‘Safer without a house full of people. The crowd at the DeSoto was three times your guest list and that didn’t stop Astrid from attacking.’
‘And the DeSoto is not Bell House. She won’t be able to push a single paw through the front door.’
If I’d really wanted to, I could’ve cancelled the party, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wasn’t the only one whose life was on the line once the Weres arrived. Lydia, Jackson, Ashley, Virginia, they were all at risk. And if the birth of my best friends wasn’t worth celebrating, nothing was.
‘As long as we all remember we’re working on Cinderella rules,’ Ashley instructed when Lydia darted out to straighten up a lightbox directing everyone to exactly where they should leave her gifts. ‘Everyone out by midnight, just in case your magic goes bananas and you turn all your little friends into a whole patch of pumpkins.’
‘I can think of at least a dozen people who might have that coming,’ Lydia muttered under her breath before returning with a dazzling smile. ‘But of course, Ashley. Whatever you say, Ashley. You’re the boss, Ashley.’
‘If that ain’t the smartest thing you ever did say.’
Leaving the two of them to stare each other down like acouple of hyenas, I crossed the room to peek through the shutters. A group of guests were already hovering in the square across from the house, gathering the courage to knock on the door despite the fact they’d all been invited. Bell House had not thrown a party in over twenty years, most of their parents had never so much as set foot over the threshold and in this town, curiosity was hereditary.
‘Did I get the wrong day or something? Is this a party or a mother’s meeting?’
I turned around to see Jackson emerge from the downstairs bedroom wearing a new outfit and the kind of happy expression I hadn’t seen on his face in too long. His inviting cologne surrounded me as he walked up, high-fiving Ashley and ignoring his sister before walking into our new ballroom. I realized I hadn’t smelled it since the party at the DeSoto.
‘Are y’all planning to leave everyone outside?’ he asked. ‘No offence, but this isn’t much of a party.’
‘Offence taken,’ Ashley said with a sniff. ‘We’re not good enough for you, Powell?’
His eyes skirted over me to find her, his smile wavering just for a second.
‘Better than I deserve.’
‘I’ll go open the door,’ I offered, flipping down the shutters. The lighting reset itself to create the perfect cosy ambiance and Lydia’s party playlist began to hum through hidden speakers. ‘Is everyone ready?’
Jackson was the one to answer.
‘As we’ll ever be.’
He rested his elbow on his twin sister’s shoulder, their similarities and differences so apparent when they stood side by side. Lydia’s curls were fluffier, coaxed into a perfect halo and tinted honey blonde on the ends while Jackson’s held a little tighter, shaved close on the sides still lighter on the ends, liftedby the sun instead of a TikTok hair tutorial. Their wide eyes and full lips had been completely copy-pasted onto each other’s features, but the broader planes of Jackson’s face gave them more room to settle into his conventional handsomeness. However, Lydia’s beauty, especially tonight, was startling. She was already an unbelievable person and she was going to be an incredible witch. I was so proud to call her my friend.
The first trickle of guests brave enough to mount the steps of Bell House were received by an unnerving combination of Ashley’s threatening scowl and the twins’ effusive hugs. Virginia, like all good parental figures, had sentenced herself to her room downstairs, closed every possible door and informed me, Ashley, Lydia and Jackson she did not want to hear, see or even imagine what might be happening upstairs. As strategies for surviving a teenage party at her age went, it seemed like a good one to me.
The music was so loud and the bass thudded so hard, I could feel it trying to push my heart out of its usual rhythm. The moment Lydia’s back was turned, holding court, I slipped out of the ballroom, into the kitchen and out the back door. No one followed. They couldn’t, even if they wanted to. The kitchen was spelled to discourage any guests from poking around. The same went for the staircase, the library and pretty much any room that wasn’t the ballroom or the powder room, just in case anyone’s curiosity got the better of them and they decided to take themselves on a tour of Bell House.
I’d changed my clothes, or at least my shirt, exchanging the party-prep-stained T-shirt for a Lydia-approved tank. The warm night air felt good on my bare arms. The back garden was completely silent and still, and so, restless as I was, I took my patrol around to the front. It was the first time I’d found myself without anything to do in days, weeks maybe, and itwas an uncomfortable sensation. The craft room was very much off limits while the house was so full and this definitely wasn’t the time to practise my magic. Carpeting the party with wildflowers might not be so bad, but whisking one hundred teenagers away to the eighteenth century seemed like a bad idea.
The magnolia tree stood proud, the tallest branches tickling my bedroom windows, the fist-sized flowers spilling over with the pretty scent of the south.
‘How you be, little witch?’
A voice as sweet as honey sailed through the night. Right outside the gate stood a beautiful woman with long braids wrapped up in a patterned headscarf, the sunset sky warming up her already deep brown skin. When she saw me jump, a soft chuckle escaped her plum-painted lips.
‘Calm, be calm, you’ll find no danger in me,’ she said, leaning over the gate to look me over. ‘I heard about you. Had to come and see for myself.’
‘You’ve heard about me?’ I replied, walking over to meet her. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong house.’
‘I don’t think so. Pleased to meet you, Emma Catherine Bell.’
There was no danger in this woman, not a speck. Close enough to see the spark of her eyes, bright and shiny copper like new pennies, I felt a sense of calm all around her. There was something safe in her that I hadn’t known in the longest time.
‘I’m Sistah Mariama,’ she said, extending a hand my way, warm and kind and strong. ‘We’ve been knowing about you, child. For a long time now.’
‘Are you a witch?’ I asked.
She cawed at that. ‘Don’t make me come in there and wash your mouth out with soap and water. I’m no witch. My people are Gullah Geechee. You know what that means?’
