When I was small, we ventured into the forest – under Nan’s glamour so that none of those creatures could sense us – and we searched for the palace, which is the heart of the Shadow King’s power. But we never found it. His darkness has warped the land, made it impossible to find even for us. And every time we went in there, the shadows were harder to hide from; they gathered thick about us, and the fae who fought them had to fight all the harder on those days. So we left. I could see how it upset Nan, to walk away from Winterspell and all the fae, but we only made it worse for them. We couldn’t go very far – her power, the thing that keeps her with me, is tied to the magic in the forest. So we have spent all these years hiding between the forest and the town. Nan used the last of her real magic to glamour the whole house, and us inside it – when I look in the mirror, I am human.
Only, I’m not. It’s just that her spell made a shield that disguised me. And it’s been there so long that we don’t know what I’d look like without it. Every fae is different, and sprites like us have many forms. Would I have horns? A tail? Nan has pointed ears and moon-round silver eyes, but I am a mystery. She says it doesn’t matter; that I am Stella, whatever shape I’m in. She says I can find friends in books, and that is true. And we have many, many books, so I have spent days and weeks caught up in adventures with the characters between the pages. But the longer I’m here alone, the more I crave my own adventures. My own friend.
I mean, Peg is a friend, of course. But he’s very small and a bit flighty, and he can be pretty superior. I haven’t got the courage to tell him yet what I’ve done. It’s going to be a Big Deal.
I phoned the school.
After I talked with Nan and realized she might really never let me go – and that the forest may be out of my reach for as long as I live – I really did it. I checked the perimeter, set the charms swinging, silver sparkling in the low sun all along the fence, and muttered the familiar words Nan taught me that keep the fae and the shadows of Winterspell out of our home – our sanctuary: ‘Not mediocris, nor twisting umbra-form, shall pass between these acies, for they mean domum; our domum be our sanctum, free from inimicus be.’
And then I made the call we’ve been arguing about for so long.
It wasn’t easy. First, I sprinkled salt in a circle around the kitchen table. (If Nan had come back, she’d have known I’d hidden myself from her and Peg on purpose, but I could have just told her I wanted some privacy. She wouldn’t have known what I was really doing.) Then I picked up the phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. Dialled. Cursed my shaking fingers and wondered what on earth I was going to say.
‘Broadmere Academy – how may I direct your call?’
That was as far as I usually got. I’d tried many times . . . and put the phone down. But I had already told my reflection that today was the day, and the face that looked back at me had beamed with hope and possibility.
‘Um. I’m new to the area. And . . . how do I register?’
‘Register?’
‘To come to school.’ My cheeks blazed.
‘Oh! Well, usually your parents would apply, through the usual authorities.’
‘Oh.’
Silence. And then a long sigh.
‘One of those, eh. Name?’
‘Estelle. I mean Stella. Stella Brigg.’
‘One minute . . .’ Sound of papers shuffling, a lot more sighing. ‘OK. Hold,’ the woman’s voice snapped.
The phone line crackled, there was a pipping sound. I stared at the phone. It wasn’t really going how I thought it would, so far.
‘And why are your parents not making this call?’
Well, you see, my mother died long ago from fae plague, and my father didn’t die of it, but he did not survive it whole either, so now he haunts Winterspell from his hidden palace, and all his shadows are at war with the fae.
He is the Shadow King, you see.
‘Um, it’s just my nan. She’s in the other room . . . She said I should do it to . . . teach me independence.’ I winced, crossing my fingers as I realized I should have pretended to be my mum or something. Why do I always have these thoughts too late?
‘How curious,’ the voice said after a short pause. ‘Come along in the morning, and perhaps we can sort something out. There are usually various formalities, but I suppose you’ll be coming alone? As part of this independence drive?’
‘Ye-es . . .’
‘Very well. Tomorrow – 9 a.m. sharp.’
The line went dead. So tomorrow morning, everything will change. Everything has already changed, actually; I’ve never defied Nan before.
I watch Peg flute up into the darkening sky and head back inside, where only shadows greet me. There’s a storm building in my chest. Nan appears as I pour hot water into a mug with fresh mint from the garden, but I can’t speak, can’t even meet her eye right now. She frets around me in a spiral of motion, and I wish she would sit down – a real body in a real chair. I wish she could hold me; that I could feel her paper-soft hands on mine, like I used to. Sometimes, here, my own skin aches for the touch of another human being – even just by accident. A nudge, a flick, anything.
Tomorrow, that might even happen. The storm inside me becomes a bright spark of hope. I hold my hand up in a silent goodnight as I head upstairs, and she holds hers out to meet it – except, of course, they don’t touch.
The imp is a master of disguise and can shapeshift at will. Clever, naughty, not entirely trustworthy, they are the preferred familiars of many fae for their ability to spy and their fierce loyalty.
3
It’s hard to leave in the morning. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, thinking of Nan’s old glamour spell and whether there are features I should be hiding, but I can’t see anything out of the ordinary: brown hair, brown eyes, round face. Me.
I huff at myself and flit down the stairs, hastily undoing charms to get out of the door and the gate, then whispering the familiar words to restore them behind me. Then I charge off down the lane on my own, for the first time, while Peg flutters and spirals over my head demanding to know what I’m doing, chirping about duties and responsibilities. He’s so panicked, it would be easier – kinder – just to forget the whole thing.
But if I do that now, it’ll never happen. I’ll just spend my whole life trapped in the house. I look back at our home, glowing pink in the early morning light, nestled between folds in the foothills that lead to Cloudfell Mountain, where all things are wild. Winterspell Forest snakes from the moorland that borders our garden and makes a broad swathe around the mountain, and even from here, I can see the sparks and the sweeping shadows that mean something in there is having a good old fight.