‘The forest isn’t under threat from humanity,’ Yanny says quietly. ‘It’s under threat from the shadows.’
‘And we will win that battle,’ Mr Flint says, slamming a hand down on the desk. It cracks and then folds like a pack of cards beneath his touch. His eyes glow. ‘There is no greater priority among the fae council. What you must do is survive it so that we all may survive the bigger fight: to keep the forest whole.’
Nobody answers this time, and Mr Flint’s anger has been burned out. He sighs down at the pile of rubble that was a desk a moment ago, and herds everybody into the adjoining room: a huge redbrick space with a high ceiling and polished wood floor, where the self-defence and spell-craft lessons are held. He’s filling in for the usual teacher today, and as his eyes flash around the room, I can tell he’s not going to make it easy for anybody.
‘So,’ he says, lifting himself to the wooden platform in the centre with a leathery flap of his wings. ‘Let’s see what you have been learning with Ms Elder. Tash and Stella – come on.’
My skin flares as Tash turns her silver eyes on me, mounting the platform with a nimble leap. I follow, using my hands to pull myself up and clambering on, knee-first. By the time I’ve picked myself up, she’s standing, feet planted wide, and of course everybody is staring at us. She pulls the ice-blue needles from her hair, never taking her eyes off me, and begins to advance.
Last time, I just stood at the back of the class and watched.
I glance over at Mr Flint, wondering what he thinks I’m going to do, but he just returns my gaze and folds his arms, so I guess it’s up to me. Thing is, I don’t have flashing blue hair needles, or fiery eyes – I don’t have anything. I spent most of last night either pacing my room, full of rage at Nan and Peg and the world in general for making things so complicated, or looking at myself, trying to uncover my fae-ness. I said all the familiar spell words with a new zing, wondering if my magic would suddenly burst forth, especially now that my mother’s acorn has merged with my own, but they didn’t act any differently. I don’t even have interesting teeth.
Tash grins. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes,’ I snap, gathering myself and muttering Nan’s words for self-defence. She was always very bossy about self-defence. I just wish she’d taught me a few words of attack as well.
Tash dances forward, clearly determined to find a chink in my armour, but she’s too angry to do it with any subtlety; her eyes flash like mirrors before she strikes with the lightning magic in her needles, and her next move is pretty easy to read. I keep on murmuring the words under my breath, and my clumsy feet don’t let me fall. At one point, there’s even a flash of something that didn’t come from Tash – it’s there and gone again so quickly that I’m not entirely sure what happened, but Tash’s eyes widen in surprise, and after that she’s more cautious.
‘Very good!’ Mr Flint calls out, halting us before I can work out what I did or whether I can do it again.
The acorn at my throat is uncomfortably warm, and I’m fairly sure it did something in there.
‘Let’s change. Excellent defence work, Stella – not at all bad for your first time. Let’s have you out. Tash, you’re getting pretty nifty with those needles – though you need to remember not to rely upon them alone. It is your power that drives them, not the other way around!’
He calls Yanny up to face Tash next, and he’s pretty excellent at the fight. His smoke lingers in the air, and he has a fiery whip that curls around his wrist and snaps in the air. Mr Flint pits student after student against him, but nobody stands for long, until another girl – Laurel – steps in, and they parry with hot words and quick, dancing feet, his whip against the nimble flick of her slim wooden staff, until finally Yanny holds up his hands in defeat – through tiredness if nothing else, by the look of him.
‘You spread yourself too thin, boy!’ Mr Flint snaps from the sidelines. ‘You need to control it better; rage will only carry you so far!’
Yanny nods, tight-lipped, as we’re dismissed.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask him once the lesson is over, while he fixes his glamour out in the corridor. I can feel the stretch of magic in the air, it’s thin, dangerous.
‘Yep,’ he says, rolling his shoulders as we step through the wooden door and head down the stairs.
‘That was intense.’
He shrugs. ‘Yep.’
I don’t know what to say, how to make him feel better. He looks utterly worn out, and there’s a tension around him that makes me anxious. I guess there’s probably nothing I can do right now.
I keep close though, all morning, and Zara senses something too. She doesn’t comment, but I know she’s worried. We get through double English, and then it’s maths, and the winter sun streams through the windows, making patches of searing light across the desks. The radiators are on full blast, and Yanny is struggling, his skin pale beneath bright freckles. I whisper the words of heart, to lend him strength – and for a while, it seems to work. He picks up his pen, fixes his attention on the page before him. But as soon as I’m done with the spell, his hand stills, and he wilts back into the chair.
‘Yanny –’ Zara leans into him – ‘concentrate.’
He sits upright and pulls the book closer.
‘Here,’ she says, shaking her head as she flips the pages. ‘That one. Look, I’ll help you with it later. Just look busy for a minute – Mr Goodenough is on the warpath.’
And he is, his blue eyes flashing around the classroom as if looking for a target. Yanny bends low over his book, as if deep in study, but his eyes are unfocused. Zara frowns over at me.
‘Just say he’s ill or something,’ I whisper.
‘Mr G doesn’t care about that!’
‘Well, he should.’
‘Yanny’s already on a warning. He fell asleep in his lesson last week. Most of the teachers don’t seem to mind, but Mr G does.’
‘He’ll be OK,’ I whisper. ‘There’s only ten minutes left . . .’
I reach deep for new words, thinking of the spell Nan taught me for fortitude. I look down at my own book and mutter the words slowly. They unwind from me, and I can feel the power in them. Yanny stirs next to me, and I keep muttering, until the bell goes, ignoring increasingly quizzical looks from Zara.
‘OK! The next chapter for homework, please,’ says Mr Goodenough. ‘Off you go, slowly. Remember your coats – and I expect better next time!’
He pins me with a stare, and I nod, turning to pack my things, feeling a bit fuzzy-headed.
We scuttle out of the room and head to the cafeteria, but I can’t keep the words going in the rabble of the corridor, and Yanny starts weaving erratically, his eyes flashing.
‘What is your deal?’ Zara demands. ‘Yanny? Stella? What’s going on?’
‘I’ll take him to the, uh, medical room,’ I say.
‘The medical room?’
‘Upstairs.’
She looks between us warily. ‘I’ll help.’
‘No. Leave it with me.’
‘Stella, no. Please don’t do this – don’t exclude me. I know there’s something going on—’
Yanny collides with a glass door and starts to giggle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tash charging up the steps, a determined look on her face. If she reports that he’s out of control down here . . .
‘Zara, I’ll explain later, but we have to go. I’m sorry.’
‘Go on, then!’ she bursts, steadying Yanny as he stumbles into us. ‘Go! I’ll wait right here.’
She sits on the bottom of the steps as I hustle Yanny up them and through the charms and the double doors. He’s hot as a small sun, and his shadow boils across the wall as we go. When we reach the time-out room, he staggers and pretty much falls into one of the chairs, and the change is instant.