‘Come on, Poppets, you know I can’t do any magic while I’m working. Even if I had the time, what if someone were to see me?’ Frances asked, dusting the windowsill where Poppets was perched on the outside.
It was nearly five and preparations for dinner were being made. Cook would be calling her soon to help prepare the sweet dish, and then the table had to be laid.
‘This is more important,’ Poppets insisted. ‘I’ve got every Wytch’s familiar counting on me to convince you. I already had to argue to make them believe you’re strong enough to do it.’
‘Well, that’s your problem, not mine,’ Frances said harshly and turned away to carry on with her other chores.
There was a creaking of hinges and a soft thud as four paws landed on the ground. Frances sighed. ‘What have I told you about coming
