‘Mum, we talked about this the other day.’ Janet guides Thelma down the hall. ‘Sylvie’s not here. It’s your mind playing tricks.’

‘But her fifteen years are up, Janet,’ says Thelma. ‘She’s back from Finland or Iceland or wherever it was. She got her powers back. And she called me. On my phone. Before I lost it.’ She glances up at Janet. ‘Or did you put my phone away? Anyway, she wants her Book back but I told her I can’t find mine or hers. She’s working at some fair … and she lives with a big pink bird. She’s still pretty grumpy at us for stripping her magic.’ She closes her eyes. ‘Oh, I think I better lie down.’

Janet glowers at us. ‘Time for you two to go.’ She shepherds her mum into a bedroom.

‘She’s working at Pacific Something,’ comes Thelma’s thin voice. ‘Pacific Fair?’

Janet shuts the bedroom door.

Outside, on the verandah, I ask Dad, ‘Is Pacific Fair an actual place?’

‘It’s not far from Millimba,’ he says, ‘and it’s a shopping centre, not an actual fair.’ He starts down the steps, his footsteps heavy. ‘But even if Sylvie’s there – which I doubt – I don’t think she’d be able to help us.’

‘Why not? Thelma says Sylvie has her powers back. I thought she’d lost them forever.’

‘No. They were taken away for fifteen years, to teach her a lesson. And when I do the maths, Thelma’s right, the fifteen years are up.’

He pauses, one hand on the Land Rover door handle. ‘Look, she’d be seriously out of practice and she doesn’t have her Book. Thelma hung onto it and I wouldn’t be surprised if Janet’s thrown it out, along with Thelma’s mobile phone. But most importantly, Sylvie’s not trustworthy, sweetheart. She’s not like Thelma or Lola. She’s a slippery character. There are things about Sylvie that you don’t know.’

‘What things?’

He closes his eyes and gives a tiny shake of his head and I know not to ask again.

‘But she’d be able to tell us a spell to get Mum back or whatever … wouldn’t she?’ I say in a small voice. ‘That’s all we need.’

‘Tuls, nothing is ever simple with Sylvie.’

‘But we have to see if she’s there, Dad. She’s our last hope.’

He looks down at me, and after a few moments says, ‘Yep, you’re right.’ He opens the car door. ‘But it’s best if you don’t get your hopes up.’

CHAPTER 7

After a few hours on the road, Dad and I pull over at a rest stop and sleep. We wake, cramped and stiff, the morning sun blazing in on us, and set off again.

Please be there, Sylvie, I think. I have no idea how we’ll track her down otherwise.