“Pfft,” came the insolent reply. “I seem to be managing just fine! You just don’t like that I did this without any help from you at all. In fact,” she went on, forcibly struck by the realisation, “I think this pretty much proves that we don’t need you, so you can leave and—”

It happened so fast that Jamie didn’t even have time to blink. The branch beneath Terracotta jerked, as if tugged by a gust of wind. Mika raised her hands to cast a spell. Terracotta let out an angry shriek of “No!” and tried to wrench herself away from Mika’s spell. Mika rose into the air, her hair whipping across her face, pulling Terracotta back.

It seemed to Jamie, remembering it later, that Mika should have had no trouble getting Terracotta safely back to the ground. After all, hadn’t she rescued Altamira from an accidental spell or burst of wayward magic countless times already?

The difference, of course, was that she’d never had to fight Altamira to do it. Terracotta, on the other hand, fought tooth and nail. And Mika, who was forced to fight both her and the enormous surge of magic around them, was powerless to stop what happened next.

There was a brilliant, blinding flash of light between the two witches in the air. It speared out towards each of them, like Zeus’s thunderbolts, and it looked for one awful instant like they were both going to be struck with the magical blowback.

But then, in that single fraction of an instant, Jamie saw one of Mika’s hands clench into a fist.

The air trembled. Time held still. Jamie saw every impossible detail: the angle of Terracotta’s branch as it fell, Terracotta’s wide and frightened eyes illuminated by that brilliant light, the white knuckles of Mika’s clenched fist. He saw the light spearing towards Terracotta stop, shudder, and then reverse direction like it was being rewound in slow motion. His heart had time to give a single violent thump.

Then time sped back up and the entire explosion of light slammed into Mika, knocking her to the ground. Altamira screamed.

Jamie ran.

By the time he reached the French doors, Ian was halfway across the garden. Jamie overtook him, arriving first at the scene. One glance told him that Terracotta was safe, back on the ground and trembling like a leaf. Circe was nosing at a terrifyingly still figure on the ground, whining and barking. Rosetta was on her knees next to them. Altamira had tears streaming down her face.

For a moment, Jamie was frozen, ice in his lungs, too afraid to look. Then he was beside her.

“Mika,” Rosetta whispered, shaking one limp shoulder. “Mika, wake up!”

“Is she dead?” Altamira sobbed, saying out loud the words Jamie had been trying very hard not to even think.