Running into the cottage, Aveline grabbed Harold by the sleeve.

“Quick, come with me.”

“And good evening to you, too, Aveline,” her mum called after her. “We’re fine, thanks for asking.”

Guiltily, Aveline turned around. “Sorry, Mum, just got some urgent stuff to do.”

“Ach, you go right on ahead, Aveline,” Mr Lieberman called from his comfy space on the sofa. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll still be here when you’re finished.”

“There’s no stopping her when she’s like this, Susan,” Aunt Lilian chimed in. “Reminds me a little of myself. Such a smart girl.”

Saved by Mr Lieberman and her aunt’s timely intervention, Aveline dragged Harold into her bedroom and thrust the book that Alice had given her into his hands.

“There’s a recipe in here for a witch bottle, like the one we found. It protects people from witchcraft. I need you to help me find it – now!”

Harold’s face loomed pale in the lamplight. “What’s happened, are we in danger?”

“Not yet, but we might be if we don’t find that recipe. Hazel is a witch, Harold, and she put a spell on you, only you don’t remember. I’ll explain it all later, but we don’t have time now.”

“Righto, say no more.”

As Harold began swiping through the pages, Aveline hurriedly dug out a small bottle of perfume that her mum had given her. Running across the landing to the bathroom, she gave it a quick rinse. This would be the nicest smelling witch bottle anyone had ever made. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she narrowed her eyes and set her jaw firm.

If you want me to be a witch, Hazel, then that’s what I’ll be.

As she came back into the bedroom, Harold stabbed his finger at a page in the book.

“I think this is the one.”

Aveline peered over his shoulder. Although the pages were faded, and the words spelled oddly, Aveline could still make sense of them.

“Yep, that’s it. Let me see.”

In addition to a bottle, the charm called for iron filings or oak moss, neither of which Aveline had. However, the instructions also said that ground-up salt would work, too, and there was plenty of that in the kitchen. Dashing downstairs to fetch some, she forced herself to slow her pace and stroll casually through the living room.

“Just fetching a glass of water.”

Back upstairs, she drizzled the salt inside the bottle. Harold watched with undisguised fascination, but refrained from asking questions, perhaps sensing that this wasn’t the best time. Trailing a finger along the page, Aveline read that the charm was particularly effective if you found something personal that belonged to whoever you were trying to protect yourself against. She sat on the floor, momentarily stumped. She couldn’t think of anything in the cottage that Hazel owned.

Then she remembered what the other book had said, the one Harold had brought.

To protect thyself against the witch’s curse, take their Hair, and Cork it in a Bottle.

Her hairbands.

The ones Hazel had put in her hair when Aveline had stayed over.

Leaping to her feet, Aveline fetched one from her dresser and squinted at it. In amongst a couple of strands of her own hair, she could see three or four long black hairs that definitely hadn’t come from her head. Carefully, she plucked them out, before twisting them between her fingers and pushing them down into the bottle. The book told her to find some sheepskin parchment to write on. Aveline had no idea if they still made stuff like that. Paper would have to do. Grabbing a pen, she wrote down what the spell suggested.

She crammed the scrap of paper into the bottle. Just for luck, she added the old nails that came from the original bottle, feeling pleased with herself that she’d kept them. Maybe they’d add an extra level of potency?

“Um, is it working?” Harold asked.

“Not sure yet.”

Everything in place, she spat in the bottle (as instructed) and gave it a shake. It didn’t look particularly impressive, but then neither had the one she’d found in the garden.

She would just have to put it to the test.

“I’ve got to go and bury it in the garden, but I don’t want my mum asking questions I can’t answer. You’ll have to distract her.”

“Aw, no – how?”

“You’ll think of something.” Opening the bedroom door, she motioned Harold towards it. “Go on then, I only need two minutes.”

Together, they walked downstairs and into the living room, where the adults had the TV on, but were chatting over it. Tucking the bottle behind her back, Aveline nudged Harold in the side.

“Um…what’s the plan for tomorrow then?” Harold said, addressing the room a little too loudly and theatrically in Aveline’s opinion. “I thought we might go out for a trip somewhere nice, maybe stop for a picnic?”

Aveline groaned inwardly.

“A picnic, Harold, really?” Aveline’s mum said. “For some reason, I’ve never had you down as a tartan-blanket-and-sausage-roll enthusiast.”

