POTION

The moon’s power is too changeable, too unpredictable, too given over to passion.

Banned Languages, The Book of the Binders

They took a train to Hackney and followed Effie down a higgledy-piggledy residential road to a line of Georgian buildings of faded grandeur. She stopped at a house with a bright yellow front door and a garden full of weeds. The door wasn’t locked.

Effie took them through and into a large, high-ceilinged kitchen with white walls, dark floors, vast cupboards, busy shelves and heavy lamps hanging overhead. Selene stood behind the kitchen island looking entirely out of place in a kitchen – chopping limes in a sheer pink floor-length dress with ruffled sleeves. She dropped the knife as they entered and sashayed over, lips painted a showstopping red, the colour of theatre curtains. The curtains parted and revealed a smile which Anna was sure people would pay to watch.

‘Effie, darling.’ She planted a kiss on Effie’s cheek and then swirled to look at the rest of them. ‘Effie’s new friends, such a pleasure! I’m Selene, her long-suffering mother. Tell me your names.’ Effie rolled her eyes and wandered deeper into the kitchen.

‘I’m Rowan and she’s Manda.’ Rowan stepped forwards, looking at Selene as if she wasn’t quite able to believe anyone’s mother could resemble such a woman. Selene adorned them with kisses.

‘Miranda, actually,’ said Manda.

‘Oh, you look so young. How old are you? You’re making me feel positively mummified.’

‘Manda’s sixteen going on forty-five,’ said Effie, perusing the countertop.

‘Sixteen – those were the days! I want to hear all about what trouble you’re getting up to in school.’ She swivelled to Anna, her smile faltering. ‘My little matchstick.’ She folded Anna into a deep hug. It smelt like fresh flowers on the wind, cloves and cinnamon. Anna sank into it. Selene eventually let go and an uncomfortable, hesitant silence fell between them. Anna wondered if Selene might bring up the bindweed or whether she ought to ask her if they could speak privately, but then Selene said brightly, ‘Well, you’re looking healthier than when I last saw you. More flame in those cheeks, more light in those eyes. This coven is doing you good. I think you need a margarita!’

A margarita was a long way from bindweed, dead parents and curse symbols, but Selene had pulled her into the kitchen before Anna could say any more.

‘How was your trip?’ said Rowan, descending on them. ‘Effie said you’ve just got back from Russia!’

‘Fabulous start, catastrophic end.’ Selene made a dramatic gesture. ‘Put it this way, I’m off Russian men and vodka for at least ten years. Now who wants a margarita?’

‘But we’re only sixteen,’ said Manda.

‘The perfect age for tequila, fresh and clean, before it gets all the bad memories associated with it. Effie, your friends seem a lot sweeter than the ones you were hanging out with in New York.’

‘You sent me to an all-girls private school in Dulwich: what did you expect?’

‘Don’t worry, cherub.’ Selene cupped Manda’s chin. ‘Just one drink. I’ve got a client due.’

‘What client? What kind of magic do you do?’ asked Rowan eagerly.

‘Love potions – the only currency I deal in.’

Perhaps it was a kitchen for potion-making because it certainly didn’t look like food had been cooked in it for a long time: wine bottles, lipstick-stained glasses, books and piles of unopened post covered the surfaces; the oven was full of takeout boxes and the smoothie maker was being used as a hat stand. Shelves along the back wall wheezed with books and pots and pans and hundreds of glass jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes, shimmering with so many wondrous colours it looked like the inside of a kaleidoscopic cave. A glinting copper cauldron sat on the hob amongst it all like a dragon’s eye blinking out through the chaos.

Rowan pointed at it. ‘Is that for your potions? I’ve never seen a cauldron so beautiful.’

‘Are cauldrons beautiful?’ Manda asked doubtfully.

Selene and Rowan looked at her as if she’d just insulted their own mothers.

‘All cauldrons are beautiful.’ Selene reached to stroke its bright edges. ‘They are a window into a witch’s soul.’

