She transferred the syrup to a vial and examined it in delight. The syrup had a scent, faint but unmistakable, and the only word Mika could think of to describe it was harmony. She knew, in that bone-deep way of witches, that if this syrup was added to tea, it would cool tempers and smooth the jagged edges of raw feelings.

It had been an experiment, a tiny burst of inspiration that had sparked inside her head when she’d seen the sea holly. Such a spiky-looking flower shouldn’t have conjured up a vision of peace and harmony and other fuzzy feelings, but Mika had had a hunch and she’d run with it. The already calming crushed pearl and the bottomless well of enchantment in the moonlight had helped, of course.

She sighed happily. In moments like this, she really and truly loved being a witch. She loved losing herself for hours in the hum of magic, the sparkle of gold dust in the air, the soft warmth of witchfire, the ideas and the creativity and the fun. Why would anyone ever want to do anything else?

The only thing that could make it better was not having to do it alone.

Remembering that she was expected at Ian and Ken’s cottage for tea, she packed up her kit, put out the witchfire, and popped down to the kitchen to collect a jar of her tea leaves before going out the front door.

Ken let her into the cottage, looking genuinely pleased to see her. Lucie was already there, tutting over Ian’s chronic aversion to dusting and doing said dusting herself. Ian, meanwhile, was in an armchair knitting what looked like a scarf in an alarming shade of flamingo pink.

“It’s for Ken,” he said brightly to Mika, gesturing with his needles.

Mika glanced at Ken, who could not possibly have looked less like a man willing to wear a colour so bright it was practically neon, and he gave her a slightly helpless shrug in response. “The things we do for the ones we love.”

“Ian, put away the knitting and make Mika a nice cup of tea,” Lucie ordered, now balancing precariously on the arm of a chair so she could dust the lampshade above them.

“Oh, I can do that,” said Mika. “If you point me to the kettle, I’ll make a cup for all of us.”

She held up the jar of tea leaves she’d brought with her. Ian let out a shriek. “Is that magical tea?”

“Sort of,” Mika laughed. “It’s good for achy bones.”

“In that case, I’ll need a whole pot,” said Lucie.

“What do you know about achy bones?” Ian asked Mika, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Bright and youthful as you are?”