Praise for Hedgewitch:

‘Magical in every sense of the word. So magical that I suspect Skye McKenna might actually be a fairy.’ Eoin Colfer

‘An enchanting contemporary classic. The writing is as magical as the story – a total treat.’ Piers Torday

‘There are only two sorts of fantasy story: the ones that feel fake and the ones that feel real. It’s hard to explain the difference but you know the real ones when you read them and Hedgewitch is one of them.’ Philip Reeve

‘A richly inventive story.’ Gillian Cross

‘So full of magic and adventure – I wish I’d written it myself!’ Linda Chapman

‘Oozes magic from every page. The start of a cosy, compelling series for anyone who’s ever wanted to be a witch.’ Aisha Bushby

‘The writing sparkles with magic while the plot bubbles with danger. There are friends to be made and an opinionated cat to win over. Hedgewitch sang to my inner witch and should NOT be missed.’ Julie Sykes

‘From the very first page, the story sweeps you into an utterly believable magical world, one filled with warmth, wonder, mystery and just the right amount of danger to thrill young readers.’ Aisling Fowler

‘Fantasy lovers should not miss Hedgewitch.’ Daily Telegraph

‘Vivid and thoroughly assured, Hedgewitch may well stand alongside the works of Murphy and Rowling in years to come.’ Literary Review

‘A twisty tale that brings together nature and folklore.’ i Weekend

‘Thoroughly magical and compelling. . .’ New Statesman

‘This transformative story about hope and standing by one’s convictions is recommended for readers brave-of-heart…’ Readings Magazine

‘A magical story of adventure and friendship involving a cast of remarkable characters.’ The School Librarian

‘Packed full of mystery and imagination.’ BookTrust

‘Charming magical quest.’ LoveReading4Kids

‘This magical story feels like it will be an instant classic.’

The Week Junior

‘The start of an entrancing new series whose characters will quickly charm their way into the hearts of its readers, and encourage them to embrace the magic of the wild.’ librarygirlandbookboy.com

‘This feels like slipping on your pjs, and is a gentle read with just enough darkness to set your hairs on edge.’ missclevelandsreading.com

‘For those with magic in their soul, Hedgewitch is a pure delight.’ lilyandthefae.wordpress.com

‘With echoes of Diana Wynne Jones and Alan Garner, Hedgewitch feels like a future classic.’

www.picturebooksnob.com

‘A spell-binding read full of evil magical folk and good witches.’

Toppsta Reviewer, aged 9

‘A great book full of magic, friends and fun.’

Toppsta Reviewer, aged 12

‘I really, really love this book. I couldn’t stop reading.’

Toppsta Reviewer, aged 8

Also available in the Hedgewitch series:

Hedgewitch

Woodwitch

Seawitch

www.hachettechildrens.co.uk

For Neil, who has been
my North Star
every step of the way.

Chapter One

A Favour for the Enemy

Cassandra Morgan was trying to write a spell. Sitting on the bench in the rose garden, she was surrounded by piles of old books taken from the Hartwood Hall library, none of which were any help at all. Her grimoire – her own personal magical journal – lay open on her lap, the pages covered in a messy scrawl of crossed-out false starts. Several pages had been torn completely from the binding and scrunched into balls, littering the ground around her.

‘It’s no use, Montague,’ she said, drawing angry lines through her latest attempt. ‘I’ll never come up with anything good enough to earn my Sterling pin.’

Cassie was currently a Sapling witch, the second grade of training in her coven. In order to earn her Sterling pin, she had to come up with an original spell, craft or potion – something no witch had previously thought of and what’s more, the spell had to work.

‘You’ve written spells before,’ said the grey cat, who lay sprawled in the sunshine at her side. ‘Summoning spells, and even a glamour. This task is hardly beyond your capability.’

Cassie frowned at her familiar. ‘But those were specific spells – they were restricted to one particular set of circumstances. I need to invent a new general spell that will be useful to witches in all sorts of conditions.’ She picked up one of the leather-bound spell books and flipped to a page at random. ‘The problem is that every idea I come up with has already been done. There are spells for everything under the sun … look, here’s one to make sure your soft-boiled eggs are never overdone – and another, for cleaning carpets!’ She snapped the book shut.

‘You could formulate a new potion instead?’ suggested the cat, batting lazily at a ball of paper with his paw.

