Other people start casting spells at me. From the audience. I can’t feel them. I fly higher.

“You won’t stop us!” Smith yells. He turns away from me and points his wand at the mages onstage with him. “Let it all—”

“What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!”

AGATHA

The doe is straining. I cast a spell to give her strength.

There’s a loud noise in the distance. An explosion? Niamh and I both look up. We can’t see over the treetops. There’s another loud bang. Is that Watford?

Niamh says nothing. She looks back down at the doe.

So do I.

SIMON

Smith erupts into goopy webbing. It’s like it’s coming out of his pores. His whole body looks a like a haunted house.

Everyone in the room turns to see who cast the spell.

Philippa Stainton is standing in the aisle, pointing Baz’s wand. Jamie Salisbury is standing next to her, looking mortified.

“Pippa…” Smith says, his wand still hanging in the air. “Jamie?”

None of Smith’s followers know how to react. On the one hand, Pippa just cast a nasty spell on Smith. On the other, she just cast a spell.

“Is that truly Pippa?”

“Did Smith cure her?”

“She didn’t even have a tongue!”

“She had a tongue—she sold her voice to a sea witch.”

“How did Smith do it?”

“He’s the real fucking deal, that’s how.”

“No!” Pippa shouts in a gravelly voice, looking around the room. “Listen to me!”

Everyone stops to listen. Including Smith.

She looks him in the eye. “Smith Smith-Richards is a—is a fraud! His spell ruins people’s magic! Ask Jamie and—and Beth!”

“Beth? Where is Beth?”

“Jamie’s right there. We saw him cured.”

“Smith’s first miracle.”

“Beth hasn’t returned any of my calls…”

“Pippa,” Smith says calmly, like he isn’t dripping with cobwebs that prove him a liar. “Why are you so angry? After everything I’ve done for you.”

“You? Y-you—”

“The prophecy says there will be false witnesses sent to tarnish me,” Smith says. “I never thought it would be you.” He turns his wand on her.

Pippa is already casting with Baz’s. “Liar, liar, pa-pants on fire!”

Smith’s white trousers start smoking. Daphne quickly shoots a stream of water out of her wand to put them out.

I’m still treading air above them—my left wing is cut up, so I’m working hard with my right. When Smith points his wand at Pippa, I dive in front of it. “Cat got your tongue!” he hisses.

I’m sure the spell hits me. I don’t feel it. “Enough,” I say, scooping Smith up, my arms under his, and lifting him above the crowd.

“Put me down, you beast!” he yells. His microphone has come unclipped. “Put me down, Simon!”