Free Beswitched by Kate Saunders

Flora. Her eyes were small and pale, and as shrewd as the bright little eyes of Fritz the monkey in the other Flora’s memories.
    “I believe her,” she said. “I can’t put my finger on it. There’s something about her that’s just—different.”
    “What about that rubbish about a Second World War?”
    “Oh yes,” Pogo said, turning to Flora. “Now you can tell us about this war.”
    “She made it up,” snapped Pete.
    “I did not!” snapped Flora.
    “Who’s the enemy going to be?” Pogo asked.
    “Perhaps it’s invaders from another planet!” sneered Pete.
    Flora muttered, “Don’t be so stupid—it’s the Germans.”
    “Is that the best you can do? Why on earth would we fight the Germans again?”
    “The Germans have only just got back on their feet after the Great War,” Pogo said. “The last thing their chancellor wants is another one.” She frowned. “Still, I’ll write to mybrother, Neville, and see what he thinks. He’s at Cambridge, and he’s frightfully interested in politics.”
    “Don’t tell me you believe her!” shouted Pete.
    “Well, if I believe she’s from the future,” Pogo said reasonably, “I have to believe she’s telling the truth about the war. And I do believe it. You can see she’s not the sort to make up something like this. We should be taking advantage of the situation.”
    “How? What advantage?”
    Pogo turned back to Flora. “I’m not exactly sure, but we should be finding out everything we can about what’s going to happen to us all.”
    Flora sighed. Pogo’s curiosity was almost as awkward as Pete’s refusal to believe her. “I’ll do my best, but as I keep telling you, my memories are all over the place. I know the Second World War started—starts—in 1939, and I’m pretty sure Britain won, but that’s about it. And I haven’t a clue what’s going to happen to you lot.”
    Pete looked at her coldly. “Well, you’re a fat lot of use. There’d be some point to you if you knew the names of all the horses that are going to win the Derby, so we could bet all our pocket money and get rich. But all you do is drivel on about things that won’t be invented till we’re old—what’s the point of that?”
    “The thing is,” Dulcie said, “we sort of invited Flora, didn’t we? And when you’ve invited someone, you can’t just ignore them, can you? That would be frightfully rude.”
    Flora suddenly remembered how she had begged Ella tocome to Italy last summer. When they were there, she had been irritated because Ella seemed to expect so much attention.
    I was rather lazy about looking after her
, she thought, with a stab of guilt.
I can’t blame it all on Granny
.
    Pete sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Have it your own way.” She shut the flowered curtains around her bed. Her sulk hung over the cubicle like a black cloud.
    Dulcie touched Flora’s arm. “Give me your stocking and I’ll darn it. Sewing’s the only subject I’m good at.”
    “And we’ll have another look at the spellbook.” Pogo went to her secret hiding place, and used her ruler to lever up the loose floorboard. She took the book out of the hiding place and brought it over to Flora.
    The book didn’t feel magical. It felt dirty and a little damp, and when you turned the pages there was a faint whiff of old trainers. Flora looked through it with a sinking heart. What they needed was a list of spells, like recipes, and this was mostly—as far as Flora could make out from the strange print—stuff about plowing and weather, and curing weird diseases in pigs. The famous chapter about “summonings” contained only the rhyme that had summoned Flora, and nothing at all about sending her home.
    “Here.” Pogo held out a crumpled paper bag. “Have a pear drop, and don’t worry about Pete. She’ll come round eventually.”
    The atmosphere in the bedroom was subdued this evening. Flora sucked a sweet that tasted of nail polishremover, and tilted the old book