I pick up the cat. It nestles into my arms and starts to purr.
‘Seems like it to me,’ I say. ‘Maybe it strayed into the forest by mistake, and that’s why it bolted out so quickly.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Nan will know,’ I say.
And so we head to the house: me and a small, trembling tabby cat, and one rather cross bird-imp.
It’ll be a good distraction from school news, anyway.
‘I’m dreadfully allergic to cats,’ says Nan, perching on the edge of her blue chair, her lower legs and feet only vaguely visible.
‘Nan.’ I stare at her.
The cat is sleeping in my lap, and Peg sits on the mantelpiece, his tail swinging over the flames.
‘What? I am!’
‘I really don’t think ghosts can be allergic to animals.’
She frowns.
‘Well, I might be. I’m not your ordinary sort of ghost, you know.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘Did you bring her back to distract us from news of school?’
‘No!’
‘So,’ she says. ‘Tell me about your day. Don’t leave anything out.’
‘It was pretty normal . . .’
‘No such thing. Come on – out with it.’
‘The lunch was good. And I like maths. Zara is really nice. She’s new too. Her mum moved them here a little while ago . . .’
And there’s a whole floor full of magic, where the fae learn their history. And I lied. I lied, and I said I was human, and Yanny’s eyes knew that I was lying, but what could I say: ‘I am the child of the fae king who cursed your home’?
‘Zara?’ Nan leans forward. ‘Who is Zara?’
‘A girl at school!’
‘Human?’
‘Yes, Nan. Of course.’ I hold my breath, hoping she doesn’t ask any more about that. I’ve never lied outright to her face; I’m not sure I could. And I know she isn’t going to be happy about me being in a school with the fae she’s spent so long trying to keep me away from.
‘Bright, “Zara” means,’ she says. ‘Bright and shining, I think.’
‘It suits her.’ I smile, looking down at the cat. It’s very small; perhaps even just a kitten still. I always wanted a pet.
‘This little cat must go,’ says Peg, shaking his head, twin plumes of steam escaping his nostrils.
The kitten opens one green eye and stares at him.
‘You said she came out of Winterspell.’ Peg’s brow furrows. ‘Who knows what she might be.’
‘She’s a cat, and I’m keeping her. She can be my familiar – like Peg is yours, Nan.’
They huff together.
‘How do you know it’s a she?’ Peg demands. ‘Something magical? I mean, if it’s going to be a familiar, it needs to be a bit magical. Can’t just have any old cat being a familiar.’
‘You just said that she was probably a monster! Now she’s any old cat?’
‘She is an unknown, to be treated with caution,’ says Nan.
‘Fine. I won’t tell her all our secrets. Yet. But she is staying.’
‘Well aren’t you growing up quickly with all your new attitudes?’ she says drily. ‘What are you going to call this pet of yours, then?’
‘Teacake!’ I blurt.
Peg puts his horned head in his hands, and Nan opens her mouth and snaps it shut again. Teacake’s purr rumbles through me.
‘Really?’ Peg asks, raising his head and staring at me. ‘You do know that a familiar is an important creature? That if it’s true, your bond will be unassailable, that she will be by your side until the day you die – or even after.’ He gives Nan a look. ‘That she will be your champion when you need one, your adviser, your closest ally, your most magical weapon in times of need? That she will sacrifice everything to be with you, that your care for her must be foremost in your mind, no matter what comes your way?’
‘Yes, Peg.’ I meet his eye. ‘I know what a familiar is. It’s one of the only things I really do know for sure. Do you think you haven’t taught me that?’
‘She’s probably just a lost kitty, and she’ll be gone back home within a week,’ Nan says. ‘For all your melodrama, the pair of you, let’s not get carried away. She looks fairly ordinary to me.’
I bury my fingers in Teacake’s thick fur and tickle her neck. She rolls over in my lap, showing us all her pale belly, and gives a little chirrup, staring at Peg and flexing her claws. The flames roar in the fireplace, and Peg’s tail makes sparks as it swishes, and Nan settles back into her chair, her eyes dancing as she watches.
I think she likes Teacake, really.
Ahh, lucky is the soul blessed by the sprite. They are few and far between, and their power is vast, for it is the power of trees, and rivers, and mountains, and of the moon itself. Nimble, stalk-limbed, they might even pass for human, were it not for the verdant hues of their hair and the tiny horns that sometimes grow from their upper brow.
Peaceful, they may be – but ware, fisherman, to ask for permission before you plunder a water sprite’s river. And ware, woodcutters, for the wood sprite’s rage is as vast as all of Winterspell, if harm should come to its dearest. A wood sprite who has lost its tree is a terrible, howling creature. A monster made, indeed.
13
It’s dark when I leave for school, and the ground is winter hard. My breath steams against the brittle cold air. Teacake follows me all the way down the lane to the river and when I look back the house is just visible, lights glimmering in the windows, frost sweeping down over the roof. I reach down and give her a fuss and tell her to head home. Green eyes linger on mine, and then she turns and starts to head back.
‘Good girl,’ I whisper with a smile, watching her go. She’s a tiny bright figure trotting down past the unruly hedgerows. I wonder where she did come from. As I stand there watching, I can just make out the call of the centauride, deep in the woods. Winterspell is a dark sweep up Cloudfell Mountain from here, a chill mist gathered about the lower reaches, and folds of new snow at its peak.
Teacake stops dead, her ears pricked. And the dawn chorus begins with a clamour. I take a deep breath and turn my back on all of it, heading into school, and up the stairs, through the charms to the hall in the round tower for my first magical assembly.
Principal Ashworth is like a cricket at the front of the room, constantly moving, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his cloak. I scoot in, find Yanny, and take a seat in the rickety wood chair next to him. Round windows look out to a still pink sky, and the metalwork on the spines of all the books in the twisting vaults of the tower gleams.
‘Morning,’ I whisper.
I’m shaky with nerves; it feels like the first day all over again. There are about a dozen kids in here, and most of them are looking at me. I smile, and a couple smile back. Others definitely don’t look as friendly.
‘Drop your glamours, if you’re still wearing them,’ Principal Ashworth says. ‘Save your energy. You are among friends!’ He beams.
‘How do we know that?’ asks one girl sitting towards the back of the room, looking at me with a scowl on her face. Her dark hair is piled up on top of her head, held there with what look like ice-blue knitting needles.