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From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Re: Help us please?!

Hello Temperance,

I have to say, you could have bowled me over with a duck’s fart when I saw your name pop up in my inbox.

You say that your mum left you my address as a sort of magic emergency contact?

! Well, I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment, under the circumstances.

You had a lot of questions so I won’t beat around the whatsit but I hope when this is all sorted we might have more time to talk. Maybe.

Thank you for itemising your questions. I can tell you are a can-do sort of girl.

As disappointed as I am to hear that you don’t want to keep this saucy red gown just as it is .

. . if lavender isn’t having an impact, you’ll need to layer up the calming herbs on that horny beast. You’ll need lemon balm, dill and sage.

Toast the sage leaves in a dry pan first, until they start to smoulder.

The lemon balm and dill are calming; the sage is there to purify all those leftover naughty thoughts.

If that all sounds like too much work, just pop it in the post to me! I’m joking. Kind of.

Can you use your magic to influence what is still unfolding?

Dear Mighty Goddess of the Heavens, what has Lee been teaching you girls?

! YES YES OF COURSE YES. It’s like she made sure you could read, but then locked up the library!

!! You and your sister share a heritage that so few people are lucky enough to inherit.

You are attuned to forces others can’t feel, this much you know.

The spiritual energies of the universe. But you can also listen so closely to those forces that you can learn to guide them, to direct them.

Think of it like a river: we can’t create the water but we can move rocks and dig rivulets to subtly change its course.

You say powerful ambition is the problem here: then you need to drive it the other way.

You need to dam that ambition and invert it.

Luckily, the plant world gives us lots of lovely sedatives to do this.

The most useful to us witches is Atropa belladonna .

So you’re going to go on a little scavenger hunt.

You’ll need about five bunches of the leaves (wear GLOVES, my girls) and then you’ll need to boil it into a tea (in a WELL VENTILATED ROOM) and then you need to have an item of clothing that will be worn often by the person you’re looking to influence.

Seep it in the tea while you meditate on the quality you’re trying to quieten in them, or divert them away from.

Keep that thought always in your mind. When you feel like you’ve nothing left to give, you’re done.

(Rinse and REPEAT as necessary. Maybe that didn’t need to be in caps but I’m in the zone now.) Then return the item as swiftly as you can. The effect will wear off in time.

Now onto your midnight adventures, Temperance.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I see.

I’ve no doubt the premonition you’ve been seeing came as a result of what you cast that night on the beach.

Midnight, moonshine and the power of women united – you really didn’t think that would pack a punch?

You opened yourself up to nature’s powers and you asked for true love to be brought to you.

And so the magic saw what your mind’s eye fixed on as true love and delivered it – but against the young man’s will.

And so: boom, you got doom. You used strong magic to go against free will and the cosmic powers that be DO NOT like that (there I go again – but deserved caps this time), so it’s all gone weird and wonky and decidedly dark.

I can’t tell you what the burning wildflowers and the purple storm and the cracked glass mean.

The premonition is speaking to you and you alone.

But I do know that if you want to reverse it, you’re going to have to reverse it.

Literally. Wear everything you were wearing that night but inside out.

Say the same incantation but reverse it.

You’ll need to be there at daybreak, not full moon.

And mean it . You got greedy, Temperance, and now your hand has been slapped for reaching into love’s cookie jar.

I don’t know if that analogy has turned filthy or not.

But I didn’t mean it like *that*. What I’m saying is, yes, you did do this.

But you didn’t mean it. And we’ve all had magic go horribly wrong on us. Just ask your mum.

Go carefully, girls, but go with power.

Yours, truly, always,

F x

F’s instructions were repeating in Temperance’s head later that day as she walked along the single-track lane to Praveen’s Pick Your Own field.

Belladonna sounded like serious stuff, not to be treated lightly, and Temperance didn’t want to risk any lingering magical poison transferring onto Try Again inventory or – God forbid – their customers, so she’d thrown on her roughest denim shorts and trainers to go and track down some disposable equipment for the witchy gathering mission.

