The Devil's Paintbox. Robin Jarvis

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      His friend shook her head. ‘I’ve never made one holding a turnip lantern,’ she said firmly.

      ‘Could you make me one?’ Cherry asked. ‘Just the same as that? Exactly the same, in every detail?’

      ‘You can have this if you want. I’ve got lots at home.’

      ‘No, you have to keep that, it’s been waitin’ for you a long time. I just want a copy.’

      Lil nodded vaguely. She was more concerned about what all this meant.

      ‘What if,’ she began. ‘What if this is a warning? Do I get stuck there, back in the past? I might never be able to get come back here – to now. What happens to me? I might die decades before I’m even born.’

      ‘Hey,’ Cherry said sharply. ‘Quit the hysteria. I told you being a witch came with a hat full of curve balls. So you go back in time, big deal; some witches are always skippin’ in and out of the centuries, that’s their job. It’s gonna happen to you and there’s nothing you can do to change that; it’s part of established history now so get over it. Whatever you do has already been done. Start thinkin’ too hard about this stuff and it’ll melt your mind. You know what, I’ve had a bellyful of kooky dramatics for one morning. This old broad needs to clear this mess up and groove out to some Bolan and Bowie.’

      ‘You want us to go?’ Lil asked, taken aback by the sudden switch of mood. ‘But I need to talk about this!’

      ‘Later maybe,’ Cherry said, and Lil was astonished at the coldness in her voice.

      ‘Did I say something wrong?’ she asked. ‘If I did, I’m sorry. But this has knocked me sideways. I’m scared.’

      ‘Welcome to my world,’ was the terse answer. ‘Goes with the territory. Now, you kids, scram and take Captain Clankaroo with you.’

      ‘All right,’ the girl muttered, feeling hurt. ‘Verne, come back to ours – and you too, Mr Potts.’

      ‘Just Potts,’ the automaton reminded her as they rose and left the parlour.

      Cherry saw them to the front door, arms folded. ‘I’d leave off usin’ them paints,’ she cautioned sternly. ‘They’ll be packed with toxic gunk. The white’s gonna be chock-a-block with lead for a start, and some of the others might contain arsenic.’

      ‘I’ll be careful,’ Lil assured her, hugging the box tightly as she stepped outside.

      ‘Thank you for a most interesting time,’ Jack Potts said politely, his voice muffled by the parka he had zipped up to conceal his face once more.

      Cherry ignored him.

      ‘And don’t you go pressin’ no more buttons on that bauble of yours,’ she told Verne.

      Verne scowled in reply. It was unsettling – she had practically swept them out of the cottage. Walking away in thoughtful silence, he pushed Mrs Gregson’s wedding ring and pension money through her letter box as they passed.

      ‘Hey!’ Cherry called after them. ‘Lil, that badge – don’t forget. I want it exactly the same.’ And she slammed the door.

      ‘Does anyone have a clue what just happened?’ Lil asked. ‘Why’d she go all weird?’

      ‘She’s always been weird,’ Verne said.

      ‘One cannot predict a witch’s humour,’ Jack Potts said. ‘They are as sleeping tigers.’

      ‘Nah,’ Verne disagreed. ‘That’s just girls.’ And he yelped when Lil punched him on the arm.

      Inside the cottage, Cherry Cerise slid down against the front door. The colour of the hallway drained to an arctic blue.

      ‘Curse you, Cherry,’ she uttered in a cracked and anguished voice. ‘You shoulda seen this comin’. That’s what you’re here for! This could be the biggest disaster this town has ever faced.’

      And she buried her face in her hands.