Dad stares back at her. ‘Fine,’ he says. He wrestles my mattress through the doorway, but it springs open, and my sheets and pillow spill onto the ground. He mutters under his breath and gathers it all up.

Sylvie points to the door and says a couple of words in Welsh. The door swings towards us, but doesn’t click shut. ‘Fiddlesticks!’ she says, and pulls it closed. Mum never fails at house magic. What if Sylvie can’t remember enough magic to teach me?

She roughly tips the cutlery from its drawer and lifts out a false bottom, revealing a secret compartment. ‘Pah! Empty,’ she says. Then she drags all of Mum and Dad’s books from the shelf beside their bed and pries open a small, hidden door. In less than a minute she’s shown me two hidey-holes and left the place looking as if burglars have been through. ‘Where’s your mother’s Book?’ she asks.

‘Ummm …’ I say. Mum always told me that no-one should look at your Book, not even another magician.

‘So you know where it is but you won’t tell me? I’m a bit confused.’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘Are you the actual magician here, or am I?’

My cheeks burn. ‘You are.’

‘Correct,’ she says. ‘And if you want to learn how to get your mother back, we need her Book.’ It’s as if she’s biting off each word. ‘Because mine seems to have gone missing …’

I slide Mum’s dark blue, leather-bound Book from its shelf above the fridge. As I pass it to Sylvie, I feel in its weight all of Mum’s magic spells.

Sylvie opens it at the table, the thick paper crackling, and I shuffle onto the seat beside her. I glimpse mysterious symbols and words in English and what must be Welsh. My whole body is buzzing with anticipation. Finally, finally, the day has come.

Sylvie turns to a page near the end of the Book and the air above the paper shimmers and sparks. ‘Look away, please,’ she says. ‘You’re not allowed to see this.’

And you are? I think, but I turn my head.

After a minute, she makes a satisfied sound and closes the Book. She reaches for my hand. ‘You’ll have to work hard and fast. Are you up for that?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ My hand is trapped in hers, and I have that same queasy, hollow feeling I first felt in her motel room – which was the moment she changed her mind about teaching me. What was it, exactly, that made her decide to come?

‘Before an apprentice magician can take on the weight and responsibility of magic, there are tests they must pass. And I’m certain no teacher has ever crammed all the tests into four weeks.’ She stands. ‘But if anyone can do it, it’s me.’

CHAPTER 9