Polly lies awake in the dark for what feels like hours listening to Buster’s snores. She tosses this way and that, but the magic stones in her pocket seem to be getting hotter, as if they are trying to tell her something.

She sits up in bed, pulls out the little silk pouch and tips them into her palm. They gleam gently in the dark: one pink, one blue and one amber.

The amber one glows the brightest and when Polly peers at the little eye-shape inside the stone, it seems to be watching her.

What do you want? she wonders.

She is not sure if she is brave enough to ask them. The first time was so frightening – and that was with Miss Spinnaker by her side! Does she dare do it again? And on her own? But the stones are burning so brightly now Polly knows she doesn’t have a choice.

Polly closes her fingers over the stones and shuts her eyes. Immediately her mind fills with a vision. She sees a shadowy place: a long, cold tunnel, dark and spooky. It pulls her towards it, but the closer she gets, the heavier she feels, until her whole body seems as heavy as boulders. A thick purple fog oozes its way out of the tunnel towards her, curling around her feet.

Suddenly, the stones become too hot to hold and Polly tips them onto the bedding. But just as she opens her eyes, one last image flashes into her mind. It’s a face she knows, hazy but familiar. Terribly, heart-achingly familiar. A sob bursts from her chest.

‘Papa!’ she breathes softly into the night.

She understands where that place is now, that long, spooky tunnel burrowing deep into the ground. It’s the Hollow Valley Mines. The place where her father is buried. That’s where the stones want her to go.

Polly tips the stones back into the pouch, cool again now they have passed on their message, and tucks them back into her pocket. She feels too shaken to try to sleep now, and this dark house full of strangers does little to comfort her. So she swings her bare feet down onto the cold stone floor and pads out into the hallway to look for Miss Spinnaker. She hopes her teacher might still be awake.

‘Miss Spinnaker?’ Polly calls into the dark.

Noisy snoring comes from a bedroom at the end of the corridor. One snore is deep, low and rumbling, the other high and squeaky.

Polly sees a yellow glow coming from underneath a door on her left. ‘Miss Spinnaker?’ she calls again, a little more loudly this time, inching towards the door. It swings open and light spills out into the hallway.

‘Polly?’ says Miss Spinnaker, her wild red hair all a-tumble, lit up by the fireplace in the room behind her. She is wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown that Polly immediately guesses to be Flora’s, as the sleeves are way too short for her, and Miss Spinnaker really doesn’t seem to be the fluffy pink dressing gown type.

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ Her teacher’s voice sounds cross at first, but when she sees Polly’s bottom lip tremble, she takes her hand, closes the door behind them, and leads her into the lounge room to sit by the fire.

‘Oh sweetie. Did you have a bad dream?’ she says, stroking Polly’s tangled hair. ‘Here, why don’t you sit with me for a while?’

Polly leans into the warmth of her favourite teacher, who smells of brindlewood and thyme. There is a pillow on the sofa, along with a rumpled blanket. Polly realises this is where Miss Spinnaker has set herself up to sleep.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Polly says quietly.

‘That’s all right,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘I was actually just doing a bit of reading.’ She points to the chunky wooden coffee table in front of them, where there is a pile of books and magazines and a half-drunk cup of tea. ‘I don’t sleep that well either.’

Polly leans over to pick up a heavy book. The black leather cover is cracked and worn, and the gold lettering across the front has almost rubbed off with use.

‘My old university spell book,’ Miss Spinnaker says, gently taking it from Polly and placing it back on the table. ‘You’re not ready for that one.’ She pushes a couple of other heavy books to one side and pulls out a slim exercise book, similar to the ones Polly uses at school. ‘You can look at this one,’ she says, smiling. ‘Though it might be a bit embarrassing.’

‘What is it?’ asks Polly, peering down at the cover. She gasps. ‘Was this from when you were at Miss Madden’s?’

Miss Spinnaker nods. ‘My mother keeps everything. That’s my grade five spell book. Look at my marks. I was doing a lot worse than you when I was your age!’

Polly flicks through the pages. They are covered in scrawly writing in different-coloured pens, and there are notes and diagrams and drawings, too. And Miss Spinnaker is not exaggerating. Her marks were terrible!

‘How did you get to be Head of Spells at Miss Madden’s when you did so badly at school?’ Polly asks, amazed.