‘Well, mine is blackened, dented and leaks, which is about right.’ Rowan giggled. ‘Can we make a potion, pleeeease? I have several men who it would be highly convenient to have fall in love with me …’

Selene laughed. ‘Ah, but my sweet, there is no spell for love.’

‘But I thought that’s what you did?’ said Anna. ‘Love spells?’

‘I do and they cover every permutation of love – lust, longing, obsession, infatuation, jealousy, heartbreak, revenge – everything really, except true love. Maybe once upon a time … but no. That kind of magic is long gone.’

‘So what you’re saying is, we’re screwed,’ Rowan moaned.

‘Of course not! Who needs love? You girls don’t want to find the man you want to be with forever – now! Keep searching your whole life, I say, it’s far more interesting. Passion. Now there’s a more interesting proposition. Much more thrilling – volatile, impermanent, ever-changing. Love in motion. How about we add a little passion potion to our margaritas?’

They nodded vigorously and she turned to a book with a purple velvet cover on the counter and flicked it open to a page stained with multi-coloured splotches. ‘Cherub, you read from this,’ she directed Miranda and then threw the summer hat off the smoothie maker and dragged it to the centre of the counter. ‘We don’t have much time so today, ladies, this shall be our cauldron! It is the hour of Venus: let us begin! What do we need?’

A flustered Manda ran her finger down the list of ingredients. ‘Er – ok – I don’t know what these symbols mean, but it says we need apple blossoms, lavender, red hot chilli flakes, midsummer honeysuckle …’

‘Come on.’ Selene ushered the rest of them to her shelves and began fetching items from her store and throwing them into the smoothie maker with zeal. She seemed to be adding a lot more than the items Manda was reading out. Anna joined the hunt but was distracted by the names on the bottles and containers – ‘Violet Blossoms’, ‘Liquorice Root’, ‘Myrrh Resin’, ‘Powdered Mandrake’, ‘Benzoin’ – they tasted exotic on her tongue, whispering of distant places, hot sands and feverish spices. Others were stranger, darker – ‘Numbing Water’, ‘Goofer Dust’, ‘Rainfall (downwards)’, ‘Rainfall (upwards)’, ‘Hangman’s Ash’, ‘Devil’s Shoestring’, ‘Blood of a Broken Heart’ … She could have spent all day exploring every last bottle, wondering at the colours and textures, breathing in the different landscapes of their scents.

‘… cherry stones, yarrow, cinnamon and cloves – it says to grind together for four hours.’

Selene laughed, twirling around the kitchen. ‘We don’t have four hours!’ She pressed the button and the smoothie maker whirred into life, pulverizing the ingredients into a small hurricane of colour. ‘Beautiful! A potion begins and ends with its cauldron. It mixes, transforms, dies, sparks once more – just like passion a potion is never still, it is always renewing. What more?’

‘A quart – I think that means quart – of red wine and we have to distil rose petals—’

‘Anna darling, pass me the rose water, that will do, and someone get me catnip!’

‘Catnip?’ Manda cried.

‘Oh yes,’ Selene replied seriously. ‘A love-potion essential.’

The kitchen was veering wildly out of control. Various glass bottles were open along the surface, releasing strange and clashing scents and plumes of powder, while colourful drips and drops covered the surfaces; the mixture in the smoothie maker had begun bubbling and spitting up the sides and the crooning tones of retro love songs gushed from the radio. Anna felt transferred, as if she had entered some other, more vivid world. She played the melody with her fingertips, reaching for the rose water. Her hand moved towards the bottle as if she had known it was there all along, like the next line of the song. This was magic without bounds, without rules, magic fed by something else entirely.

‘We need dream dew too for lust feeds on dreams,’ sang Selene.

‘I can’t keep up!’ Manda cried. ‘You’ve missed half the ingredients and added a whole load more.’

