Polly has her excursion first thing that morning, so after roll call the students pile excitedly into the big school bus to make their way to the National Gallery. Nobody ever chooses to sit next to Polly, but today she doesn’t mind.

She is quite happy to sit up the front with Miss Spinnaker.

‘How’s your art assignment coming along?’ Miss Spinnaker asks Polly as the bus rumbles along the bumpy streets.

They pass the Town Hall and the markets and the crumbling factories, where the lowliest monsters toil for twelve-hour days, cracking rocks and shovelling earth to uncover the gems and stones and crystals that will be ground up for witches to use in their potions.

‘Good!’ Polly says. ‘I love art.’

‘And you are very good at it,’ Miss Spinnaker says kindly.

‘I wish I was better at spells,’ Polly sighs. ‘I just find it so hard to follow the instructions.’

It doesn’t occur to her to tell Miss Spinnaker about the way the words seem to dance across the page. Polly assumes it’s the same for everyone. As far as she is aware, all the other students in the class are just better at focusing. Polly finds it impossible to concentrate on her work if there is something even mildly interesting going on outside the classroom window. She so easily slips into daydreaming about climbing trees, or fishing in creeks, or picking bilberries in the woodlands with Buster.

Only in art class can Polly truly lose herself in her work.

‘You’ll get there,’ Miss Spinnaker assures her. ‘With a little practice. And a little patience and cool-headedness too, perhaps?’ she says, raising her eyebrows to remind Polly of yesterday’s debacle.

Malorie’s skin is completely clear again today, but she still shot Polly a nasty look as they boarded the bus.

Polly grimaces. ‘I know. I just get so mad when people laugh at me. I’m trying my hardest!’

‘It’s OK, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says gently, resting her bangled hand on Polly’s arm. ‘Spell-making and potion-brewing comes naturally to some witches, so they don’t understand why others find it so difficult. Don’t let a little teasing ruffle you, Polly. I had to work very hard at school to do well at spells. It didn’t come naturally to me either.’

‘Really?’ says Polly. ‘But you’re so good!’

‘I practised every day,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘Harder than any other student. And in the end, I got top marks in my Witch Finals. That’s partly why I’ve made a career out of teaching spells. I worry that spell-making and potion-brewing will die out. Witches and warlocks don’t seem as interested in the traditional ways of life. It’s all motorised broomsticks and microwave potions these days. My grandmother would turn in her grave if she knew. Look! Like that!’ she says, pointing at a smart new Broomstick Stallion in silver zooming dangerously past them.

It easily overtakes the cars and the buses and the old-fashioned wooden broomsticks putting along beside them.

Miss Spinnaker shakes her head in disapproval, and her earrings jangle.

Finally, the bus pulls up outside the gallery. The witches and warlocks squeal with the excitement of being out of school for the whole morning.

‘Students,’ Miss Spinnaker warns, ‘you are representing Miss Madden’s Academy at all times so your behavior must be exemplary. You know the rules. No running and no shouting in the gallery and, most importantly, no spells whatsoever outside of school grounds. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Miss Spinnaker,’ the students chime, fidgeting in their seats, desperate to get off.

‘Polly, you will head the line with Malorie,’ Miss Spinnaker instructs.

Polly flashes Miss Spinnaker a look. She is thrilled to be chosen to head the line – but with Malorie? She doesn’t have to look at Malorie to know she would be grimacing, too.

‘Can’t I be with Willow or Rosemary?’ says Malorie, rolling her eyes. ‘Or even Harold?’

Malorie grabs the hand of the closest warlock to prove she would rather be paired with anyone other than Polly. Harold looks thrilled to have been singled out by Malorie, and his ruddy cheeks blush pink. Willow and Rosemary giggle.

‘You and Polly will head the line,’ Miss Spinnaker repeats, ‘and to make up for the chaos you both created in yesterday’s spells class, you can work together as a pair today.’

‘What?’ Malorie says. ‘I didn’t do anything! Polly threw wart potion at me!’

‘You were being mean!’ Polly scowls.

‘I can pair with Polly,’ Valentine says.

She tucks her curly black hair behind her ears and smiles shyly at Polly.

Even though Polly knows Valentine is being kind, this only makes her feel worse. Why can’t Miss Spinnaker just let me work on my own? she thinks crossly.

‘Thank you, Valentine, but I think it will be good for both Polly and Malorie to work together. Who knows? You witches might be surprised at what you can learn from each other.’

Malorie huffs, then tosses her plaits over her shoulder and pushes past Polly to be first off the bus.

Polly steps off after her into the pale autumn sunshine, the crisp morning air on her cheeks. Dried leaves swirl at her feet like crazy dancers, and despite being teamed up with Malorie for the morning, Polly feels a sudden surge of happiness. Autumn is her favourite time of the year. And the art gallery is her favourite place to visit. Maybe things aren’t so bad after all, she tells herself.

But when another school bus turns into the gallery carpark, Polly gets a familiar feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. The tips of her fingers tingle and she knows right down in her bones that something awful is going to happen.

Please don’t let that bus be from Darklands, Polly thinks.

But already she knows that it is.