Regine Phillipe entered my life at the exact time as my visions began. Her first entry into the classroom, arriving far ahead of time before the others trooped in, sitting alone in a corner always reading a book but asking a multitude of bright questions in an accent that gradually turned into a beautiful blend of French and British. I not only noticed her dark brown silky hair and upright medium frame, which one could have easily overlooked but for the curious gleam in her light brown eyes and her ability to peek straight into the darkest corners of your heart. That and her smile which lit up her entire personality like a Christmas tree. I knew at once that she was special.We were a mixed bunch of interesting students, from different parts of the world, balancing student life with non-academic work for pocket money. But for the most part, doing our best to hone our craft, at every opportunity. Regine did part-time work in the Bodleian Shop and Frank did some evening hours in the Store at Westgate. I took turns between the Bookstore and the Museum. Our times overlapped and some activities drew us together and those were times that either helped us bond or un-bond.I clearly remember that one September morning. The wind was sharp and biting, tugging the leaves from the trees. We had a free class and preferring to stay indoors, I decided to visit my favourite “History of Science Museum” on Broad Street, next to the Sheldonian Theatre. (I liked to study in short bursts, for better retention and liked to use my free time well too). From the second floor to the basement, the space was dedicated to “Natural Philosophy’, now called Science. It was considered a meeting point for people, science, art and belief and it was the perfect place for me to be.I was busy pouring over the fine print of Queen Elizabeth I’s Astrolabe when a finger tapped on my shoulder.“I could have never imagined you to be spending your leisure time here,” her voice whispered over my shoulder.“Oh, hello Regine!” I greeted. “The History of Science Museum is my favourite spot in town.”“That definitely makes one thing in common between us, our interest in the occult and the mysterious.” She smiled. “This is where Science, Superstition, Mystery and Art come together in the finest and most researched manner.”“And Fantasy too,” I agreed. “Come take a look at what this says…Did Good Queen Bess turn this astrolabe to see into her future? What do you think?”“Why not? The royal class did rely a lot on astrology, I believe. The sun and stars have guided generations for centuries. Why would the royalty be excluded from such beliefs? Look at this marble copy of John Dee’s Holy Table from 1582. He was a mathematician, astrologer and adviser to Queen Elizabeth I. Apparently, he explored the universe by talking to the angels! Do you think that is true?”“It could be. Personally, I believe anything is possible.”“That is what I like about this Museum – the blend of science with the mystical and supernatural.” Regine sighed, a content smile on her perfect face.I think that was the bonding moment for us. The moment where friendship gels into something more sublime – beautiful and abnormally uplifting. I glanced at her to gauge her reaction but she was staring at the Holy Table.Suddenly she turned and a wicked gleam shone in her brown eyes.“Do you know what is more mysterious and wondrous and even horrifying?”“What?” I was a bit confused by her change of mood.“The Witch in the Bottle,” she said in a low voice.“Haven't heard about it.”“Oh, then you have to see it. It’s tiny and almost lost between other artefacts, but you need to see it. Come along…”“But…” I protested weakly, partly dismayed that I was being coerced into quitting my examination of the artefacts in the science museum, partly delighted that she sought my company.“No buts…you have to see it because you are going to help me bring it out.”“Bring it out from where?” For a moment I thought I had heard wrong.“From under lock and key, in the showcase in the Pitt Rivers Museum.”Her eyes sparkled with an excitement I had never seen before. Sudden alarm bells rang in my head. She didn’t mean it, did she?She wheeled around and hastened out of the building and down the street. I followed her meekly, the wind slapping against my face. We crossed Broad Street, the Bridge of Sighs and Hollywell Street and headed towards the Pitts River Museum. I had been there, of course, several times but somehow hadn’t taken too much of a fancy to the anthropology, ethnography and archaeology Museum.Inside the building, she paused for a moment, staring across the huge, two-storied hall, jam-packed with glass caskets, cupboards and table tops.“How gorgeous is this? A marvellous and fascinating collection of the world’s ancient secrets – all under one massive roof. And that there in the corner. Inside a desk is the magic flask. Come along.” She indicated the extreme right half of the hall with her hand.I was surprised at how well-versed she seemed with the Museum. Had she been visiting this particular Museum often with a secret wish and a plan? My curiosity and bewilderment grew by moments. This was a different Regine from the one I knew – the calm, collected and often gentle Regine. This side of hers was like the rise of a sleeping lioness, now in action.She made her way between the crowded showcases and paused at a glass top and pointed inside.