Selene flicked the book shut. ‘A potion doesn’t need exacts, darling, it needs energy: grinding, powdering, boiling, brewing, stirring.’ She raised her hands into the air and the smoothie maker responded, whirring the ingredients with colourful frenzy. Selene grabbed Effie’s hands and the next moment they were dancing. Effie’s unwillingness faded as Selene spun her in and out, giggling with an abandon Anna had rarely seen in her.

‘Someone get me the powdered heart and feathers of a black cockerel,’ said Selene.

‘For a love spell?’ Rowan replied, voice uncertain.

Selene spun Effie away. ‘Ah, but there is darkness in love. Love is never complete without death.’

She sprinkled in a dark black powder and the mixture smoked pink, releasing a frisson of bubbles, smelling of wine and spices and something hot and unsettling. Anna breathed in deeply and felt her cheeks grow warm.

‘Now, I want you each to give it a mix and add the name of the one you desire! The potion wants your stories! There’s nothing more powerful than a story.’ Selene threw her head back, laughing. Anna decided she was a little mad when she did magic.

They gathered around the smoothie maker, giving each other giddy if not wary looks. Effie stepped forwards first and pressed the button. The potion whizzed. ‘Laurence Ellerton. Tonight.’

‘My turn!’ Rowan bounded her way to the front, almost knocking the whole thing over. She cleared her throat and held down the button, shouting over the sound: ‘David Jones from band practice. Bryn Sawbridge in the year above. Adrian Martinez, son of a family friend. The guy I see on my bus to school and occasionally stalk. Leonardo Vincent—’

‘He’s a movie star,’ Manda pointed out.

‘I know! Attis Lockerby, I mean, who wouldn’t? Any boy tonight at the party who takes my fancy – I think I’ve over-stirred this thing?’ The mixture was bubbling so much it was almost overflowing and the air in the kitchen was tinged pink.

‘I think you might have given the potion too many names, darling,’ said Selene, stepping swiftly between Rowan and the makeshift cauldron.

Manda stepped forwards; her round face set itself into an expression of pained concentration as if she was about to take an exam. ‘Karim Hussain,’ she sighed, giving the mixture a quick, self-conscious whirr.

‘Anna?’ Selene nudged her forwards.

Passion. The idea of it had been fun, but now that it applied to her – Anna wasn’t so sure. To Aunt passion and love were in the same bracket of deeply volatile, extremely dangerous emotions that Anna had always been ordered to avoid, but she was tired of Aunt’s interpretations. Perhaps it was the scents stirring the air, the colours stirring the potion, but the thought of Peter’s lips on hers sent shivers into the pit of her stomach.

Anna pressed the button and said it: ‘Peter Nowell.’ It wasn’t as though she had any intention of chasing those feelings.

Rowan burst into song, not helping her embarrassment.

‘Anna and Peter sitting in a tree,

K – I – S – S – I – N – G!’

‘Peter who?’ Selene interrupted with a hint of accusation. ‘Why haven’t you told me of this boy before?’

Anna shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t stand a chance with him.’

‘First comes a kiss, then comes love,

Then comes a spell and a pinprick of his blood!’

Rowan finished the song with flourish.

Selene raised an eyebrow at Anna and then switched the heat off. ‘Well, you are all so young, hearts flit from one thing to another in less than a beat. Come on. It’s time for a drink!’

They took up residence at the breakfast bar as Selene began preparing the cocktail. At the end she added a little of the smoothie mixture to the cocktail shaker. ‘Just a few drops.’ She winked, hips wiggling as she shook it. She poured the rosy-hued mixture out into their glasses, the sharp tang of lime stirring the air. ‘To passion!’ Selene raised her glass. ‘May it be yours tonight and in the year to come!’

Anna and Manda coughed immediately after their first sip, making everyone laugh. The liquid burned its way down Anna’s throat, through her body, making every limb tingle and bringing a flame of blush to her cheeks.

‘To passion and the Goddess of the Dark Moon!’ said Effie.

