Page 9 of Uncharmed

Chapter Five

A PERFECT PACT

‘T here you are, girls.’

Annie’s gaze shot around from her conversation with Ruby about dabbling with the idea of her very first broomstick – was there ample luggage space?

Plenty of the Sorciety had stopped by over the course of the evening, the charms of the Fortune Four always drawing a crowd to flirt and to share stories at their table, but this was the voice that every club member hoped to hear all evening.

It was the one that proved that you truly mattered.

‘Mummy!’ Romily sprang to her feet and promptly placed a kiss on each of her mother’s cheeks, squeezing her upper arms fondly. ‘They were out of the punch you like, but I ordered you a cherry liquor instead, which I think...’

‘I loathe cherry, darling. Why in all realms did you get that?’

She dismissed her daughter to turn back to the circle with a dazzling smile.

Annie caught the trail of Romily’s hurt and disappointment like smoke for a fraction of a moment, before she shook it off as Glory Whitlock joined their table, her presence so overwhelmingly magnetic that Annie could almost feel her body pull physically towards her.

Knowing Glory since she was a child, she had always experienced this side effect of a witch who held such vast magic.

As one of the most longstanding magical families, the Whitlocks’ power investments were prodigious and electric, their wealth outstripping any of the other five Herald families.

Glory walked the forceful and mighty line of being equal parts wildly charismatic, classically gorgeous and absolutely terrifying.

Being on her good side felt like stepping into a circle of sunlight; her bad side felt like the coldest, darkest shadow.

‘How was the Heralds’ meet, Glory?’ Annie asked.

Glory stroked Romily’s hair into place as though she were a doll.

‘Oh, they’re all frightful bores. Harmony, you really must tell that father of yours that parties are about more than just logistics and operations, darling.

These warlocks love nothing more than the sound of their own voices while they drone on and on about the magic budget. ’

‘That sounds like Daddy alright,’ Harmony said with a conspiratorial smirk.

Her father, Barnaby Morningstar, was a sallow, weasel-like man who worked as numeromancer for the Sorciety.

He was the quieter half of the Morningstars, alongside Harmony’s mother, Alette, a beguiling and beautiful part-witch-part-siren who outshone him in every way possible.

In well over a decade of membership, Annie had only ever heard him speak about either the grand cosmic budget or Harmony crashing his car.

‘I don’t think he’s quite forgiven me for last year,’ Glory replied. ‘The scale of the Halloween fireworks alone had to be covered up with magic that almost wiped out the supply across London for weeks. But that’s not my problem. That’s what I’m paying them to handle.’

‘But the Samhain Ball, Mummy?’ Romily asked hopefully.

Glory tutted. ‘Well, obviously, darling. You girls know you can rely on me to make sure that it’s celebrated in style.

Why bother at all if you’re not going to go bigger and better than last year?

’ She gestured for the girls to lean in closer, as though keeping a great secret.

‘And between us, I’m planning something very, very special for All Hallows.

The forecasts are showing unrivalled magical potency this Halloween, the likes of which haven’t been seen for centuries.

We shall be sure to make the most of it.

No expense spared. A treat for us all to indulge in. ’

‘Oh!’ Annie exclaimed, clapping her hands. ‘That’s so exciting.’

‘I know you know the importance of a treat, Annie. And this one will be sensational,’ Glory said with a glint in her eye. ‘Come on then, tell me about the wonderful things you’re all doing.’

‘We’ve been to visit the spa spirits, universe knows it was needed. Apart from Annie, of course. She’s been working very hard at her menial labour,’ Vivienne said, sarcasm dripping as she peered across the circle.

‘So determined, aren’t you, Annie?’ Glory declared. ‘Admirable in this day and age to find that in a witch. You’re very like your father in that way, something to prove to the world.’

Annie froze and let her eyes flutter closed as she took a breath. That was the only line that ever made her truly falter. The one stretch of her miraculous levels of patience that made them snap back into place like a tight elastic band.

People don’t know how much it hurts to hear. It’s not their fault. You’re overreacting.

‘Anything we can do to help with the plans, Glory. Please just let us know,’ Annie said.

