Winter hissed in irritation. ‘They’ve been told time and time again not to do that.’

‘Do what?’ The words were barely out of my mouth when the group separated: five witches on one side of the lawn and five on the other. A few others peeled off to the edges including, I noted, my old mate Anthea. Well, well, well. She might be in Tarquin’s pocket but she was certainly doing well for herself if she’d been assigned to this department. I was proud of her; whether Anthea had avoided me for the last eight years or not, and regardless of her tattle-tales to Tarquin about my sudden reappearance, I still remembered our friendship.

I focused on the others. Winter was still bristling by my side; I had the feeling that he was about to put a halt to these proceedings, whatever they were. I placed a hand on his arm. ‘Can we just watch? Pretty please? You don’t need to enforce every rule. People will like you more if you loosen up a bit.’

‘I don’t need people to like me.’ He sounded irritated but even so he relaxed slightly. I rubbed my palms together; whatever was about to happen, I reckoned it would be a whole lot of fun. And at least I wouldn’t be expected to do anything for a few minutes. I’d take my moments of blissful inactivity wherever I could find them.

A tall, gangly witch on the right stepped forward. He tossed a coin in the air, caught it deftly and flipped it onto the back of his hand.

‘Heads,’ called out a witch from the opposing team.

The first guy looked down and grinned. ‘Tails. We go first.’ The other four witches with him pulled back their shoulders, a movement so synchronised that they must have practised it. They began drawing runes.

‘They’re attacking,’ I breathed, finally understanding.

Winter rolled his eyes. ‘Yes. They’re idiots.’

Each witch apparently had a different speciality. One cast a rune for wind, sending a gust out towards their competitors. Another conjured up a swirl of leaves, seemingly from nowhere. It blocked the other team’s vision long enough for a third and fourth witch to work together and draw twin runes to open up a long fissure in the ground.

The other team worked on defensive manoeuvres, casting runes to counter-balance the aggression and keep themselves safe. One almost tipped into the gaping magic sinkhole but another drew a rune quickly enough to snare his arm with a lasso and pull him back. It wasn’t enough, though; the final witch on the attacking side cast his rune, a clever spell designed to momentarily alter the very physiology of living creatures. The other witches realised what he was doing and tried to counter it but they couldn’t. Within moments, all their legs had turned to jelly and they’d fallen to the ground, yelling.

The winning side cheered while all the runes were undone. The sinkhole sealed up again and the losers staggered to their feet, their bones returning to normal. I wasn’t impressed. They’d tried to defend themselves by blocking the spell; what they should have done was mirror it. It’s an easier rune to draw so they’d have had more time to reverse it and win the day.