‘Passion and the Goddess of the Dark Moon,’ they chimed in, laughing again as Manda missed her next sip, tipping half of it down herself.

Someone knocked on the door. ‘Ah,’ said Selene, finishing her glass. ‘My client is here. Can I trust you all alone? No more potion or tequila. Although I shall be disappointed if you don’t steal something from the cocktail bar to take to your party.’ She smiled wickedly and squeezed Anna’s shoulder tightly as she left. Anna watched as Selene walked away, only then realizing she’d been so distracted with the potion and the cocktails and the sheer joy of everything, they hadn’t had a chance to speak.

‘I think I’m in love with your mother,’ said Rowan.

Effie rolled her eyes. ‘You and the rest of the human race.’

‘So Karim is your secret crush.’ Rowan elbowed Manda.

Manda blushed and stood up to look at the nearby shelf of books. ‘It’s silly. He’s not interested in me. It’s just – he came to Pen-a-Poem Club once and we ended up talking. He’s Muslim and I’m Christian and I sometimes imagine us like Romeo and Juliet, fated to be together but torn apart by our families … but in reality I think he’s just not interested in me.’

Rowan looked up from her phone. ‘Looks like he’s going to be at the party.’

Manda’s eyes widened. She grabbed several books from the shelves and began flicking through them as if they could offer her protection from the oncoming night.

Rowan turned to Effie. ‘And Laurence, hey? Apparently Olivia lost her virginity to him although he was going out with Rebecca most of last year.’

Effie laughed. ‘You’re like a human dating app.’

‘I have my uses.’

‘I thought you were with that other one, the big guy?’ Anna asked.

Effie rolled her eyes. ‘I am not with anyone, Anna. I don’t do relationships. Plus he was an impatient kisser and, turns out, it translated to other areas too.’ She looked down suggestively. ‘Laurence is my new favourite. I’ll be testing out his skills tonight.’

‘You inspire me,’ said Rowan, laughing. ‘So – er – you and Attis … you guys really aren’t – you know, a thing?’

‘We are what we are,’ Effie replied with a hint of a smile. ‘We’re not together. As Selene said, where’s the fun in that?’

‘Yeah, but there’s Attis and then there’s the rest of mankind. You girls know what I mean.’ Rowan looked at Manda and Anna. ‘He’s got that look. Like he’s undressing you with his eyes – no, he’s already undressed you and he’s deciding what to do with you.’

Effie nodded. ‘Oh, I know the look you mean.’

Anna knew the look they were talking about too: those mismatched eyes – as though he’d seen right through you; as though he’d discovered all the parts of you that weren’t whole and all the while had the answers but refused to give them up.

‘I guess you just can’t see past Peter’s eyes, can you?’ Rowan elbowed her.

‘Something like that,’ said Anna, supplanting Attis’s eyes with Peter’s intent stare. She imagined what it would be like to have it directed at her.

Rowan frowned. ‘Are you sure about him? Isn’t he just like the rest? He is with Darcey.’

‘He doesn’t know what she’s really like,’ Anna protested. ‘You’ve seen her, all smiles and sweetness—’

‘And double-D-cup breasts.’

‘Peter isn’t like that. I remember the first day I met him. I was in year eight; we had to go to this talk at the Boys’ School. I just wanted to sit down and disappear as quickly as possible, but there weren’t many seats left. I spotted a couple of spare ones at the end of one row but there were a group of boys in the way. The first couple stood up and I tried to get past but then the rest wouldn’t stand so I was trapped between them. They started taunting me, just being idiots, but I was humiliated. Then I heard him – a voice from further down the row telling them to let me pass. They listened to him straight away and let me go. I looked at him to say thanks and he smiled at me and I’m not sure if I said anything at all …’

‘And you’ve wanted to shag him ever since,’ Effie cackled.

‘I was twelve!’

‘Lord in Heaven,’ said Manda, looking up from a large tome, eyes glowing with fascination. ‘It seems if we can’t find boyfriends, we can just make one.’

