We fly to the top of the lighthouse and it’s the most incredible feeling in the world: the roller-coaster dip of my stomach as I launch into the sky, the cold night air streaming past my face as my sisters swoop around me, the grey-crested waves of the sea raging far below. Having wings feels wondrous yet natural, as if my body was always meant to fly.

We circle the summit of the tower twice, three times, and then the witches flap down onto the metal railing that runs around the outside of the lantern room. They land one by one, legs crouched and feathers ruffling, their long black hair whipping about their faces like snakes. I find that I land easily too, the movement second nature to me.

The glass walls are still broken from when the witches crashed through as cormorants, and rain lashes onto the optic and pings off the metal walkway inside. Exposed to the elements, the red light burns with raw intensity – not there to warn sailors of the rocks and guide them to safety, but an act of violence against the darkness itself.

I peer at the smoking mounds of ash below and a smile comes to my face, knowing I helped to incinerate the demons. Magic flows hot and strong in my veins and my body trembles with the need to release it. The sheer sense of power frightens me, but what scares me most is my hunger to use it.

Holding out my hand, I release the tiniest stream of magic. A bolt of black energy thunders from my palm, exploding a pile of cinders on the ground and sending a shower of embers sparking into the sky. I wish I could say it makes me feel better, but it doesn’t. The magic draws greedily on my hate and rage, the need to destroy turning more ravenous.

I wonder if this is how magic feels for the others. I glance at my sisters, wishing I’d had more time to train with them and learn about our power. Morgan crouches on the railing to my left, with Glitonea a little way to my right with her arm around Mazoe. The others congregate in groups of two or three with their heads bowed close, while Thiten sits alone with her shoulders hunched.

Morgan moves along the railing towards me, and I have a feeling she’s been watching me for a while. ‘You know you were once closer to Thiten than anyone,’ she whispers.

I raise my eyebrows. ‘But she seems so angry with me all the time.’

‘Grief is a strange thing. She knows that Merlin is to blame for what happened, but I suspect she harbours some resentment towards you.’

‘Why?’