Miss Spinnaker points to the small, neat handwriting that appears at the bottom of each page. ‘Mrs Blackfeather. Somehow she believed in me when no one else did. Even though my marks were bad, she always wrote encouraging comments for me. I would have dropped out of the Academy if it hadn’t been for her. You see? It only took one person to believe in me.’ She pauses and takes Polly’s bandaged hand in hers. ‘And even though I know you are scared and you are really not sure if you can do this, you have lots of people who believe in you, Polly. Many more than I ever did.’

‘Really?’ says Polly, sticking out her bottom lip. ‘Who?’ she insists, but only because she wants to hear Miss Spinnaker tell her.

‘Oh, Polly!’ Miss Spinnaker chuckles. ‘Me! Buster! Even your dad, in a way. He wouldn’t have given you those stones if he didn’t believe in you, Polly.’

At the mention of her dad, Polly shrinks back into the couch and chews at her thumbnail.

‘What is it, Polly? Is that what woke you?’ Did you have a dream about your dad?’

‘Not really,’ Polly mumbles. She feels her cheeks burn. She’s scared Miss Spinnaker will be angry if she admits she used the stones without her, but her teacher always seems to know when Polly isn’t being completely honest.

‘Tell me, Polly,’ she says kindly, her red hair gleaming in the firelight. ‘You’ve already learnt the hard way that it’s much simpler just to tell the truth from the beginning, before it becomes bigger and harder to control. I promise I won’t get cross with you.’

Polly breathes in deeply. Despite the roaring fire beside them, she shivers. ‘I used the stones,’ she mumbles, looking up at Miss Spinnaker. ‘I’m sorry! But it’s like they were calling me.’ She looks down and fiddles with the cover of Miss Spinnaker’s old spell book in her lap. ‘I think they want to me to go to the Hollow Valley Mines,’ she whispers. ‘To find my dad.’

‘Oh, Polly!’ Miss Spinnaker says, hugging Polly tightly. ‘That must have been very scary for you. But you must have misunderstood the stones. I know you wish you could see your dad again, but he’s gone, Polly. It’s been five years since the mine collapsed. Lots of witches and monsters lost loved ones that day, but nothing will bring them back again. Not even the most powerful magic can reverse death.’ She looks at Polly seriously. ‘You must promise me that you will never go near those mines, OK? They are too dangerous for a young witch like you. Even the Mayor has declared them out of bounds. You know that, Polly.’

Polly nods, but she feels confused. She slips her fingers into her pocket to touch the pouch of stones. ‘But you told me to trust the stones …’

‘Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says firmly. ‘Until I can get you back to your families safely, you and Buster are my responsibility, stones or no stones. Look, I am going to head out early tomorrow morning to try to sort some things out and I want you to wait here for me until I return, all right? You’ll be safe here. I won’t be long, I promise. Mum and Mortimer will look after you. Then we’ll work out how to get you home. Meanwhile, you and I need to get some sleep. We both have a long day ahead of us. Come along.’

She stands up and takes Polly’s hand, then leads her back along the dark hallway towards the bedroom.

‘Here,’ Miss Spinnaker says. She opens up a small cupboard by the door and pulls out a brinket. She twists the top until it cracks and it lets out a gentle pink glow. Then she places it on the bedside table next to the lamp and pulls the blankets up to Polly’s chin again. ‘Now, I want you asleep before that brinket has burnt out, OK?’

Polly nods. ‘OK.’

‘I’ll be back right after breakfast. No more using those stones while I’m not around. You may well be a Silver Witch, but you’re still only nine. And your mother would never forgive me if she knew I was responsible for putting any dangerous ideas into your head.’

Miss Spinnaker plumps up Polly’s pillow, then leans over and strokes her forehead. ‘Do you need me to do a sleeping spell over you?’ she says gently.

‘No, I’ll be OK,’ Polly says. She shuffles her hip a little where the stones are digging into her. It feels uncomfortable sleeping in her clothes and her teeth feel furry from not having been brushed, but now tiredness has well and truly taken over and she feels her eyelids growing heavy and sore.

‘What happened to your dad?’ Polly murmurs sleepily, trying to keep her teacher by her side for just a little longer.

‘You are a nosy one, aren’t you?’ Miss Spinnaker says kindly, but there is sadness in her voice. ‘Let’s just say my mother is a hundred times happier with Mortimer than she ever was with my father. Even if Mortimer is a monster. You know as well as I do that not all monsters are bad and not all witches and warlocks are good. Now, good night, Polly,’ she says, standing up and pulling the gaudy pink dressing gown more tightly around her.

But even before she has closed the door behind her, Polly has drifted off to sleep.