‘If you weren’t ready, you wouldn’t be here,’ he says.
And there doesn’t really seem a good answer to that. I nod, and he whispers a word at the top of the steps, and the old wooden door swings open. On the other side, candles flare in sconces on the walls of a narrow corridor. It’s cold up here, and draughty. It’s like another school entirely. I pull my coat tight as Yanny walks on.
‘What’re we going to do?’ I whisper. The candles gutter as we go, making shadows swoop and dance.
‘Just have a look around so you know what you’re missing. Don’t worry – nobody’s going to eat you!’
He grins, turning to me, but the grin is full of sharp teeth.
‘Yanny!’
A man swoops down the corridor to us, cloak flying, his small round face creviced and pitted with scars.
‘Ooh, a new student!’ the man says, coming to a stop and peering at us with his head to one side.
‘Ah, not really,’ says Yanny, looking between us with an awkward grimace of a smile. ‘At least, she is new, but . . . I was just showing her around. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be here, sir.’
‘And yet, here I am!’ The man gleams. ‘You have been caught out, Yanny.’ He gives me a sharp look. ‘Perhaps you had reason. Stella, is it?’ he asks. ‘I heard about your trial period. Mrs Edge was most curious about you.’
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
‘She says she doesn’t know much about fae magic,’ Yanny says. ‘But there’s something there. So I thought . . .’
‘Quite right,’ the man says with a brisk nod. ‘So, Stella – not a forest dweller, then?’
I shake my head, trying to calm the fizz in my blood. Whoever this man is, whatever this place is, there is power here. How are these worlds colliding? I thought the forest was magic, and that school would be . . . not magic. I stare into his unblinking gaze.
‘But Yanny’s right – there is something,’ he says, tilting his head to the other side. ‘How curious. Well, now you are here, so welcome. This is the Magical Department. I am Principal Ashworth. Come along – let’s have a talk. Onward!’
He hustles down the corridor to a narrow, winding staircase that takes us up into a round study with crinkled glass windows on every side.
‘Now,’ he says, perching on the edge of a broad wooden desk. ‘Stella. You’ve seen our magical underbelly. You will have to sign the contract. Yanny generally has good instincts. Have you magic?’
‘A little,’ I say. ‘Spell-work, charms – nothing very exciting.’
‘And you are?’
I stare at him. ‘Pardon?’
‘What sort of a creature are you? There are humans with some magic. Are you one of those?’
I stare between him and Yanny. There’s something searching and eager about both of them. If I told them the truth about my heritage – that the dreaded Shadow King is my father – what would they do to me? Nan always worried they might never accept me after all the misery he’s caused.
‘Ahh, yes. Human,’ I say. ‘We have lots of books. My nan says there is fae blood in our history . . .’
‘I see,’ says Principal Ashworth. ‘Well, they say that we all have a little fae in us, somewhere. In some, it is more pronounced.’ He fingers the tiny sharp horns that poke through his curling brown hair.
How did I miss those?
‘And we may choose, sometimes, to hide the signs,’ he says. ‘So. Perhaps you are hiding; perhaps all that you possess is an instinct for our words. In any case, you must sign the contract.’
He produces a scroll from a small drawer in the front of the desk. It unspools, inch after inch of brown paper rushing to the floor, and he holds out an old ink pen with a wide brass nib crusted in black ink.
At least, I hope it’s black ink. Right now, in this sun-flashed room, with this strange small man, and Yanny staring beside me, it could be almost anything.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Security contract,’ says Principal Ashworth. ‘Provides that you will neither take nor insert any magic from this place; that you will keep our secrets; that you will take all precautions when entering and exiting; reset the charms; respect the boundaries of your fellow magical students; work hard on your lessons . . .’ He thrusts the pen at me. ‘So, sign!’
‘What if I accidentally let something slip?’
He takes back the pen. ‘Are you prone to accidents?’
‘No.’
‘And you have some familiarity with the fae world. With our words, and our spells. So, you already know how to keep such things safe.’
‘Uh, yes. But. Can I tell my nan?’
‘Is she human?’
‘She’s a ghost,’ I say, my tongue already too tied from the unfamiliar lies.
They stare at me, and I shrug.
‘How interesting!’ Principal Ashworth nods. ‘Then you may tell her. Besides, there are life-and-death provisos, should the need arise. Now sign, or I’ll have to eject you, and there will be no coming back!’
I look at Yanny. ‘You didn’t say . . .’
‘What are you worried about?’ he asks, no help whatsoever. ‘You already knew there was magic out there, and you knew to keep it a secret . . .’
‘But magical contracts?’ I hiss. ‘Everyone knows they’re a bad idea.’
‘You’re confusing your fae stories with your fairy stories,’ says Principal Ashworth. ‘We’re not the Grimm brothers, and you aren’t a little girl in a gingerbread house. Now, if you’d like to continue this little tour, you’ll have to sign!’
He grins, and his teeth are a little pointed, but his eyes are warm, so I take a deep breath, pluck the pen from his outstretched hand, and sign the paper.
‘Excellent,’ he says, winding it back up again. ‘You will join our lessons. Whatever affinity you have for our magic, we must explore it and work out what to do with you. There are rules – and customs – that you should know, whether you’re human or fae, or something in between. Magic is not something to be taken lightly. Nor to be discussed downstairs in the regular lessons. Yanny will advise, if you need it. He is a fairly good student, and he has already asserted himself as your guide, so I will entrust you to his care.’ He casts a glance at Yanny before turning back to me.
‘Lessons start at 7.30 in the morning,’ he continues, ‘and finish by 8.45. And there’s the odd differential, such as history and science, when you’ll come to us. Welcome, Stella. I am sure you’ll find what you need here, and perhaps a little more besides . . .’
He winks and flaps us out of the room, his cloak billowing.
I turn to Yanny at the top of the narrow steps, and he blows his cheeks out.
‘You could have warned me,’ I say, as he hustles me down and whisks us along the corridor to a circular, cavernous hall, where the ceiling rises in a spire, bookshelves winding up its sides. Shining wood ladders stretch right up through all the shelves, getting narrower as they go. The whole place sings at me and makes my head spin.
‘The hall-slash-library,’ he says.
‘What have you got me into, Yanny?’
‘What have I got myself into,’ he retorts, not looking the slightest bit apologetic. He looks up at the rows of books, and his eyes flash with streaks of amber. ‘Stupid. I should’ve left it all alone.’ He looks back at me. ‘I thought I could show you around without Ashworth finding us. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ He sighs, but there’s still a glint in his eye as he leads me out.
‘What kind of magic do you have?’ I ask.