The midnight sky is spattered with stars and the moon shines gently on the three figures huddled onto Miss Spinnaker’s broomstick as they glide through the velvety night.

Polly’s cheeks and hands sting with the cold but her back is warm against her teacher’s chest and her mouth is dry from grinning. She wonders how Buster is doing at the back, holding on tightly, his eyes squeezed shut, but doesn’t dare turn around in case she loses her balance. Being on the front of a broomstick, so high in the sky, is the most thrilling feeling Polly has ever known.

Polly sees the lights of Blackmoon Coven twinkling beneath them and, for a moment, all her problems seem as small and far away as this tiny world. She wishes she could stay up here forever and never have to face the mess she has made.

But just as this thought passes through her mind, her tummy drops as they begin their descent.

‘Oh,’ Buster groans.

‘Sorry,’ Miss Spinnaker calls out, and tips up the front of the broomstick handle so they ease down more gently.

Polly recognises her street and soon her and Buster’s identical houses, side by side, one neat and one shabby, with the old morpett tree in her backyard stretching out its branches between them. This is the tree that hid their friendship for years until that unfortunate day in the gallery.

Ever since then, everything has gone from bad to worse. Polly wishes things were like they were before. She feels a sudden need to hug her mother and realises she can’t remember the last time she told her she loved her.

They cruise closer, almost near enough to touch the roof tiles, when Polly feels the broomstick lurch sideways. The houses spin away from them and Miss Spinnaker flattens against her as she picks up speed.

‘Hold on tight!’

she yells, and Polly feels the sharpness of her teacher’s voice cut deep into her chest.

‘What’s happening?’ Polly calls, her heart yammering.

Miss Spinnaker hisses into Polly’s hair. ‘Look behind you!’

Polly grips the wooden handle tightly and dares a peek over her shoulder.

What she sees makes her gasp. A flock of witches on broomsticks, maybe a dozen, are closing in on them. Even though Polly only catches a glimpse, she instantly recognises the snaky, silvery hair of Mrs Halloway, who is leading the pack.

‘Ohhhh …’ Buster groans weakly.

‘I’m sorry, Buster, you’ll just have to hold on!’ Miss Spinnaker yells, as she swerves suddenly upwards.

Even Polly has to close her eyes as the ground swirls far beneath them, and her stomach drops into her toes. When she opens them again, she is horrified to see Mrs Halloway drawing closer. Within moments, the furious witch is almost beside them. Her lips curl back into a sneer, and she reaches into her cape.

‘Go faster!’ Polly yells, but she can feel Miss Spinnaker’s old wooden broomstick straining under the weight of them.

There is no way they can outrace a mad mean witch on a Silver 500.

‘Deidre!’ Miss Spinnaker yells into the wind. ‘You know the rules. No wands in the presence of children!’

‘Those old rules no longer matter, Iris,’ Mrs Halloway snarls. ‘Now that monsters have become a threat to witches, we must do what we can to defend ourselves.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Miss Spinnaker yells. ‘Buster is an innocent monster. He poses no threat to anyone.’

She jerks the broomstick to the right, but Mrs Halloway has no trouble catching up to them.

‘You have to choose, Iris!’ Mrs Halloway says, coming in close enough for Polly to see her mean black eyes narrowing. Her hair whips wildly in the wind. ‘Don’t you know? It’s Witches Against Monsters now. Toss that dangerous monster off the back of your broomstick and prove your loyalty to witches. You can save yourself – or nobody.’

Buster whimpers.

‘No!’ Polly screeches. ‘Don’t do it, Miss Spinnaker.’

‘Oh, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker hisses. ‘Who do you think I am?’ She raises her voice. ‘Deidre Halloway, how dare you threaten me! I am the Head of Spells at your very own daughter’s school. You will never get away with this!’

Mrs Halloway cackles. ‘No one can see us up here,’ she says, gesturing to the flock of witches becoming lost in the swirl of silver clouds behind them. ‘Accidents on broomsticks happen all time. Especially at this height. And who is everyone going to believe anyway? A couple of pathetic monster-lovers? Or the head of the Committee? It’s over, Iris. The time of monsters freely roaming the streets is gone.’ And with that, she pulls out her wand from her flapping cape and

‘Miss Spinnaker!’ Polly yells, but her teacher already has her heavy brass wand in her hand.

A spark erupts from the tip of Mrs Halloway’s wand

but Miss Spinnaker deflects it with an electric green flash of her own. The broomstick wobbles dangerously and Buster groans again.

‘Polly! You’ll have to steer the stick,’ Miss Spinnaker yells.

‘What?’ Polly gasps. ‘But I’ve never …’

‘Just steer!’