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thanks,” said Steve. “I
promised I’d help dad in the shop. The Christmas stuff will be in soon and we
need to make room.”
    “We’ve just come to make a
potion.”
    “Splendid. Your grandmother’s
in the kitchen, I know she’d love to help with that.”
    Of course, Grandma Johnson
was thrilled, and soon had the kitchen counters festooned with bowls, spoons,
whisks and a pestle and mortar.
    “Um…Actually, I think the
food processor might work best,” said Belladonna.
    “But where’s the fun in that?
Come on now, let’s get mixing!”
    Belladonna got the chamomile
and dried thyme out of the cupboard and added it to everything else, while
Steve poured some of the apple juice over the whole lot until they had a kind
of muddy liquid.
    “Right,” said Grandma
Johnson. “That smells suitably vile. I gather this is something to do with the
bog girl you met yesterday?”
    “Yes,” said Belladonna. “Her
uncle said the Spirits of the Black Water don’t really need a blood binding. He
said this might work instead.”
    “The operative word being
‘might,’” said Steve. “I’ve never met such a miserable bloke in all my life.”
    “Well, he was needlessly
sacrificed in a swamp, Stephen,” said Grandma Johnson. “I can see how that
might color your outlook. So what do you have to do with it? Smear it on a tree
or something?”
    “No. I think we need to sort
of pour it around the area where they are going to be bound.”
    “Ah, I see. A little more
apple juice, I think, then, Steve.”
    Steve poured and stirred
while Grandma Johnson searched through the cupboards, eventually producing one
of the plastic bottles that Belladonna’s mum used for drizzling sauces.
    Belladonna poured it in,
screwed on the top and pushed the cap onto the nozzle.
    “Where is it you’re going?”
asked Grandma Johnson, putting the bottle into the fridge.
    “The Roman fort near Hegland
Moss,” said Steve.
    “That’s quite a long way. I’d
drive you, but I’ve got clients all day tomorrow. There’s always a rush at
Halloween. We’d better ask your dad.”
    They trooped into the living
room and explained the problem. Mr. Johnson turned the sound down on the
television, thought for a moment and then started going on about A-roads and
turning at lights.
    “No, no,” said Grandma
Johnson, a little impatiently. “They’re thirteen. Bus routes. They need bus
routes.”
    “Oh, right. Um…are you sure
this is entirely safe? What if it goes wrong and you both die? I’ll never hear
the end of it from your mum, I can tell you!”
    “Of course it’s safe,” lied
Steve. “I mean, they’re already bound, aren’t they? We’re just going to sort of
double-bind them so that Branwyn can leave and go to the Other Side.”
    “She’s been sitting there
soaking wet for nearly two thousand years, dad,” said Belladonna, hoping that
he wasn’t going to have one of those “responsible parent” moments.
    “That is pretty unpleasant, I
must admit,” he said, thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what, so long as you both go
first thing and promise to get back before dark, I just won’t mention it to
your mum. Deal?”
    “Deal,” said Steve and
Belladonna in unison.
    “Thanks, dad.”
    “Okay, so…buses…I’d say the
25 to Staple Street, then the 61. That’ll drop you in Grafton village, then
it’s just a short walk. Daylight, though, right? No lingering!”
    “Promise!”
    Belladonna walked Steve out
to the door.
    “Your dad is ace. Mine would
never let me do anything like this, particularly since mum left. I never tell
him anything I’m doing.”
    “Dad and Grandma Johnson are
completely irresponsible,” explained Belladonna, smiling. “Mum’s going to kill
him when she finds out.”
    “He’s already dead.”
    “You don’t know mum,” said
Belladonna, grinning.
    She watched Steve walk down
the path and away down the street. It was strange to think that she was going
to spend her evening in front of the