The house was like nothing she’d seen before. It smelled of biscuits and old tea; and looked like a half-buried cottage with just the top floor sticking out. This, it turned out, was an accurate description.
She’d been dropped at the end of the lane by a taciturn bus driver, who simply nodded at the lane when she asked for directions.
After walking for a mile, the lane ended, and the bramble shrouded garden began. At first her aunt’s cottage wasn’t visible, just a curl of wood-smoke from a chimney poking above the treetops. She headed towards it and arrived at the two up, three down-down-down to find her aunt leaning out of a window, shaking a large quilt covered in esoteric patterns.
“Are you my Aunt Carys?”
“I don’t know,” the woman answered. “Are you my sister’s daughter?”
“Well, if your sister is my mum, then the answer is that I am.”
“Definitely Celia’s daughter. Come in child, it’s about to rain.”
Glancing around, she failed to see any clouds or a door, but did find steps leading to an open window and, shrugging, she tugged her suitcase up and through the window. Her aunt was on the other side, standing at the top of stairs. She was a tall woman, with a mane of white curly hair, angular features, and ruddy skin that spoke of long outdoor hours.
“Come along, there isn’t much time,” her aunt urged. “Drop your bag in your room and meet me in the kitchen.”
As she spoke, the heavens opened, and rain streaked the dusty panes of the window Mira just closed behind her.
“It’s the one on your left,” Carys shouted. “Hurry, we’re about to displace.”
Mira wondered what displacing was but sensed the urgency of her voice brooked no argument, so she slid her bag through the door, scampered down the stairs, and through the wooden plank door marked “Kitchen” in large brass letters. Her aunt was sitting in what looked like a racing car seat, alongside which was another.
“Belt up,” she said, pointing at a leather strap. Mira complied, and no sooner had she done so than the house lurched, and bright light shone through the dirt encrusted windows. She realised; they were no longer half-buried. Instead, the vista was of a savannah, over which the setting sun shone brightly, revealing the shapes of a dozen or more women dressed in brightly coloured clothing.
“How?” Mira started.
“Thaumaturgy,” her aunt said, “your mother will not have told you this, but it’s time to induct you into the Sisterhood.”
Carys waved a hand at the group of women.
“This is the dawn of time, and these are your ancestors. More will arrive overnight and tomorrow we reveal the secret of life on Earth, one we swore to protect. They walked through the open front door and greeted the smiling women surrounding Mira. From that day on, her life was never the same. It was magic.