‘What’s the spell?’ said Effie.

‘It’s for something called a golem. It’s a translation from an old Arabic spell.’ Manda’s fingers trailed down the page, past stains that looked disturbingly like blood.

‘What’s a golem?’ Anna asked.

‘According to this it’s an artificial man created from a handful of earth. There seems to be a very long and specific spell for bringing it to life … names of power … heat and fire … you need the blood of whoever you want it to resemble.’

‘I’ve heard of them,’ said Effie, ‘but I’ve never seen a spell for one before.’

Rowan narrowed her eyes. ‘Does that mean if I can get some of Leonardo Vincent’s blood, I can just make my own?’

Manda turned the page. ‘I think you have to sustain it with fresh human hearts and blood.’

‘That’s going to be more tricky.’

A sound below them made Anna jump.

‘That’ll be Attis. He’s back,’ said Effie.

‘Wait. Attis lives here?’ Manda gawked.

‘Of course. Where did you think he lived?’

‘Can we feed him some potion?’ Rowan pleaded.

Effie shook her head, smiling. ‘Come on, let’s get ready. Grab the tequila.’

They made their way upstairs. Effie returned the feather to Selene’s bedroom, placing it in a space on the mantelpiece where it proceeded to float gently, an inch off the surface. They went up to the next floor and into a room with mirrors for walls. ‘My dressing room,’ Effie explained, though she needn’t have – there were piles of clothes everywhere. ‘Right. Makeover time!’ Effie lifted up a pair of scissors with a dangerous smile. ‘Manda, come here. I need to cut your hair.’

‘What? No!’ Manda objected. ‘Don’t you think my mum will wonder where I found a hairdresser at a SCIENCE FAIR?’

‘Don’t worry, these are temporary scissors. It’ll grow back by tomorrow, promise. I use them all the time.’

‘But surely people at school on Monday will wonder how my hair has grown back overnight?’

‘They’ll just think they’ve remembered it wrongly. Cowans will convince themselves of anything except the impossible.’

‘Effie, I really don’t think—’

‘Pretty please. I promise you’ll turn heads, including Karim’s.’ Effie put her chin on Manda’s shoulder and made a pleading face.

Manda whimpered. ‘You promise it’ll grow back by tomorrow?’

When Anna returned from the bathroom, Manda was squealing at herself in the mirror. ‘I don’t look like me at all! What have you done to me? Although I like it – I think …’

Her hair now skirted her shoulders in a sharp, tousled cut which suited her heart-shaped face and made her eyes pop. Manda stared at herself, moving her head from side to side and pouting. Anna had never seen her pout before. Rowan had already put on her new playsuit and was shimmying at herself in the mirror. She kissed the mirror, leaving a red lipstick mark.

‘I’ve been living in a magical household all my life but it never occurred to me that magic could apply to hair and make-up. Then again you’ve met my mum. She thinks a manicure is scrubbing the dirt from under your fingernails.’

‘You do know there are magical beauty salons in London?’ said Effie.

Rowan’s jaw dropped. ‘This is why I need you in my life.’

Effie clicked her fingers at Anna. ‘You’re up.’

‘I don’t really wear make-up—’

‘Just trust me,’ said Effie, sitting her down and retrieving a tube of beige liquid from the pile. ‘Same colour skin as me – this foundation gets rid of spots as you put it on.’ She took a sponge-like object and began rubbing it into Anna’s face. A pimple that had been gathering speed on Anna’s forehead disappeared as the sponge brushed over it. Anna leant forward and found no hint that the spot had ever existed.

‘I need to get some of this stuff.’

‘Sit back. Now do you want bigger eyes? I have some contact lenses that double their size.’ Effie rummaged through the pile.

‘I think I’m OK with my own eyes.’

Effie studied her. ‘You’re right – they’re already pretty. Just a little of this …’ She added some soft eyeshadow and darkened Anna’s eyebrows. ‘This mascara makes new eyelashes grow.’