Cassie sighed. ‘But that’s even more work, I’d have to research all the ingredients and probably half of them would be impossible to find and—’

‘I recall a time when you were rather determined to complete your coven training, and willing to put in whatever effort was required,’ said Montague.

It was true, or had been until the previous summer. Cassie had been desperate to finish her training. She’d earned badge after badge, until her black cloak was covered in them. As soon as she had become a Fledgling witch, worthy of her pointy hat, she had immediately started working towards her Sapling pin, which she’d earned last year. Becoming a Sterling witch was the final stage of her training, after which, when she turned sixteen, she’d be able to apply for her witch’s licence.

Once Cassie had her licence, she could finally cross the border into Faerie and rescue her mother, Rose Morgan, whom she had not seen in nine long years. This had been her driving purpose throughout her training, but last summer, all of that had changed. Cassie had learned the terrible truth that her mother had once been a warlock – a traitor witch. Rose had been working for the Erl King and had done terrible things in his name. Although she had eventually seen the error of her ways and run away from him, it didn’t change the fact that she’d broken her Witch’s Oath and put the people Cassie loved – the rest of her family and friends – in danger.

Rose Morgan had plenty of secrets. Cassie had been uncovering them bit by bit ever since she’d escaped from boarding school and come to live with her aunt Miranda, the Hedgewitch, in the village of Hedgely. But this secret was different. Cassie was unable to shake the feeling that all she had believed in, everything she had been working towards, was a lie. That the image of her mother which had kept her striving and hoping and believing all these years, was only an illusion.

Cassie had begun to question everything she had previously taken for granted. Even this garden. Her mother had planted the ever-blooming faery roses and it had since become Cassie’s sanctuary. But nobody else in the village grew faery flowers. Cassie knew the Erl King had given her mother gifts – could these roses have been among them?

Cassie looked at the nearest blossom with suspicion, as if, however sweet it smelled, it might hold some unseen poison.

‘What if …’ Cassie began, closing her grimoire. ‘What if all of this is just a waste of time? Even if I become a qualified witch and somehow make it to Faerie … what if my mother doesn’t want to be found. Or what if she’s not the person I remember?’

Montague raised his head and looked at her with golden eyes. ‘In my experience, humans are rarely all that they appear on the surface. They are not as psychologically complex as cats, of course, but there is usually more to them than meets the eye. You will never know why your mother made the choices she made unless you ask her.’

Cassie frowned. If only it were that simple.

‘Put me down at once! I has a ledge-intimate reason to be here!’ cried a vaguely familiar voice.

Cassie turned to see an odd pair of creatures coming towards them. One of the large stone gargoyles from the roof of Hartwood Hall, complete with wings, horns and claws, was trotting up the path with a small goblin in its mouth, like a mother dog carrying a puppy. The scrawny goblin was beating his fists against the stone face, to no apparent effect, while the gargoyle was looking rather pleased with itself.

Arriving at her side, the gargoyle tried to say something around its mouthful of goblin, but Cassie couldn’t understand a word of it. The goblin himself, she could understand only too well.

‘Is this how you treat guests and ack-wain-tanses?’ the goblin wailed. ‘I comes in peas and good faith only to be assaulted by this vicious brute!’

‘It’s all right, Morpeth,’ Cassie addressed the gargoyle. ‘I know this goblin, you can put him down.’

‘Morpeth caught it burrowing under the garden wall,’ said the gargoyle, once he’d released his captive. ‘Goblin told Morpeth it has business with Cassie, so Morpeth didn’t eat it right away. Goblin doesn’t taste very nice anyway, like mouldy cheese.’

‘You did well, thank you,’ said Cassie. The gargoyle broke into a grin, revealing pointy stone teeth. Morpeth was the Hartwood Hall brownie, the guardian faery of the house. He could possess any inanimate object on the grounds, although the gargoyle was his favourite form.

The goblin got to his feet, dusting crumbs of mortar from his clothes. It had been over a year since Cassie had last seen him, and she had a niggling suspicion as to why he’d returned.

‘You’re looking well, Burdock,’ said Cassie. ‘Are those new clothes?’

‘They was,’ snapped the goblin. ‘Before your cement-headed guard beast got hold of ’em – just look at this here rent in my silk waistcoat! Who’s gonna pay for that, I ask you?’

‘You’ll just have to steal another,’ said Montague.

‘I’ll have you know I bought these here togs with me own sprig!’ Burdock protested. ‘I is no longer in the filching business, found more lucrative imp-ployment, I have.’

