Rewitched

by Lucy Jane Wood

MAGIC IN THE mundane can be difficult to find, but it is always waiting patiently somewhere, snuffling quietly, curled up like a sleeping animal and ready to be found by those searching hard enough. Flat 31 was one such enchanted place. Small and shadowed, with wonky cupboard fronts that didn’t quite fit properly and a temperamental back right hob ring that had needed fixing for months, the kitchen inside was nevertheless filled with magic. Every inch of it was covered with the stuff, from the heap of used teabags on the drainer to the mixing bowl in the corner. Even the butter dish was charged with magic, because this was the home of a witch. Albeit a humble one.

Her finger absent-mindedly wound three clockwise circles in the air, and a teaspoon echoed her movement. Infusing her intentions was one of the old habits that she’d picked up from her mum. Stir clockwise to bring positivity, anticlockwise to banish negativity.

“I told you, I had that epiphany. We’re past the point of having to think we can take over the world. We can just exist happily if we want to. As long as it pays the bills. And you would be happy, which is really all that matters. You could be spending your days recommending fiction to old people in your own bookshop, reading stories to sticky-fingered kids, stressing over barely making ends meet but loving the quiet day to day. That’s the dream right there, Belle.”

the fact was that it was less disappointing and much less painful to refuse to give your heart and soul to any one thing for fear of an imperfect result.

The trial examines how the real Belle lets magic exist within her, how you allow it to flourish and trust it to guide your life. It’s a gift, but it comes with responsibility, and this is just to prove that you can look after it.”

Bonnie revelled in her supernatural abilities and was, without question, born to be a witch. Her cottage in the quiet northern town where Belle had grown up was enveloped in wild flowers and grasses, a pocket haven of flora and fauna, each carefully cultivated for her passion: Earth Sorcery. Neighbours simply thought her to be a slightly eccentric green-fingered lady. But she spent her days in a small greenhouse at the end of her garden, Wolfie for company, brewing spells of protection, hope and appeasement for others. Her abilities were something of a whispered legend around the town and would often bring neighbours, superstitious mostly through desperation, knocking with trays of flapjacks or bunches of tulips in exchange for a moment of her time and a bath-friendly mix of her latest for luck, a tea blend for attraction or a lotion specifically for confidence.