Historical Fiction

Charlie shook his head. ‘No, she couldn’t have got back here before us. Not unless she flew…’ No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he turned to look towards the door. The twins followed his gaze, staring at the broomstick that was propped up against the wall. As one, the three children raised their eyebrows.
‘Nah,’ said Joe, breaking into a grin. ‘Can you really imagine her zooming about on that?’ He began to laugh. ‘She doesn’t look built for speed and that moth-eaten old thing is no Firebolt, that’s for sure.’
Jemima, however, wasn’t convinced. There was more to Goody Clowes than met the eye – of that she was certain.

A shaft of moonlight shone through the small window, illuminating the spot where Max stood. He glanced up at the silvery beam that turned his coat to white, feeling his skin tingle and his fur crackle with electricity.
‘On this night of Samhain, by the light of the moon,
Depart ye now but come back soon.’