Cassie had first met Burdock when he’d broken into her bedroom and tried to steal a precious faery artefact. In return for letting him go, she’d made him promise to help her – a promise which had cost him his job as a thief for the Erl King. He’d helped her twice now, as a matter of fact, providing her with information about another lost faery treasure.

‘And what exactly are you doing now?’ she asked.

The goblin lifted his pointy nose in the air. ‘I has a new line of busy-ness, I has. That little exchange with you showed me how as infer-mation can be worth a sight more than trinkets. I is in the infer-mation trade now!’

‘You mean, you’re no longer a thief, but a spy?’ asked Cassie.

The goblin looked outraged. ‘A spy? Has I ever blabbed on you? I keeps my word, I does, and now it’s time to be keeping yours. If you recall, you promised me a favour – in exchange for that little titbit about the spear. Well, I has come to claim it!’

Cassie’s heart sank. The goblin spoke the truth – she had promised him a favour in return for his help. It seemed so long ago now, she’d almost forgotten.

‘What is it you want?’ she asked.

‘It’s not what I wants, it’s what my customer wants,’ said the goblin. ‘Infer-mation about a certain artefact, powerful magical thing. A silvery branch, very old, very value-able.’

Montague hissed. ‘And just who is this customer of yours?’

The goblin crossed his arms. ‘That’s compi-dental!’

‘A silvery branch?’ asked Cassie. ‘There’s something like that in the poem The Wanderers.’

She opened her grimoire again and flipped to where she’d copied out the enigmatic poem. Each verse described an ancient treasure, said to have been brought to Britain by the first faery settlers. She’d already encountered three of them: the golden key, the slaying spear and the wishing cup.

‘Here it is, in the penultimate verse.’ Cassie read aloud:

‘The Giver rode before them all

And in her path the green mist came,

As with her bough of silver bright,

The land of Alba she did claim.’

‘A bough is a sort of branch, I think. Could that be it?’

The goblin frowned. ‘Could be, could be. Don’t suppose it says nothing in there about where to find such a thing?’

Cassie shut the book. ‘No, it doesn’t, and I thought you said you’d given up filching?’

‘So I has!’ said the goblin. ‘But that scrap of poesy ain’t going to satisfy my customer. They wants to know more, they does.’

‘I suppose I could do some research,’ said Cassie. ‘Take a look in the Hartwood Library and at Widdershin’s bookshop.’

‘Cassandra!’ said Montague. ‘You can’t seriously be thinking of helping this deceitful creature? He’s most likely working for the Erl King again. You know He has been looking for the faery treasures, and after what happened in Cornwall …’

Cassie winced. Montague was right. The Erl King had tricked Cassie and her friends into retrieving the wishing cup, which had the power to heal any illness and even extend one’s life, and then he had manipulated Cassie into handing it over to him. The loss of that precious faery relic still stung, and it made her an accomplice – however unwilling – to whatever the Erl King was planning. She couldn’t afford to fall into another such trap. It was all too close to the path her mother had taken – to becoming a warlock.

Cassie turned to Burdock. ‘Are you sure you can’t tell us who your customer is? I’d be more willing to help if you do.’

The goblin shook his head. ‘You owes me a favour – anything I like. You can’t go setting conditions on it now!’

Cassie sighed. Goblins, like most faery peoples, set great store by promises and contracts, and delighted in twisting your words to suit their advantage. Her friend Rue had warned her at the time about agreeing to an undefined ‘favour’, but they had needed Burdock’s help to protect the village.

‘All right,’ said Cassie. ‘I’ll see what I can find out about this silver bough.’

Burdock broke into a grin, showing two rows of pointed yellow teeth. ‘Excellent! I knew you’d see reason. Summon me when you has the infer-mation and we’ll consider our deal complete.’

Morpeth took a step towards Burdock, but before he could be caught again the goblin scarpered in the direction of the Hartwood gates.

‘You cannot even contemplate handing over such valuable information to a goblin, whatever service he has given you in the past,’ said Montague. ‘Some promises are simply too dangerous to keep.’

‘I said that I’d see what I can find out,’ said Cassie, now the goblin was out of earshot. ‘Not that I would share the information. If the Erl King is looking for another of the faery treasures, then Burdock may have just tipped us off. And if Burdock is working for someone else, then I plan to find out who. I’ll just need something worth the price of that information.’

