‘Seven sevens are forty-nine,’ I say and pop the Jaffa into my mouth. ‘Eight sevens are fifty-six.’

Sylvie’s sitting on a blanket in the shade, smiling innocently up at him.

Vince takes me away to help him stick up posters in the nearby town where the circus is heading next. I put on a smiley face and chat about the nonexistent schoolwork Sylvie’s helping me with, but inside, I am far from smiley. It makes me feel sick lying to Vince.

Finally, I pass the river test where I must resist Sylvie’s energy. I stand in the river and I am a tree, my roots anchored deep in the earth, the water almost seeming to part and flow around me. When Sylvie nods at me and says, ‘Well done,’ I can’t help punching both arms into the air, like an Olympic athlete who’s won a gold medal.

Sylvie takes me on a bushwalk and has me listen to each plant to figure out what their particular healing or transformative power is. ‘Chew a plantain leaf and put the green mush on a sting or itch,’ she says. ‘And use dandelion when you need to be grounded but adaptable.’

We brew a terrible tasting herbal tea that I must drink every morning. It includes leaves from the tulsi plant, after which I am named. She also sews me a little muslin pouch of herbs to wear on a ribbon under my T-shirt. This is all to help accelerate my learning. There are only two weeks left for me to rescue Mum. And there’s still the darkness test to come.

Every night, I help backstage and in the hoop act. After the show, Sylvie and I lie on a blanket outside, coated in mosquito repellent, and she tells me how to use the stars to find east. ‘Different spells require you to face different directions,’ she says. ‘Face east if you are not sure.’ Soon, I can find Alpha Centauri and the Southern Cross.

One evening, Dad finds us stargazing. ‘Come with me, Tulsi,’ he says gruffly.

We walk to the shower block, bats flapping overhead and the sound of laughter drifting from the campfire. Finally, he asks casually, ‘What were you and Sylvie doing just now?’

‘Looking at the stars,’ I say.

‘I see.’ He hands me my towel as we reach the door to the women’s bathroom. ‘I know I’ve been too busy to keep a proper eye on you, but I am trusting you to steer clear of magic.’

‘I know,’ I say. Which is true. I do know that he’s trusting me. I also know that it’s not exactly an honest response. In fact, it’s a slippery response.