In fifteen minutes, Efa teaches me the cloak of silence spell, the cloak of darkness spell and the door-opening spell, and writes them down. ‘The cloak of darkness spell won’t work in bright light. You’ll look like a black blob. You can only use it in dim light.’

‘Okay.’ My head is whirling with all the hard-to-pronounce Welsh words.

‘And here’s the flying spell too, in case you need it later.’ She hands me the piece of paper and looks into my eyes. ‘Your mam is definitely in there. Just use the spells I’ve given you. Find her without anyone spotting you, then she can get you out of there.’ She steps forward and gives me a quick hug. ‘Don’t mention our names if you are caught, but you know where to find us if you need us. Go well. Rhwydd hynt i ti.’ She wraps her face with the scarf and her voice is muffled. ‘Will you come back some time? I could teach you more magic, and about plants and herbal medicine. It would be fun to teach such a fast learner.’

I’m surprised – but pleased – that she wants to see me again. ‘Yes! And could you come to visit me?’

‘I could! I’d like to see the circus.’ I can hear her smile. ‘So long as I leave from exactly the same place where you landed and use a special spell to trace your path back. My mam hasn’t ever wanted me to go to parallel universes but I’m old enough to make up my own mind.’

I tell her the exact place I landed, along with dad’s phone number – which he drilled into me when I was little, in case I ever got lost – and Efa writes it all down. ‘Thank you so much,’ I say. ‘For everything.’

‘It’s okay!’ she says brightly. ‘We’re family. And magicians must stick together. Good luck, Tulsi.’

Outside, she says the flying spell and lifts off. I watch her go, a dark shape streaming low over the fields, and for a second, I want to call her back. But I swallow down the words and turn to face the dark house, alone.

CHAPTER 24

This house is surely big enough for several families. It’s three storeys high with at least five chimneys that I can see.

I find a side door and pull out Efa’s sheet of spells. I’m about to read out the door-opening spell when Pete’s torch sputters and dies. I shake it, but nothing. The words of the spells I learnt with Efa not five minutes ago are all jumbled in my head.

I do remember the Welsh word for break, though, because one day Sylvie had me break a twig twenty times. ‘You never know when this spell may come in handy,’ she said. She was so right.

‘Swyn, torra!’ I say, pointing at the door handle.