The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown. Adam Epstein

      Aldwyn had often wondered what it would feel like to have wings. As the wind blew through his whiskers and his claws dug into the linen collar of Jack’s tunic, he was beginning to get a pretty good idea. Led by Jack’s outstretched wand, loyal and familiar were soaring above the treetops, climbing higher and higher towards the clouds. Back in his Bridgetower days, before he had become the magical animal companion to a boy wizard, Aldwyn used his claws to scale the rooftops and chimneys of some of the city’s tallest buildings. But having his fur graze the needles at the top of the mighty pine trees in the Palace Hills was something different altogether.

      “We’re about to get wet!” exclaimed Jack.

      Aldwyn braced himself as they blasted straight through a puff of white, sending rain pixies scattering in every direction. The tiny cloud fairies sprayed water with every flap of their wings, drenching the black-and-white cat’s fur within seconds.

      “Guess we won’t be needing baths tonight,” he shouted at Jack.

      Bursting through the cloud right behind them was Jack’s older sister, Marianne, gripping a wand of her own.

      “Not bad,” she called out, “for a beginner.”

      She flicked her wrist and made an upside-down loop in the air before coming up alongside her brother. Gilbert’s bulging orange eyes peeked out over the edge of Marianne’s shirt pocket, his webbed hands clutching on for dear life.

      “Was that really necessary?” croaked the tree frog in a panic.

      Jack used his free hand to brush the dirty blond hair out of his eyes, revealing a determined look beneath.

      “Come on, sis,” he hollered as if he had something to prove. “I’ll race you back to the manor steps.”

      The young wizard siblings darted downwards. Aldwyn felt his stomach do a little somersault as they hurtled through the air at an alarming speed. Dipping below the clouds once more, the grandness of the Vastian countryside opened up below them. Nearby, Aldwyn could make out Sorceress Edna’s Black Ivy Manor, a regal estate surrounded by hedge walls and rose gardens. Beyond the manor was an invisible dam that held back the heavy waters of a mountain river. Through the enchanted barrier’s sheer surface, fish could be seen swimming, as if a giant aquarium had been built into the side of the rocky peaks. At the base of the dam lay the grazing fields of Edna’s fabled short-horned steers, whose silver-hued hides were tough enough to resist even a dragon’s fiery breath. Further down the hill was Bronzhaven, with Queen Loranella’s palace rising into the sky at its centre, surrounded by the floating torches that hovered just above the castle walls.

      Marianne had jumped ahead to an early lead, but Jack was quickly catching up. The two raced past Dalton and Skylar, who were practising precise hairpin turns around floating wooden cones. Dalton, the eldest – at fourteen and a half – and maturest of the children, called out, “Sorceress Edna instructed us to work on mid-flight reversals!”

      “Slow down,” added Skylar. “You’re not competing on the Warlock Trail, you know.”

      But neither Jack nor Marianne paid the boy or his blue jay familiar any attention. They were too focused on outpacing each other.

      “Woo-hoo!” shouted Jack, as he pulled in front of his sister by a wand’s length.

      As they skimmed lower, they approached the living topiaries that guarded the outside of Black Ivy Manor. These enchanted shrubs had been sculpted less than a month ago to protect the teaching grounds, a precaution of great import now that Sorceress Edna had taken over the training of Kalstaff’s three pupils and their familiars. The topiaries had been shaped like archers holding thorny bows at the ready. They swung their weapons from left to right, preparing to fire upon any unwelcome intruders.

      “Short cut through those columns,” suggested Aldwyn from over Jack’s shoulder.

      Jack nodded, then barrel-rolled between two marble pillars on the edge of the estate’s reflecting pool. The manoeuvre increased his and Aldwyn’s lead over Marianne and Gilbert and seemed to make their victory to the steps inevitable. That is, until Marianne invoked, “Creeping vine, possum tail, make Jack move, like a snail!”

      Suddenly, it felt to Aldwyn as if the air around him had got thick and gooey like