Chapter Two

Emergency Patrol Meeting

Cassie adjusted the weight of the bulging green carpet bag as she tried to keep up with her aunt. It was Saturday afternoon, and she was accompanying the Hedgewitch on her rounds of the village. They’d already visited half a dozen houses, helping to recover belongings stolen by imps, renewing the wards that protected doorways and chimneys, and handing out potions to heal everything from croup to faery-induced hair loss.

These tasks made up the day-to-day business of the Hedgewitch’s job. The other, more dangerous part of the role involved patrolling the Hedge – the vast, enchanted forest that loomed over the village along the western horizon. The Hedge was one of the rare crossing points between Britain and the land of Faerie where, on certain nights of the year, you could attempt to travel between the worlds. Because of this, the woods were inhabited by many strange and powerful beings, and the Hedgewitch was responsible for protecting the village of Hedgely from anything dangerous that strayed beyond the treeline. However, the most exciting thing they’d encountered that morning was a bogle that had got itself stuck in a drainage pipe.

‘We still have to see to Emley Moor’s pig. It has a bad case of puckwarts, and then there’s an infestation of algal wyrms in the duck pond on the village green. I suppose we’ll have to borrow a net,’ said the Hedgewitch, flipping through her pocket notebook.

Cassie sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like helping people, only that it felt rather pointless clearing out grigs’ nests and curing ingrown toenails when the Erl King was out there somewhere, stirring up real trouble for the witches of Britain.

‘Cassandra,’ said the Hedgewitch, frowning at her. ‘Now that you are fifteen, and only a year away from your Witch’s Licence, it’s high time you gained some experience in practical everyday magic.’

‘I know, but the Erl King—’

Her aunt cut her off. ‘You seem to be under the impression that witchcraft is all about rescuing people from the clutches of ancient monsters or searching for lost treasures in ruined faery castles. I’m afraid the reality is far more mundane but no less important. Witches help people – we provide healing, protection and guidance – everyday concerns and troubles like these are the bread-and-butter of our profession.’

‘Yes, Aunt Miranda,’ said Cassie, heaving the carpet bag into a more comfortable position.

‘Old Mrs Blight is next on the list,’ said the Hedgewitch, with a small sigh of her own. ‘We might as well get this over with.’

Mrs Blight’s cottage stood on Nearwood Row. From the outside, it seemed like a faery-tale cottage, with hollyhocks and honeysuckle and climbing roses over the red door. However, on closer inspection it was evident that the house had seen better days. The garden was overgrown, the gate broken and the window-frames in need of a lick of fresh paint.

The Hedgewitch raised a hand to rap on the door, but before she had a chance, it flew open and a heart-shaped face surrounded by black curls appeared from within.

‘I saw you coming up the lane,’ said Tabitha Blight, clutching her white rabbit familiar, Wyn, to her chest. ‘Do come in. Can I offer you tea? Biscuits? Oh, hello, Cassie! Here let me help you with that heavy bag.’

Tabitha was one of Cassie’s best friends, and a fellow member of Oak Patrol, but as she led them into the cottage, Cassie saw that Tabitha had dark shadows under her eyes.

They filed into the low-ceilinged sitting room where faded chintz armchairs stood by an empty fireplace and pots of geraniums grew on the windowsill.

‘Is your grandmother awake?’ asked the Hedgewitch.

Tabitha nodded. ‘Yes, but she’s having one of her bad days. I’ve made all her favourite dishes – stewed prunes, cabbage rolls … even sago pudding – but she won’t touch anything.’

‘I’ll go up and see her,’ said the Hedgewitch. ‘Cassandra, you’d better stay down here with Tabitha. Mrs Blight has never been overly fond of visitors.’

Old Mrs Blight, as she was known in the village, was something of a terror to the children of Hedgely. When Cassie had first met her, the elderly witch was storming up and down Loft Street as if she owned the place. She was a strong-willed battle-axe of a lady who always told you exactly what she thought of you, no matter how unflattering, and she could be something of a snob too. However, it had been months now since Mrs Blight had left the cottage and Cassie knew Tabitha was worried. From upstairs came a hoarse, dry cough and the sound of low voices.

‘I’ve tried everything I can think of,’ said Tabitha. ‘Lionheart tonic, enlivening elixir … but nothing seems to help. I don’t know what else to do.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Cassie. ‘I’m sure Aunt Miranda will think of something.’

Tabitha nodded and stroked Wyn’s soft fur.

