She dodged my questions earlier, about halflings and whether parallel universes are dangerous. Why would both Dad and Vince say she did something awful to Mum if there was no truth to it? I recall Dad describing Sylvie as slippery, and I think now I understand what he meant. But slippery or not, Sylvie is my only way of learning magic, and the only one who can help me rescue Mum.

When I reach the top – the place Mum and I call Flat Rock – Sylvie is on the far side of the clearing, staring at the ground. This great flat slab of rock is as big as our show ring and surrounded on all sides by tall, smooth-trunked trees. Mum comes here every few days when we’re in Millimba.

All magicians must find themselves a patch of nature every day, to soak up energy. A park will do, if that’s all there is, or a scrap of bush. Once, on a rare trip to Sydney, Mum ended up on a patch of grass beside a busy road, breathing exhaust fumes.

Sylvie beckons me over. ‘When you can truly hear nature, you will fill with energy. Then I’ll teach you to direct that energy to spells. Certain places will offer you more energy than others. Mountain peaks, the mouth of a river, somewhere like this with a big rock. And old trees – not young ones. Bushes and young trees don’t have as much energy and they also need it to grow. So always look for old trees.’ She lowers herself as a whip bird flings out its call nearby. ‘Come. Sit.’

The rock is cool and gritty under me, and all around, the bush rustles and crackles.

‘Your mind might turn nature’s energy into words,’ says Sylvie. ‘Or maybe into a picture, or you might feel something in your body. Just let your mind be like a calm pool of water.’

I watch as she lays her hands on the rock. All those rings of hers still make me squirm. ‘Now,’ she says. ‘Say out loud: I am listening.’

I rest my hands on the rock and whisper, ‘I am listening, Rock. I really am.’ I’m worried that if I fail this test too, Sylvie will give up teaching me.

There’s an uncomfortable pebble or something under my bottom and a tickle on the side of my nose. I ignore them and try to bring to mind that calm pool of water. I hear rustling close at hand and suspect that if I open my eyes I’ll see a little gathering of furry friends.

Now something’s nudging the palms of my hands. I lift them up in case there’s an ant or something under there, but no, it’s just rock. I place my hands back down, and shut my eyes again. The sensation’s much stronger now; it’s like a hard stream of water from a hose.