She could have taken the car, but the sun was lighting up the sky a glorious buttercup yellow and Temperance figured an uphill walk in the blistering heat was a sure-fire way to clear her head of doom and destruction.

And old flames. It was so bright that, at times, she almost walked with her eyes closed behind her sunglasses, one hand trailing in the hedgerow, her ears listening for cars but only hearing crickets.

By the time she reached the rusty farm gates, she could feel the sweat gathering under her baseball cap and between her cleavage, but she couldn’t have cared less.

The endorphins were helping pick up her feet, and knowing she was on the right track to be able to fix some of the mess she’d unwittingly made cleared some of the fog in her head.

Seeing Praveen in the little tin hut by the strawberry field, Temperance went over and knocked gently on the corrugated metal.

‘Hiya, Prav.’

‘Hello, Temperance, lovely. How are you then? Gosh, didn’t you look gorgeous at FairyFest. You had all the heads turning.’ Praveen leant back on her chair and laced her fingers together.

‘Erm, not sure about that, but thanks. It was . . . fun.’ Temperance had to briefly shut her eyes to chase away the memory of how the rustling wedding dress filled her senses with love, how the cocktails dulled her inhibitions, how it felt to sway in time to the music in Abel’s arms, his tall frame pressed against her . . .

Her neighbour let out the kind of incredulous sigh that married middle-aged people seem happy to give any single adults they know. ‘Psshaw. You were fighting them off with a stick.’

Temperance was glad that her cheeks must already be beetroot red anyway, from her boiling hot walk. What a wicked thing to do . . . the song whispered from the back of her mind.

‘I wouldn’t even need a cocktail umbrella to fight off my admirers,’ she shrugged and gave a jokey grimace.

Praveen smiled and frowned at the same time. ‘Well, the field’s packed today. You never know who you might meet over a strawberry plant. A natural aphrodisiac and all that.’

Temperance craned her neck around the side of the hut to the busy field beyond.

The only examples of her preferred gender were sunburnt dads chasing pink-lipped toddlers through the furrows or impeccably dressed retirees at least twice her age, nervously bending down to add to their punnets, perhaps unsure that they’d make it back up again.

‘Hmm. Thanks, but I’m actually after some random bits and pieces, if that’s OK? Do you have any old buckets I could buy off you? I’ve got some . . . scruffy work to do. At the shop.’

Praveen bit the inside of her cheek. ‘I do, I think. In the shed on the far side of the strawberry field. There’s some old stuff stacked up at the back I haven’t used in years – you’re welcome to it.’

‘Thanks. And any of the . . . snippy garden things? Like really hench scissors?’

‘Secateurs?’ Praveen laughed. ‘Yes, there’s a few of them hanging on the peg board in the shed. Bring them back when you’re done.’ She squinted at Temperance. ‘I can’t imagine what would be so grubby at your vintage store that you need old buckets and hench scissors .’

Temperance felt too sweaty to come up with a reply. ‘I know, right? Thanks, Prav. See you in a bit.’ Temperance wiped her forehead and then set off for the field.

It certainly was busy, with clusters of families crouching down to pick the ruby-red berries, the odd slap of a hand when too much sampling was going on.

It was always a tourist hot-spot on a sunny day: a wholesome activity out in the open with the very big bonus of having the toppings for your afternoon cream tea sorted at the same time.

Temperance’s mouth watered at the thought of a deep, crumbling scone heaped up with clotted cream and sun-warmed strawberries.

She’d have to hit the bakery on the way home.

In the sea of brightly coloured summer clothes, one tall black smudge was patently obvious. Temperance’s eyes were still half-closed against the sun but when the figure stood up she knew exactly who it was.

Instantly, she dodged behind the nearest tree.

‘Fucking Abel,’ she hissed to herself. How can you spend twelve years thinking about the one that got away and then all of a sudden he’s the one you can’t bloody well escape from?

Temperance was not in the mood to be disdainfully judged right now, not while she was dressed like a gym teacher and smelt like a locker room.

Besides, Abel had made it undeniably obvious that he wanted nothing to do with her.

This will never happen . Hiking with his surfboard. How much clearer could he be?