The next moment Anna was pinioned in place by a torturous-looking contraption Effie referred to as an eyelash curler. Anna struggled to keep her eyes open as Effie gripped her chin and applied mascara. Anna watched as new eyelashes sprouted along her eyelid and her existing ones separated and lengthened. The effect was immediate: her almond eyes were suddenly black-lashed explosions, the green in them flaring.

Effie dusted blush across her cheeks. ‘Anti-blush blush – it’ll stop you going bright red when Peter talks to you.’ Anna gave Effie a withering look, but she was too busy perusing a collection of lipsticks. ‘How about this one? It makes your lips grow bigger with every kiss? Or this one makes your lips taste like your lover’s favourite dessert …’

‘Anything not to do with kissing?’

‘This one enhances your natural colour.’

‘That one.’

‘Go on, you do it, you need to learn.’

Anna took the lipstick and opened it; it was completely translucent like a solid stick of water. As she followed the line of her lips in the mirror their hue did not change, but simply grew richer, more concentrated, collecting colour like the centre of a rose.

‘Sinfully red,’ said Effie, taking a comb to Anna’s hair. It had a similar effect to the one Selene had given her, smoothing her hair and drawing it into curls, only with added volume. Anna moved and her hair bounced. Without the frizz she could see its colour – it still wasn’t the golden red of her younger years, but there was more life in it than there had been for a long time. She could hardly believe she was looking at herself in the mirror.

‘Anna!’ Rowan spun her round. ‘Wow. Is that you? You look smoking.’

Manda nodded enthusiastically.

‘Still me, just heavier eyelids.’ Anna grinned. ‘You two look incred—’

‘OK, can we stop the flattery party now? It’s my handiwork anyway.’ Effie broke into a smile. ‘You do all look better than I ever imagined was possible.’

Rowan laughed. ‘I think that’s as close as she’s ever going to get to a compliment.’

Rowan and Manda disappeared to show themselves off to Selene while Effie stripped off her T-shirt and jeans. Underneath she was wearing a black bra and thong. Anna went to look away, but noticed something on Effie’s shoulder blade.

‘What’s that?’ she said, peering more closely. It was a tattoo of a spider, just as Darcey had described, only Darcey had said it was on her arm …

‘Touch it,’ said Effie. Anna put her fingers out to touch the spider on her back, but as she did so it moved, climbing higher up her shoulder blade.

‘What the—’ said Anna, moving to touch the spider again. It crawled to the base of Effie’s neck.

‘It moves.’

‘Darcey …’

Effie laughed. ‘That was brilliant. The look on her face when she found nothing there.’ It was a strange tattoo to have – a spider creeping all over your body – but somehow it suited Effie.

Anna guiltily picked up her green dress; the velvet was shamefully soft. She turned away from Effie and changed into it.

‘Nice underwear,’ Effie snorted at Anna’s white polka-dot pants and unmatching pink bra. Anna made a face at Effie and zipped up her dress.

She felt self-conscious even looking at herself in the mirror; let alone other people looking at her. The dress was not particularly revealing but it attracted attention, the way it hugged her figure, the shimmer of its deep emerald. Anna could hear Aunt. Just like those who wield magic openly and flagrantly – women who wear short skirts and redden their lips are asking for trouble!

Effie threw a see-through top on, her bra showing through beneath. She belted her high-waisted black shorts, stepped into clompy heels and pulled her hair into a high ponytail, tendrils falling around her face and neck. Anna felt even more awkward in her dress next to Effie – it was too much, it tried too hard; Effie’s outfit didn’t care at all, it was rebelliously sexy.

‘I never even knew you had curves,’ Effie joked, poking at Anna’s hips. ‘And boobs!’ Anna crossed her arms over her chest and Effie laughed. ‘You’re going to attract attention tonight! Come on.’ She grabbed Anna’s hand. ‘Let’s find Attis.’

