that it was by the book, following every rule possible – a good girl’s seance. ‘And our fingertips need to touch.’

She lay her hands down onto the tablecloth, feeling the crush of the velvet, followed by the tips of Maeve’s fingers placed against her own right hand.

Hal’s soon followed and touched her left.

A moment later, perhaps feeling braver, he placed his full palm over the top of her left hand and squeezed it tightly instead.

Annie felt her heart give a flutter at the comfort and she could have cried there and then when, a moment later, she felt Maeve make exactly the same decision.

The smaller palm landed on top of her right hand.

While it could never entirely quell her fear, it felt as though she had donned a suit of armour over her dress. The care of others was so powerful.

‘Now, we close our eyes. Maeve, you’ll speak the incantation just as we’ve been practising. And then we wait and hope that we don’t encounter anyone...unseemly,’ Annie said, apprehension catching her voice.

‘I promised you a while ago, kid. No one’s getting haunted on my watch,’ Hal said. ‘You’re both safe,’ he added firmly.

Annie slid her fingers properly between his. She squeezed his hand in a way that she hoped would communicate what she wasn’t entirely sure how to say.

‘We’re good to go, then,’ Maeve said, a wicked grin brightening her face in the candlelight. Annie had never seen her so excited, although she knew Maeve well enough by now to recognize that confidence came with a little bit of compensation. She gave her a weak smile and nodded for her to begin.

It would all be fine. The girl was extraordinary. They were safe. Splendidus Infernum was out of her system. Annie flinched slightly as Maeve cleared her throat and began:

Trace the air with silver breath,

Souls that linger after death.

We welcome you to speak with us,

A magic threefold, hear it thus,

We call you back to share a word,

Know in good faith you shall be heard.

Travel from the constellations,

Appear unto my invitation.

Maeve stumbled a little over the words and the rhythm of the incantation, but spoke it so defiantly that Annie felt proud enough to burst into a round of applause. She restrained herself so as not to ruin the delicate atmosphere.

For a moment, she thought the spell had failed. Maeve peeked one eye open at the same time Annie did, both surprised by the lack of action. Annie could feel Maeve’s palm sweating into her own, the traitorous physical reaction giving away how much she was pinning on this moment.

All of the candles went out in a puff, so sudden and unexpected that it was almost audible. Their grey smoke trailed up to the ceiling, leaving only the light of the fire.

A soft breeze stirred through the drapes, despite the stillness in the meadow now that the storm had passed. Annie felt her senses withdraw in on themselves with pinpoint precision, on a knife edge. A quiet power hummed around her, as if the cottage itself had held its breath.

The crystal ball illuminated. It lit up like an electric switch, emanating a rippling white-blue glow so soft and hypnotizing that it was impossible to look away.

The trails of smoke began to dance behind the glass as the active magic of their threefold spellwork came alive, until the wisps began to seep out from the crystal ball.

Annie recognized the magic at work, just the same as the conjuring of the spirits within the hex that she’d called upon for so long.

The smoke thickened and trailed its way to the ceiling above the table like ghostly ivy, sprawling out through the cottage to fill the room with a haze that turned violet in front of the fireplace.

The perfumed scent was lulling and heady, almost sleep-inducing if it hadn’t been for the movements that were starting to form a picture. A shape. A body. A spirit.

‘You found me, Maeve.’

Annie had questioned whether there must be a deep, heartline connection between the spirit and Maeve, had even suspected what they might truly be to one another, but she hadn’t quite been able to figure out how it all pieced together.

Until that moment, the four of them entwined in ribbons of witchcraft.

She recognized the voice straight away. A voice that she knew so well, having spent night after night hearing her biggest regret, her deepest, most mournful sorrow. An impossible decision. A beloved child left behind.

And, now that she could see the face to match the voice, it was so obvious. Maeve had seen the picture and Annie had heard the sounds. In the cottage, the two came together perfectly, like two halves of a broken heart.

Maeve’s mother.

Annie glanced sideways at Hal to see whether he’d managed to put the pieces together for himself and saw that it was written all over his face. He was frozen only in concern for the girl. How could they possibly explain this to Maeve?

‘Hi, Mum.’ Maeve’s voice was a captivated whisper. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Annie noticed the slightest tremble to her chin. But the girl quickly steeled herself, as she always did, and soon the uncertain expression turned into one of childlike, joyous delight.

Of course Maeve knew. As if she would ever have been second to Annie in figuring out the truth about anything. Annie’s heart swelled in a protective pride, having long ago resigned herself to the fact that Maeve would manage to outsmart her in all possible ways for the rest of time.

The ghost glided towards them from the fireplace, until she stood behind Maeve at the circle.

‘I want to hug you,’ Maeve said quietly.

‘I know, darling. But don’t lift your hands, you’ll break the spell.

Let me,’ the ghost said in a kind, gentle voice.

Maeve’s mother took one final step closer to her daughter and wrapped cool, loving arms around her shoulders.

Maeve closed her eyes, embracing the solid feeling that beloved, welcome ghosts could always provide, and let out a sigh of unmistakeable relief, a couple of stray tears releasing despite her best efforts.

Her mother leaned over to place a firm and tender kiss on the top of Maeve’s head as she squeezed her daughter close. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’