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something to annoy her and go the same way as Linda. Or was that too much to hope?
    “My broomstick is very precious to me,” Mrs. Windergast was saying. “I normally keep it very close to me—as do all witches. So this is very much an honor, young man. Do you think you could ride it?”
    “Yeah—I think so.”
    “Then try.”
    Vincent took hold of the broomstick and muttered some words of power. At once the stick sprang to attention and hovered in the air, several feet above the ground. Gracefully, he climbed onto it, swinging one leg over it as if it were a horse. David watched, annoyed and showing it. It seemed there was nothing Vincent couldn’t do well. He had both feet off the ground now, hovering in space as if he had been born to it.
    “Try moving,” Mrs. Windergast suggested.
    Vincent concentrated and slowly rose into the air, perfectly balanced on the broomstick. Gently he curved round and headed over the blackboard, the handle ahead of him, the twigs trailing behind. He was smiling, growing in confidence, and David was half tempted to whisper the spell that would summon up a minor wind demon and knock him off balance.
    But in the end there was no need. When things went wrong, they all went wrong at once. The broomstick wobbled, the end pitched up, Vincent cried out and the next moment he fell off and crashed to the floor with the broom on top of him.
    “As you can see,” Mrs. Windergast trilled, “it’s not as easy as it looks. Is there any damage, Vincent dear?”
    Vincent got stiffly to his feet, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m all right,” he said.
    “I meant the broomstick.” Mrs. Windergast picked it up and cast a fond eye over it. “I never let anyone ride it as a rule,” she went on. “But it seems undamaged. Well done, Vincent. You may return to your seat. And now”—she turned to the blackboard—“let me try to explain the curious mixture of magic and basic aerodynamics that makes flight possible.”
    For the next forty-five minutes, Mrs. Windergast explained her technique. David was sorry when the final bell went. He had enjoyed the lesson—Vincent’s fall in particular—and he was still smiling as he left the classroom. Linda followed him out. She had been reconstituted by Mrs. Windergast, but she was looking very pale and sickly. David doubted if she would ever make a decent black magician. She’d probably end up as nothing worse than a crossing guard.
    There was a knot of people outside in the corridor. As David came out he saw that one of them was Vincent.
    “That was bad luck,” Vincent said.
    “What?” Maybe it was just an innocent remark, but already David felt his hackles rise.
    “Losing three points in French. That narrows the gap.”
    “You’re still a long way behind.” It was Jill who had spoken. David hadn’t seen her arrive, but he was glad that she seemed to have taken his side.
    “The exams aren’t over yet.” Vincent shrugged and once again David was irritated without knowing why. Did he dislike Vincent just because he was his closest rival or was there something more? Looking at his easy smile, the way Vincent slouched against the wall—always so superior—he felt something snap inside.
    “You looked pretty stupid just now,” he said.
    “When?”
    “Falling off the broomstick.”
    “You think you could have done better?”
    “Sure.” David wasn’t thinking. All he knew was that he wanted to goad the other boy, just to get a reaction. “You’re going to have to get used to coming in second,” he went on. “Just like in the race . . .”
    Vincent’s eyes narrowed. He took a step forward. “There was only one reason I came in second . . .” he began.
    He knew what David had done. He had felt the web slipping over his foot. And he was going to say it, now, in front of everyone. David couldn’t let that happen. He had to stop him. And before he knew what he was doing, he suddenly reached out and pushed Vincent hard with the heel of his