Effie led them all to the lowest floor of the house, below ground, into a bedroom which seemed absurdly tidy compared to everywhere else. Anna had never thought of Attis being particularly neat and then she realized it wasn’t that the room was impeccably organized, but that it had almost nothing in it. A bed, a table next to it with an iron lamp, a picture of Attis with a grey-haired man Anna presumed must be his father, a wardrobe and shelves stacked with books – so many books; Anna would like to have looked through them all. The room smelt like him, smoke and warmth, clean soap and pine.

‘He must be in the forge,’ said Effie, leading them down the corridor, the smell of smoke growing stronger.

‘The what, sorry?’ said Rowan. ‘Whoa …’

Anna followed Rowan into what was definitely … a forge. It was brick-walled and smoke-stained; vivid flames came from a furnace on the far side. Attis was hammering in front of it, shaping a curved piece of metal on a large block, sparks erupting. He was wearing jeans and a blackened white top rolled up at the sleeves, the muscles in his arms flexing like a cable as the hammer slammed down. Equipment hung from the ceilings and weighed down the shelves; the remaining patches of wall were hung with horseshoes of varying sizes and shapes. The far side was open to the garden, a breeze pulling the smoke outwards.

‘Attis!’ Effie shouted. ‘ATTIS! He hates it if I get too close or surprise him.’

He looked up, his face lighting up, sweat dripping through his smoke-smudged visage. Anna finally understood why his fingernails were always so black. He stopped hammering and put the piece of metal into a bucket of water next to him. It sizzled and steamed.

‘I think I need to lie down,’ Rowan whispered and Anna had to admit it was hard to take her eyes off him. She’d never seen him look so alive, as alive as the fire itself.

Attis walked towards them, looking Effie up and down, the grey in his eyes sparking like the metal he’d been hammering. ‘Well, you look sensational.’ Anna felt Attis’s eyes land on her next. That look like he’s already undressed you and he’s deciding what to do with you. She tried to hide away in the darkness of the room but his gaze rebounded off her curves. It was unnerving. ‘I’ll be damned, I really get to walk into the party with you four on my arm? When are we leaving?’

‘Ten minutes ago, get ready.’

‘Give me thirty very long seconds.’ He rushed past them, smoke lingering around his body.

They explored the forge and then headed out of the door, up a set of stone stairs into the garden. A strange sound startled Anna – a bleat. Two horns and a white blur came at her from the hedge. ‘Gahhh,’ she cried, but the creature stopped before it reached her and began sniffing her shoe. It was a goat.

Anna steadied herself. ‘You should probably let guests know before they go into the garden that a goat might run at them from the darkness.’

Effie laughed. ‘It’s not mine.’ She nodded towards the house where Attis was. Of course. Anna reached out and patted it on the nose; it nuzzled into her hand, then tried to chew at her dress.

‘So this is where Dallington School’s mascot has got to. I knew Attis had stolen it!’ Rowan cried.

‘His name is Mr Ramsden,’ said Attis pointedly, jumping up the stairs two at a time. He was wearing the same jeans, still pock-marked with black stains, and an unironed T-shirt; his hair was dripping wet.

‘Good to know you put as much effort into getting ready as we did,’ said Effie.

‘You know it’s important for me not to try too hard or it becomes overwhelming for the women. Now come on. Mr Ramsden should be sleeping. I’m driving.’

‘You’re not old enough to drive,’ said Manda.

‘It’s fine. I have a way with the police.’

Manda narrowed her eyes. ‘A way that involves magic?’

Attis smirked. ‘I can’t reveal my tricks, but I can promise you a very smooth ride. Just don’t judge a car by its cover …’

They walked around to the front of the house where a small, dilapidated Peugeot 206 was waiting. They clambered inside and sped off into the London traffic – windows down, radio on – Anna wedged in the back seat, enjoying her first taste of freedom in the cold night air.

All going well. Going to bed now. Night x.

Anna sent the text to Aunt. It was half past ten: bedtime. She was far from bed.