Glory sighed as though the weight of the world were resting on her.

In some ways, at least in the magical realm, it was.

‘You just make sure you’re keeping us ahead of the curve with that coven, Annie.

Being aware of their movements has never been so crucial.

If it were up to me, you know I wouldn’t make you mingle with all that cursed riff-raff at Hecate House, but I hear they have a new watchman in place who could royally ruin things for us if he were to glance in the wrong direction. So for the good of the Sorciety...’

‘You don’t need to worry about that. I wouldn’t let you down,’ Annie said. ‘I know you’re relying on me.’

Over the many years of Annie’s friendship with Romily, Glory had in many ways provided a second home to her. She had watched over her when Annie’s parents had left her behind, and Annie had grown up under her gaze, albeit a distant one. She would always be grateful to Glory for that.

Glory reached out a motherly palm, gentle against Annie’s cheek, and her expression softened fondly. ‘You’re a good girl, Annie.’

Annie left after a second cocktail. Tiredness was beginning to seep into her shoulders, the spell fading in potency.

It was far too late to wait for a taxi in the midst of Richmond Park.

Fortunately, magic could step in to carry the load and her home’s pink front door was behind her in a moment.

She tried to remind herself that it wasn’t so bad to be alone when the silence wrapped itself around her in a thick scarf.

She’d be wishing for it once the spell began again.

Once Karma had been suitably fussed, fed and escorted to the window to begin her viewing of the foxes who liked to stalk the pavement, Annie could begin her own nighttime ritual.

She closed the bathroom door to ensure that the cat wouldn’t follow behind her.

The one and only time that Karma had inadvertently seen the spell in motion, she’d started to hiss as soon as the steam rose in its ghostly tendrils, unsure of what was unfolding, but her feline instincts certain that it wasn’t good news.

Before Annie could comfort or reassure her, Karma had retreated under the bed with her back arched, her already enormous white tail puffed out to three times its volume.

Once the spell was over and Annie had seen the final dregs drain safely away, it had taken an entire spoonful of custard to coax Karma out from under the bed and win back her love.

She rarely set paw in the bathroom any more.

Every witch needed her altar – a purposeful place for her craft – and this was hers, where no one else was allowed.

An uncharacteristic décor choice for Annie, decidedly non-pink nor fluffy, the bathroom was a darker space.

The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with wooden apothecary cabinets, the glass doors stained in moody colours that depicted a tangle of spiked bracken and winter flowers, poppies and hellebores.

Each cupboard door was firmly locked against visitors, doubled down with both security magic and a physical key that could only be summoned from her mind – a nifty incantation that she’d recreated from the coven’s own security measures.

An antique chandelier of glassy droplets hung from the ceiling above the bathtub.

Annie cast her magic towards it to grant each candle branch a tiny flame.

She took a moment to breathe, leaning against the door, reassuring herself that she didn’t need to rush.

Things would soon be back under control.

She padded over to the sink, lighting the rest of the candles around the room, and cast Venustas Tergeo , an incantation she’d perfected as a teenager to remove her make-up instantaneously.

Her self-care ritual was the most sacred part of her day, glossing and plumping herself to a mirror glaze that would rival the sugar donuts at Celeste.

Annie took a moment to examine her face as closely as she could in the mirror, pulling the skin tighter at the sides, lifting her brow a fraction higher to where it used to be.

It was one of the stranger parts of getting older; the moments of realization that her face really was starting to change, teenage features fading while faint pencil lines began to sketch themselves around her eyes and forehead.

That was, at least, when the spell began to wear off.

She would rarely go long enough between topping it up to allow these things to fully take effect.

Eager to begin, to feel right again, Annie turned on the brass taps of the bathtub.

A heady, fragrant mist plumed from the hot water as it flowed, the whole room fogging around her.

Each cabinet was bursting to the brim with lotions and potions, pots and powders, bubbles and broths, like a blooming flower field for her to reach into and choose from.

It felt a lot like picking flowers, knitting the spell together, snapping stems and plucking petals that were perhaps best left well alone.

A flower picked for its perfection would soon begin to wilt, fading in a carefully considered bouquet made to be admired.