Page 128 of Hexed Up

My little bundle of chaos and mayhem is beyond excited at the prospect of being let loose in the authorities’ laboratories. There’s already been talk of experimenting with the highly explosive substance of Dragon’s Breath and seeing if Rainbow Dust really will make your pubes multicoloured if you ingest it. She and Damien have been discussing it regularly. Each time I’m left shaking my head in bewilderment, still finding it hard to believe, even after two years, in the existence of magic, witches, demons, vampires, and even – so they tell me, although I’m still not sure if they’re pulling my leg or not – dragons.

Sometimes I wake in the morning wondering if it’s all a dream. Then I peer down and find the woman of my actual dreams curled up beside me in bed and realise it is mostdefinitely real. The real thing. The real deal. There’s nothing fake about it.

I love Molly Ecclestone just as much now as I did that first day I set eyes on her. She’d come crashing out of her flat, her gremlin of a dog yapping around my ankles, and beamed up at me with that bright, enchanting smile of hers. I mean, how didn’t I see it from the beginning? The girl was always magical.

And, actually, I don’t love herjustas much as I did then. I love her a whole lot more, because every day I discover something new about the woman.

The fact she can’t enter a shower cubicle without singing her head off. The fact she chews through pencils at a rate of knots while she’s studying. And the way she crinkles up her nose and laughs whenever I’m fortunate enough to say something she finds funny. She’s frankly adorable.

“Come on,” she says, wriggling free of my embrace and grabbing her purse, shaking it at me furiously.

I take her hand in mine and pull her through the doorway of her flat, yelling instructions at McGruff to behave while we’re gone.

I practically live in her flat now. I’ve always preferred it to mine. It’s more homely. Or maybe it’s just the presence of the woman who owns it. I’ve moved most of my stuff across, although I have insisted on a few upgrades, fixing the central heating system and installing air conditioning.

We trot down the stairs of Heatherley Court, into the underground parking lot and into my Ferrari, Molly sighing as she sinks into the soft leather seat beside me.

As well as studying for her witching diploma, Molly’s also been studying for her transporting test. Unfortunately, she’s proved less successful at this, already failing it three more times – although I suspect that’s more to do with how much she enjoys travelling in this car and less to do with her actual capabilities.

And it’s not just travelling she’s enjoyed in this car. The woman is wild, untamable, and finds it just as hard to keep her hands off me as I do keeping my hands off her.

To my surprise, the Witching Academy is located just off Oxford Street, nestled between tourist shops and department stores. How no one has noticed the strange paranormal beings flitting in and out of this huge building is another mystery to me. I guess it must be magic of some sort.

As we drive through the heavy London traffic in search of a parking spot, I turn to the woman beside me and say, “By the way, Mom and Alan wish you good luck. They sent me a message this morning.”

“I know,” she says, grinning. “They sent me one too. And they’ve invited us for lunch on Saturday to celebrate my achievements.” She grins even wider.

A couple of years ago, I’d have groaned and moaned at the prospect of visiting my parents, particularly my stepdad. But that’s another thing that’s changed. Another of Molly’s influences. Maybe she’s softened my heart or softened his, or maybe she’s allowed me to see things differently. While our relationship will never be the closest, it’s definitely better than it’s ever been. For starters, I can stand to be in the man’s company, especially as he seems as taken with my girlfriend as I am.

After circling the academy at least five times, I manage to find a spot to squeeze into, and then we’re hurrying along the streets towards the academy, Molly hanging on to her cap, her gown streaming behind her, and her boots thudding on the side-walk.

We swing through the heavy doors and into the foyer, and then it’s time for us to part. I’ll be joining her family in the audience. Molly will be heading up on stage with all the other Witching Academy graduates.

Before she goes, though, I can’t help grabbing her hand once more and tugging her towards me.

“I have a confession to make, Molly,” I say.

She wraps her arms around my neck, oblivious to all the people milling around us – witches, vampires, shifters, and… is that a troll?

“Is this really the time for confessions?” she asks me.

“You’ve got another ten minutes, Molly. It’s fine. Relax.”

“Okay,” she says, meeting my eyes. “What’s the confession?”

“I’m selling the Ferraris.”

“What?”

“I need the money.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me. You have a secret gambling addiction. I knew you were too perfect to be true.”

She’s teasing me, a smile hovering on her lips, her green eyes twinkling.

I shake my head. “I’m serious, Molly.”

“Youneed the money?” She rolls her eyes. She knows how much money is in my bank account.