Looking for something to distract her, Cassie went over to a sideboard that was cluttered with framed portraits and royal memorabilia. There was a large portrait of King Edmund, the current reigning monarch, dressed in military uniform, and a mug and plate from his coronation. Cassie picked up a silver-framed photo of a girl in a frilly white dress.

‘Is this you, Tabitha?’ she asked.

‘No, that’s Princess Matilda, King Edmund’s eldest daughter. She’s the same age as us,’ Tabitha came over to join her, adjusting the display. ‘Gran is devoted to the royal family. Did you know, she was a warden in the king’s guard during his coronation? Only thirteen witches were chosen. She’s told me the story a hundred times, I think it was the proudest day of her life.’

‘Your gran was a warden?’ asked Cassie. Wardens were witches who specialised in protective magic, and some of them served as detectives for faery-related crime. However, it was hard for Cassie to imagine Old Mrs Blight charging about on a broomstick with a silver sword.

Tabitha nodded and opened a drawer in the sideboard to reveal a series of brightly polished medals and pins. ‘She still has all her old badges, see? Gran was awarded the Argent Star and the Sun of Splendour for her bravery. I think she misses it, and so many of the witches she served with are gone now … passed away. It’s hard on her, being retired from active service.’

Cassie never thought she’d feel sorry for Old Mrs Blight, but she’d clearly lived a more interesting and active life than Cassie had ever imagined.

They were interrupted by the sound of boots on the wooden stairs.

Tabitha rushed to meet the Hedgewitch as she came through the door. ‘Is it bad news?’ she asked in a hushed voice. ‘Dr Culpeper couldn’t find anything, but I thought perhaps it was a magical illness, or a curse—’

‘There is nothing wrong with your grandmother in the physical sense, Tabitha,’ said the Hedgewitch. ‘She’s as fit as any eighty-year-old woman has the right to be.’

‘But her cough?’ asked Tabitha. ‘And she’s not able to get out of bed!’

‘Millicent Blight has had that cough since she was your age. It’s never stopped her doing anything she wanted to do before. I suspect the real issue here is not lack of health, but lack of willpower.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Cassie. ‘Doesn’t she want to get better?’

The Hedgewitch frowned. ‘Tabitha, you look after your grandmother very well … almost too well. She has got used to being waited on hand and foot and having everything done for her.’

‘But she struggles so with the stairs!’ said Tabitha.

‘Hmmm,’ said the Hedgewitch, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, that is only part of the problem. The bigger issue is that she hasn’t got enough to occupy her. When people get to that age, it isn’t only good health that keeps them going, it’s a sense of purpose – of being wanted, needed, of having something to do. Since she retired, your grandmother’s skills haven’t been called for.’

‘But then … what can I do to help her?’ asked Tabitha.

‘You’re a resourceful young witch, I’m sure you will think of something,’ said the Hedgewitch, putting her hat back on. ‘In the meantime, don’t forget to live your own life.’

Tabitha frowned. She ought to be relieved that there was nothing seriously wrong with her grandmother, but Cassie could see that this advice had only confused and upset her friend.

‘Are you coming, Cassandra?’ asked the Hedgewitch. ‘We still have to see to those algal wyrms …’

‘In a minute, Aunt Miranda!’ Cassie turned back to Tabitha. ‘Rue’s called an emergency patrol meeting, four o’clock at Bramble’s – can you make it?’

‘I’ll try,’ said Tabitha, but as she spoke they heard a bell ringing upstairs. ‘That’s Gran. I better see what she wants.’

When Cassie arrived at the Bramble & Bloom tea room, still picking globs of duckweed from her sleeves, she was more than ready for a cup of Selena Moor’s herbal tea. The tea room, with its steaming kettles and clusters of gossiping villagers, was full of sweet and spicy smells and the sound of clinking china. She found Rue and Robin, along with their familiars, at one of the tables at the back, sharing a platter of bright pink Tottenham cake.

‘So that’s four badges you’ve earned now, Rob,’ said Rue, feeding her toad, Natter, a few crumbs of cake.

Robin counted them. ‘I’ve completed Rune Reader, Broom Courier and Herb Grower. And I’ve just finished my White Potioner Badge too – my comfrey salve smelled a bit funny, I was hoping Tabitha might help me but she’s been so busy with her gran. Anyway, the Hedgewitch was satisfied with it.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Cassie, reaching for a square of cake. ‘I didn’t realise you were working on four badges at once. You only need three, and even then there’s no rush.’