“It is most peculiar, I agree,” Mr Lieberman said, running a hand through his unruly white hair. “Are you feeling okay, my boy?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with liking picnics?” Harold said. “Aveline, maybe you should go and see if we have any supplies in the kitchen?”

Ah, so that’s what this is all about, Aveline thought. Not the best approach, but at least it gave her a reason to leave the room. Taking her cue, she nodded.

“Good idea, Harold, I’ll go and have a look.”

As she ran to the back door, she heard her mum say, “Do you think these two stayed out in the sun too long today?”

Opening the door as quietly as she could and trusting that Harold would keep everybody talking for a couple of minutes, Aveline ran down the garden path. The stars sparkled like tiny silver flowers. Bending down underneath the rhododendron bush, Aveline found the hole from the old witch bottle and stuck the new one in. Looking around, she paused for a second to catch her breath.

Was Hazel watching? She didn’t think so. Aveline could normally sense when she was near. Besides, even if she was, what could she do? The bottle now lay safely in the ground.

It was done.

Back inside, Harold was still doing a very poor job of convincing everybody that he wanted to go for a picnic. Taking a seat, Aveline let the conversation wash over her. She wasn’t sure what Hazel had planned, but she could feel trouble brewing. Her skin tingled, as if someone was trailing a cold fork over her arms. Strange thoughts whirled around her mind like dizzy moths. The hot summer made the air heavy and thick every evening, but tonight it felt like soup, each breath having to be gulped down.

Outside, Aveline heard a shrill shriek. It could have been a fox. Or a cat. But Aveline suspected not and gripped the edge of her seat so tightly that her knuckles showed white beneath her skin.

“What was that?”

“What was what, my love?” Aveline’s mum replied.

“That noise.”

“I didn’t hear anything myself, dear,” Mr Lieberman said, tapping his ear with one finger. “Though my hearing isn’t what it was.”

“Harold?” Aveline asked. “Did you hear it?”

A shake of his shaggy fringe told her no. But she hadn’t imagined it. Getting up, she walked to the kitchen window and pulled herself up onto the sink to peer out.

Hazel stood just beyond the open garden gate, rubbing the ball of her foot. When she saw Aveline, she raised a finger and wagged it to and fro. A moment later, Aveline heard Hazel’s voice.

Oh, Aveline, I see you’ve been making charms. Who taught you that? Let me guess…Alice? You could have warned me – that hurt.

Only, the voice wasn’t coming from Hazel, whose lips were locked in a thin, mocking smile. It came from inside Aveline’s head.

“Leave us alone,” Aveline whispered.

Slowly, Hazel shook her head.

Let’s see what the night brings first.

“Who are you talking to, Aveline?” her mum called from the living room.

“No one.”

Dropping her feet to the floor, Aveline made her way into the living room. Now she’d made Hazel angry and the thought of dealing with a vengeful witch made her blood run cold. More terrifying still, Hazel had also found some way to get inside her head. Maybe this wasn’t the first time? She recalled when she’d breezily agreed to go to Hazel’s without Harold. Had Hazel got inside her head then, too? What else could Hazel make her do – stay in Norton Wick for ever? Aveline’s heart thudded and she could feel a cold panic spreading through her like ice water. Taking off her glasses, she took a deep breath and remembered the witch bottle, which was now safely buried in the soil. At least that seemed to have gone perfectly to plan. Hazel couldn’t get close to them. So what could she really do from a distance?

As if to answer her question, a gust of wind rattled the windows. A moment later there was another, this one fiercer than the last so that the cottage seemed to tremble. A roof tile smashed on the ground outside. The bins blew over with a loud crash. The shadows of waving branches danced on the walls like skeletal fingers. Every door in the house began to slam open and shut, as if wrenched angrily by invisible hands.

It appeared Aveline was about to find out just exactly what Hazel could do.

As Aveline stood tense and alert, she saw to her surprise that nobody else had reacted. They sat with their chins resting on their chests, as if they’d slipped into an evening snooze.

Hazel had done it again.

She’d bewitched the cottage and everybody in it, all except Aveline.

Aveline was on her own.

As quickly as the doors had begun banging on their hinges, they stopped. The winds that had briefly raged ceased, too. The cottage held its breath, waiting for what would happen next.

That was when Aveline saw the smoke.

It trailed in from the fireplace like a serpent. Thick coils of a rotten yellow hue, like something she’d seen belching out of the chimney at a particularly unpleasant factory.

It looked exactly like something a witch might conjure.