I digress, a lot. Bear with me. Mila was dressed stereotypically with a bunch of iridescent chunky chains and baggy gypsy clothes. Her orange hair was hanging loosely, all over the place. She was attending to a young girl who had asked about casting a love spell on a boy she liked.

Mila is a great actress. She handed the girl a bright red stone. It looked like plain glass to me but, by the figurative heart-shaped pupils in the girl’s eyes, it looked like she saw a lifeline.

“Boil and bubble this stone until all the red has leaked into the water,” Mila instructed. “Inhale the steam all the while.” Mila handed the girl a spray bottle. “Once the water has cooled, put it into this bottle. Then spray it on yourself while chanting the boy’s name.”

The girl bought both the items and ran out of there, most probably to do the phony enchantment right away. I knew it was bogus because one of the restrictions of magic is that you can’t make anyone fall in love with you.

Mila turned to me. “Hello, my dear,” she smiled. “What can I do for you today?”

I greeted her cheerily and gave her the list my mum had written out.

“Ahh,” she whispered, a knowing look on her face. “Attempting a little taboo magic for a witch of your age, I see.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “Kaydon and I have a Curse exam coming up and we’re just practising for it. Nothing illegal or anything.”

Mila told me she’d be right back with my ‘supplies’. She even used the air quotes. “And please look after the shop while I’m in the back, dear.”

I often worked there after school for some extra pocket money, so I knew how to handle customers without her. On her worst days, Mila was paranoid but she usually trusted me with her shop – mostly because there was nothing of value, nothing worth stealing up front.

These were all fake props. Counterfeit tarot cards and magic eight balls. It was funny if you really thought about it. A real Wicca shop disguised as a fake Wicca shop. No-one would ever know.

One of the incense sticks burned out. I lit another pine scented cone, accompanying it with a little ignition incantation, just as the bells on the door rang. I spun around to face the newcomer. It was a girl a little younger than me, with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. She was pretty in a ‘nothing’s out of place’ kind of way.

“Hey,” I said.

“How did you do that?” she asked, eyeing me with suspicion. Something about her seemed familiar. Maybe I’d seen her around school?

“Do what?” I said, and innocently smiled, as if I didn’t know what she was talking about.

“You lit that incense stick with your fingers. I saw you do it, through the window glass.”

Uh-oh.

***

Tell us: Why might witches, even good witches, need to keep their identity secret?