‘Yeah. She must have a skerrick of magic blood. We reckon it skipped a generation because Deborah is definitely not a haneryn. Mam says that, deep inside, Bethan probably wants to be a magician. But a haneryn doesn’t have real magic, you understand – just inklings. So Bethan hates anyone who she senses is magic. But she probably wouldn’t have words for any of that, only feelings.’ Efa puts her Book back inside. ‘Enough chat. I’ll tell you the spell, except for the last words. It’s a really old one. Swyn, cod fi o’r Ddaear, caria fi ar y gwynt ...

I repeat it three times. Am I really about to fly?

‘Will I need to flap my arms?’ I ask.

Efa laughs. ‘No! Your arms will be by your sides. But you must picture yourself flying. Imagine yourself as a bird. Now, the last words are fel aderyn.’ She meets my eyes. ‘You ready?’

Efa holds out her hands, palms up, and casts the spell slowly and with great care. I do my best to say it along with her.

Word by word, I am filled with a light, fizzing energy. I imagine wings stretched wide either side of me, feathers rippling.

We finish the spell. My imaginary wings make one powerful beat and I lift into the air.

‘Oh, oh, oh!’ I say. I am floating! I am held up by thin air! I am grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. Every centimetre of my skin is tingling and buzzing with delight.

‘Efa! Efa!’ I say. We both rise through the air until we’re level with the roof of the house.

Efa hovers beside me. ‘Feels good, huh?’ she smiles. ‘If you lean your chest forward, you can fly flat. Up is I fyny! Down is I lawr! Left and right is just a matter of leaning one way or another. If we need to go faster or slower, I’ll do the spell. Flying uses lots of energy, so you must keep re-filling yourself. From the air, from the moonlight, from the trees we pass, from the snow down below. I assume you’ve had plenty of practice at that?’

I nod, though I suspect she would not consider three weeks as ‘plenty’.

‘Good,’ she says. ‘Lean forward and see how you go.’

I glide smoothly between two trees. I am simply sliding through the air, metres above the ground. I can’t believe how easy this is.

I tie the belt on my coat tighter because freezing air is leaking in, but the movement sends me into a steep dive, and I crash face first into a deep snow drift. Snow jams into my mouth and nose. Efa lands beside me and gives me a hand up. ‘It’ll get easier,’ she says. ‘If you start to dive again, lift your chin and push your chest out.’ She brushes snow off my shoulder.