I raise my eyebrows, thinking that sounds ambitious for someone who only managed to sprout a few facial feathers in her first lesson; that and break a thigh bone. Maybe there’s something easier I can start with. ‘Can you turn into anything, or is it just cormorants?’

Morgan frowns as if I should know the answer. ‘We’ve taken the form of cormorants as it’s easy to find food and we have few predators. Becoming a winged creature takes less energy, but we’re able to transform into anything – as will you be once your powers return.’

I nod, even though I don’t really believe it. I accept it’s possible – my failed attempt earlier has convinced me of that, but I still can’t imagine actually turning into a bird, or a frog, or a cat, or anything else for that matter. The idea feels utterly surreal. But then so does standing here, chatting to a witch with wings.

A groan sounds from the bedroom. Morgan steps to one side, letting me go past, and I realise why she looked so worried before. Tom is thrashing in the bed, his skin covered with angry red blotches and his forehead drenched with sweat. My heart lurches and I rush to his side.

‘What’s happening to him?’

‘The demons inside him are stronger than I thought.’

‘Please, you have to do something. You have to help him.’

She wrings her hands as if there’s something she doesn’t want to tell me. ‘First you must know what you are asking. I can drive the demons out of him, but I cannot destroy them. They will remain in the house as shadows.’

I glance about, unsure what she means. ‘Can they get inside him again?’

‘No. They will not be able to re-enter his body. Nor can they enter a sorceress – you and I are immune, as are your sisters. But that does not mean you are safe.’ She opens her wings wide and her glossy black feathers flutter in an unseen breeze. ‘The demons take the form of shadows in this world, but if they grow strong enough they can become corporeal.’

‘You mean they become flesh and blood?’

She nods. ‘They have been tasked with one thing, and that is to kill you. Only this time they will not require a human host.’

The idea of those grotesque things becoming real makes my skin crawl. There were so many of them, I wouldn’t stand a chance. A strangled sob comes from the bed and I turn to Tom. His grey sweatshirt is covered with damp patches and he’s panting hard. He lashes out an arm, fighting an enemy that only he can see, and I clench my fists.