There’s a stunned silence.
‘You mean . . . ghosts are real?’ whispers Wren. ‘Like, she talks and everything? Can she move things? Is she bound to your house? Ooh! Could you bring her to school?’
I stifle a laugh at the thought of bringing Nan to school.
‘You didn’t know that ghosts were real?’ I ask.
‘We still don’t know they’re real,’ says Tash.
‘No!’ says Wren. ‘My parents always said they were legends; just stories told to children to teach them lessons about things.’
‘Well, humans do that about the fae,’ I say.
Wren laughs, but Tash sniffs and looks at her long, pointed nails. I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything else stupid.
‘Don’t worry about Tash,’ says Wren. ‘She’s not great with new people. She’s not great with old people either, to be honest – but she does get easier with time.’
Tash stalks off and gets into a fierce debate with someone on the other side of the room, gesticulating out of the window.
‘What’s that about?’ I ask.
‘It was a bad night in the forest,’ Wren says. ‘Something’s shifted, and nobody really knows why. No disasters, exactly, but the nights are so long now that it’s winter, and even the daylight is just murk. The ivy on the trees has grown so thick, it hardly lets any light through. More of them are getting sick.’
‘Is Yanny OK?’
‘Strictly under house arrest,’ she says. ‘And I don’t expect he’s happy about it!’
‘It was my fault.’
‘It wasn’t.’ She frowns. ‘From what I heard, you just made sure he got home safe. I heard you dealt with the shadows pretty well yourself . . .’
I sigh. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘But we know you have some affinity with the shadows – Rory told us.’ says Tash, ‘which seems pretty strange to me.’
The room instantly feels darker and colder. Wren rolls her eyes and tries to brush it aside, and Principal Ashworth comes in and starts waffling about Safety in the Modern Human World, but the feeling stays, and it isn’t only Tash who looks sideways at me after that. It’s a huge relief to get out of there and downstairs, where Zara is waiting for me.
‘Why does everyone look so glum?’ she whispers, tucking her arm through mine and leading me off to tutorial.
‘It was a difficult night in the forest, apparently,’ I say. ‘And they all think I’m some kind of evil shadow-bending sprite creature, so that didn’t really help.’
‘A what?’
‘Something Tash said . . .’ And Rory, whose coldness I can’t forget. The way the shadow drew close to me last night, before I sent it away.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ Zara says. ‘There’s nothing evil about you. Speaking of which, I wondered . . . Mum’s working a late shift tonight – maybe I could come to yours?’
I grin at her. ‘You just want to see Peg again!’
‘He is amazing,’ she says. ‘But also, I figured . . . maybe it’s a bit lonely sometimes at yours. I know it’s lonely at mine when Mum’s at work.’
‘Doesn’t anyone stay with you?’ I ask.
‘My aunt comes and stays if Mum’s working nights, but late shifts mean she’s home by nine, so I sort myself out.’
‘What about . . . Do you see your dad much?’
‘Not so much,’ she says, marching on through all the kids, dragging me with her. ‘Anyway. Tea tonight? We need to work out a plan, anyway, right?’
‘Definitely! But . . . Zara.’
She turns back to me.
‘You can talk to me, if you want to . . . about things. You know that?’
‘I know,’ she says with a wobbly sort of smile. She takes a breath. ‘It’s complicated.’
I nod. ‘But when you’re ready.’
‘When I’m ready, you’ll be the first to know,’ she says. ‘Come on. We’ll be late.’
I pull her close as we walk, just so she knows she isn’t alone. Even if sometimes she feels that way.
24
‘All right?’ asks Zara, frowning as I fumble with the charms at the gate.
My head started buzzing on the way home, and my vision is full of sparking lines.
‘Yeah. I don’t know. