Downstairs, I use the bathroom then quickly eat some breakfast and head out. Pulling the door closed behind me, I stare up at the lighthouse. It looms as pale as a ghost in the early morning mist, its menacing presence a constant shadow over my thoughts. My breath catches when I think of my mum. What if Merlin hurts her, or he … I clutch my locket, refusing to think that way. I have to do whatever Morgan asks of me. Magic is real, I’ve felt it myself. If becoming a witch is what it takes to get her back, I’ll do it. I just hope I learn fast.

There’s no sign of the cormorants, but I can still hear them. Following the sound of their cries, I turn my back on the tower and walk along the gently sloping path that leads to the beach. The sea is a rolling expanse of grey, the swell rising and falling like some great panting beast that’s yet to fully wake. I trudge across the shingle, picking my way through mounds of seaweed and quivering white foam that bubbles and froths in the breeze. A faint purple haze hangs over the water and despite the cries of the birds there’s a soft stillness to the air, the swash of the tide hypnotic.

A little way out to sea, I spot a family of seals lying on an outcrop of rock. One of the weighty adults lumbers over to an infant and pats its flipper on the creature’s upturned belly. Arcs of sea spray shower them as they wriggle on their fronts and launch themselves into the water, their smooth grey heads dipping and reappearing above the waves, round eyes gleaming like black glass. It reminds me of when we first arrived, and I find myself wishing I’d pointed them out to Tom. What if he doesn’t wake up? What if I don’t get to spend any more time with him? No, Morgan will help him – she has to.

Looking along the beach, I can’t see Morgan, or any other winged women. I know that last night really happened, but standing here now with my shoes sinking into the shingle and the salty air in my lungs, it’s hard to believe it wasn’t a dream. And even harder to believe that I’m meant to start witch training with my ‘sisters’.

Several cormorants fly above me, their massive wings outstretched. They call to one another as they soar, their throaty grunts loud over the swell of the tide. I spot another four of the birds bobbing on the sea. They swim low in the water, gliding effortlessly. One of them takes to the air then dives head first into the waves, plummeting as hard as lightning, before emerging with a fish in its bill.