Morgan clutches my arm, her chest heaving. She points a trembling finger at the platform and a shiny transparent film flicks across her eyes. ‘What have you become?’ she gasps. I glance at my sisters and their eyes are moving in the same way, their expression one of horrified disgust. And then something slides across my vision and my breath stops. On the platform is a creature from hell: its body covered with thick hair, its head a horned skull, its empty eye sockets blazing with red light. I blink and the image changes to a man and back again. I must be seeing Merlin as the others are – witnessing him in his true form, or what’s left of it.

A demonic voice growls, ‘So be it. I will take you with me and your mother and sisters shall die.’

A movement on the other side of the walkway catches my attention. Tom is climbing up the ladder, his face flushed. He steps into the room and fear reaches into my chest like a hand squeezing my heart.

‘Leave her alone!’ he yells.

He rushes towards me and I want to shout at him to turn and run, but I can’t. Not because there’s an invisible hand gripping my throat, but because I’m too shocked to speak. There’s nothing he can do; he must know it’s hopeless.

The creature on the platform turns its fiery gaze on Tom and he collapses to the ground and slides away from me, his body thumping into the railing.

‘No!’ I run to him and throw myself on my knees. A ragged howl fills my ears, the kind a wounded animal makes, and it takes me a moment to realise it came from me. I gather up his limp body and blood oozes from the back of his head, wetting my fingers.

I cry out to my sisters for help, but they don’t hear me. Tom’s diversion has given them a chance to regroup and they beat their wings and dive fearlessly at Merlin. He swings his sceptre, throwing some of them to the ground and sending others hurtling through the sky.

Tom stares up at me, his eyes wide with panic, and my heart breaks. I want to tell him that he’ll be OK, that help is on the way, but I can’t. No one is coming to save us. Only three witches remain in the sky: Morgan, Thiten and Glitonea. The rest lie crumpled on the ground, their limbs sprawled and their tattered wings heaped over them.

Cradling Tom on my lap, I hold his head with one hand and hold up my other. A dome of golden light appears above our heads, shielding us.

He tries to speak and I lean closer, but all I hear is a rasping sound.

‘Come on, out with it,’ I plead. ‘You know you always have the last word.’