“See that? The Witch in the Bottle.” She sounded breathless.I peered over the dim light reflecting on the odd contents of the desk and spotted an oval-shaped silver glass flask, standing upright under the glass. The cork was tightly screwed on the top. A small note written in a neat handwriting read –Europe, England, Sussex, Hove – Silvered and stoppered bottle said to contain a witch, obtained about 1915, from an old lady living in the village near Hove, Sussex. She remarked, “…and they do say there be a witch in it and if you let un out there it be a peck o’ trouble.”“This is a special magical flask. It was found by an old lady in 1915! No one has ever opened it – can you imagine that? Because who knows what will happen if someone does.” Her voice turned into a whisper.“I guess no one ever will and no one will ever know either,” I concluded, my voice lowering spontaneously. I had no clue why we were whispering.She turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure of that?”I faltered. The wicked gleam was back in her brown eyes.She leaned closer to me. “Can you keep a secret, Paul? I plan to bring that bottle out. Then I shall open it and wait to see what happens.”“No, you don’t mean that. You can’t do anything so absurd,” I scoffed.“Of course I can! All I need is one evening. Would you like to help me?” She turned to stare at me gravely.She was assessing me with that piercing gaze of hers. I felt like I was being examined under a stunning beam of light.“Regine, this is ridiculous. We don’t want to fool around with magical stuff. And anyway, this bottle is under lock and key.”“Oui, bien sure. But are you not curious? What would happen if the bottle is opened? Would there be a catastrophe? Would a witch really emerge and slap curses on all of us? Or would she be relieved to be released and thank and bless us forever? Imagine being trapped in this bottle for years. I think I would like to release her. With or without your help,” she declared with a casual shrug.“And how do you plan to achieve this impossible task?”“Well, I have my ways.” She smiled that enigmatic smile that infuriated me at times.I didn’t want to be a part of her plan, but I didn’t want her to try something fatal either. Secrecymade me nervous. Especially if it included meddling with occult powers.“Listen Regine, please don’t do anything foolhardy,” I urged.“Right! Nothing foolhardy,” she agreed, but I knew she didn’t mean it.A sudden fear crept into my heart. Simple inadvertent acts could affect multiple lives. But the ripple effect of complex deliberate manipulations can destroy generations. It was all a matter of choice, and I feared that Regine was close to losing her ability to make the right one.For the next few days, she kept her distance from me. In class, she concentrated on reading and writing and left the premises early. We barely got a chance to talk. But no matter what, we now had an odd connection. If our paths at all crossed, she would wink and smile, but she would flee before I could question her further. And my heart would sink. She hadn’t given up on her plan. Every day, I waited in dread, for something alarming to reach my ears. But the days passed smoothly, unhindered by any untoward incidents. I gradually allowed myself to relax. The pressure of anticipation reduced and I could focus on my writing again.It was two weeks later, when I was at Blackwell Bookstore buying a pen, that Frank hastened towards me.“Guess what’s happened! An important artefact from the Pitts River Museum has gone missing. No sign of a break-in or anything of that sort. A magic flask has mysteriously disappeared from the cupboard,” he reported.“What?” I was gobsmacked. So, Regine had accomplished her mission.“I just heard about it but everyone in the university is talking about the theft.”“If it is a theft, that is,” I cut in.“What else could it be?” He sounded surprised.“It was a magic bottle. Perhaps it simply disappeared?” I hedged, trying to collect my thoughts.Frank raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe that, do you?”“I have always believed in magic and fantasy. Anything is possible in this world. Especially in the head of a writer,” I replied, sedately.“Right, in the head of a writer.” Frank nodded, grimacing.“Where is Regine?”“In the Radcliffe, working on an assignment. I already shared the news with her.”My curiosity spiked. “What did she say?”“Nothing. She seemed least interested.” Frank shrugged.Oh, how wrong he was! She was most interested of course, more interested than he or for that matter, anyone would ever know. How could he not see through her act? How could he not guess that she was perhaps the mastermind behind the case of the missing magical flask? Poor Frank – he had much to learn and loads of work to do in the area of relationships.Excerpted with permission from The Grand Oxford Mystery, Manjiri Prabhu, Comm Dot Media Publishing.