Robin was the newest member of Oak Patrol. He’d joined the previous summer and had already passed his Fledgling test. What’s more, he was the only boy witch in the coven and, as far as they knew, the whole of Britain.

Robin shrugged, stroking the head of his dog familiar, Tesni. ‘I thought I’d better do an extra, just in case I failed one. The sooner I get my Sapling pin, the sooner I can catch up with you three. I’m so far behind …’

‘Robin will catch up!’ said Tesni. ‘He’s nearly as fast as me.’

Cassie licked raspberry icing off her fingers. Robin may have been accepted into the Hedgely coven, but there were still a lot of people who thought boys had no place messing about with cauldrons and broomsticks. She suspected that Robin was rushing through his training in an effort to prove them wrong.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Rue, running a hand through her frizzy brown hair. ‘The rate I’m going with my Sterling project, you’ll have plenty of time to catch up. Mum says I’m not allowed to work on my Exploding Witch-Salt Crackers in the house any more after I blew out the attic window.’

‘She said you were endangering life and limb,’ added Natter, from Rue’s shoulder. ‘Not to mention the merchandise.’

Rue’s family owned the village shop, which catered to the needs of everyone in Hedgely and she often worked there after school, when she wasn’t delivering papers on her broomstick.

‘At least you know what you’re doing,’ said Cassie. ‘I still haven’t the faintest idea what to do for my project. Every time I think of an idea for a spell, I look in the library and find it already exists.’

‘What’s Tabitha doing for hers?’ asked Robin.

‘Oh, some potion or other,’ said Rue, glancing at the door. ‘Don’t suppose she’s coming?’

‘She said she’d try,’ Cassie frowned. ‘To be honest, I’m worried about Tabitha. She barely leaves the cottage, except for school and coven. She’s cooped up in there looking after her gran, but Aunt Miranda said there isn’t anything seriously wrong with her.’

Rue frowned. ‘Tabitha’s problem is that she’s far too nice, and Old Mrs Blight takes advantage of her. What Tabitha really needs is a proper holiday, a break from running after that selfish old woman. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Sebastian about the school hols?’

They’d spent the previous summer break with Cassie’s cousin in Cornwall, and Rue was eager to go back.

Cassie shook her head. ‘Sebastian’s going to London to stay with Uncle Elliot. Anyhow, what did you call the patrol meeting for? Your imp said it was important.’

‘It is,’ said Rue. ‘Robin’s just been given his Sapling task.’

‘Oh, well done, Robin! What is it?’

‘I spoke to the Hedgewitch last night after supper,’ said Robin. ‘And she told me I have to make friends with a witch from another coven and do her a favour.’

‘But that’s easy enough,’ said Cassie. ‘Why don’t you write to Mahreen in Cornwall and ask if she wants help with anything?’

Robin shook his head. ‘It must be a new friend, someone I haven’t met before.’

‘Oh, well, that’s a bit harder … what about a Welsh coven?’

Robin had grown up in Wales, near the Witches’ Assembly at Caer Gwrachod, where his grandmother was a Beldame.

‘You’re forgetting, I tried to join the coven at Llanmedwyn and they wouldn’t have me,’ said Robin. ‘There’s no way I could approach them about this.’

‘Not to worry, I’m sure an opportunity will present itself soon,’ said Rue. ‘The Hedgewitch wouldn’t give you an impossible task. What sort of favour do you need to do?’

Robin gave Tesni a biscuit under the table. ‘I suppose it can be anything at all. That’s not the hard part. It’s easy enough for you two and Tabitha to make friends with other witches … but it’s different for me. Remember what happened when I first joined the Hedgely coven? No one wanted anything to do with a boy witch.’

‘But it’ll be different now,’ said Rue. ‘You’ve already proven you can do anything we can – why, you even got over your fear of flying. You’re a whizz on the broom now!’

Cassie agreed, and together they tried to reassure Robin that he was bound to make loads of friends when they next encountered another coven.

Privately, Cassie was thinking about her own ‘favour’, the one she had promised Burdock. She had yet to tell the others about her encounter in the rose garden and the information the goblin had asked her for. She knew her patrol mates would warn her off, and they were probably right. Anything she told Burdock could get back to the Erl King all too easily, but curiosity had got the better of her. Cassie wanted to know more about the faery treasures and why someone was after this one in particular. She was aware, though, that if anyone found out she was helping a goblin it would be difficult to explain, and so she kept her research to herself, for now.