‘How was the bus?’ I ask.
‘Smelly,’ she says. ‘And it seemed to go so slowly. Anyway, I made it. How was your weekend?’
‘Good.’ I think back to my studies with Peg, and Mrs Mandrake’s visit, and the rain. ‘Wet.’
‘You went shopping!’ she says, noticing my new things. ‘Mum and I went back to the city to see some friends, and Dad took me bowling –’ she rolls her eyes – ‘which we were both rubbish at because we’d never done it before. Then we went for pizza, which was pretty good. Anyway, we only got back last night . . . What about you, Yanny?’
‘Fine,’ he says, offering nothing further.
Zara tuts and starts investigating the contents of my pencil case, and I look up to see one of the girls staring. I stare back with a nice smile.
‘What are you doing?’ Zara asks, catching me at it again later in our English class.
This whole new-girl thing is getting old.
‘She’s giving them the imp,’ says Yanny.
‘What?’ Zara looks baffled.
We both turn to look at him.
‘The imp. Staring at someone, smiling, giving them the creeps.’
‘I’m not sure the creeps is what I was aiming for . . .’ ‘Well, you weren’t being friendly,’ he says.
‘They were staring at me first!’
‘This is a very strange and immature conversation,’ Zara sniffs. Then her eyes sharpen on Yanny. ‘What’s that about imps? Are they real?’ She leans in closer to us. ‘They’re real, aren’t they! I know there are strange things going on here . . .’
‘It’s just a turn of phrase!’ Yanny says, shaking his head and picking up his rather battered book.
‘Nope. Try again.’
‘It’s a thing,’ I say, feeling my skin heat. ‘You know, like an impish grin. You’ve heard that before . . .’
Zara frowns, but she doesn’t get a chance to say anything more because Mrs Arnott is giving us all a stare that has nothing to do with imps, and we spend the next half-hour writing about the downfall of humanity in Animal Farm. Well, I do, and Zara does. Yanny spends most of it pretending not to stare at me, until I give him the imp.
‘Where did you say you live?’ he whispers, as soon as we sit down in history. His eyes glow, and there’s a tiny little pull, deep in my chest.
Magic. He’s using magic on me.
‘Just outside the forest. How about you?’
‘On the other side.’
‘The other side?’
‘Of the forest.’
‘I didn’t say which side I was on?’
‘Well, we clearly don’t live on the same side, so it must be the other side.’
All the time, that little glow, that smile, that pull of power.
There are different kinds of magic, Nan says. There’s the kind that comes from within, when you are a creature of fae, that is in your blood and your soul and in everything you do. And then there’s the kind you can learn from books – words of power that can be used to make spell-magic with just a little bit of heart. I can do a little of both, same as she could. But Yanny’s definitely using the first kind right now – I’m sure of it.
‘Stop it,’ I whisper.
He pulls back. ‘So you do have magic.’
‘Enough to know when it’s being used on me!’
‘You should be enrolled.’
‘No I shouldn’t! . . . Enrolled into what?’
I stare at him, while the teacher starts talking about Joseph Lister, but he doesn’t answer. My hand reaches for a pen, and when Mr Allen starts making notes on the board, I follow the rest of the class in writing them in my book.
Yanny does really have fae magic.
‘What should I be enrolled into?’ I ask him again as we make our way to the cafeteria.
‘Can’t tell you if you won’t do it.’
‘How can I do it if I don’t know what it is?’
He spreads his hands. ‘Frustrating, isn’t it.’
‘How would I? When?’
‘Meet me in the science corridor, after school.’
‘What about Zara?’ I ask, as I spy her through the glass doors of the cafeteria. She’s already grabbed a table, and she’s shoved all her stuff into the two seats beside her, a fierce look on her face. ‘She hates not knowing things. She’ll hate it even more if it’s the two of us . . .’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But we can’t tell her.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s part of the enrolment. One of the rules.’
‘But I haven’t enrolled yet.’
He pulls me aside, behind a wave of kids who bang their way through.
‘This isn’t a joke, Stella. I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but if you’re even part fae, then it’s your job to play by the rules. You don’t tell a human about magic. And you don’t let them see you when they stray into the forest.’
‘So you do live in the forest!’
‘Maybe,’ he says, and his voice shakes.
‘Why are you at school if you’re fae?’ I demand.
‘Why not?’ he says. ‘Why shouldn’t we?’
I don’t have an answer for that; I’m way out of my depth here. He looks utterly furious and not at all friendly right now.
‘Zara’s my friend,’ I say. ‘Can’t we trust her?’
‘Just wait,’ he says under his breath as we enter the room. ‘Wait until you’ve seen what you’re doing. Come with me after school. I’ll show you, and we’ll talk then.’
‘And then I’ll tell her.’
‘Then you can decide.’
But my stomach is full of wiggling nerves, and lunch tastes dry and strange. I don’t know how to look Zara in the eye when there are secrets between us. I tell her I’ve got a headache, and try to lose myself in the food, but Yanny’s pastries are definitely unsatisfying today. They turn to dust in my mouth as soon as I bite into them, and I notice he barely touches them, preferring the red apples and buttered rye bread I brought, and Zara’s tiny round cheese biscuits.
He doesn’t show a sign that he’s bothered about anything, and that only makes me worry more. If he’s truly fae, and my Nan’s books are accurate, he could probably hide just about anything and never let it show on his face.
11
I have to head out with Zara at the end of the day. She’s been so sweet about my pretend headache all afternoon, I genuinely now feel a bit sick. I walk with her to the gate, and then she spots her mum waiting down the road.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she says. ‘Hope you feel better.’
‘Thank you,’ I manage, and I watch as she bolts down the road. I stand for a long while, watching her get into the car, watching it manoeuvre into the busy road, wondering what I’m doing. I came here for school. For humanity. For a friend like Zara. That’s all I wanted. But I also want to know what’s going on in Winterspell. I want to know what it means to be fae. And since I can’t go in there, this is my chance.
I whip back in through the gate and race up the steps to the lobby before I can change my mind. Mrs Edge watches me crash through reception and shakes her head, but she says nothing. I head up the wide enchanted staircase to the first floor, and then on to some older, worn steps, where Yanny is waiting.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t like lying to Zara.’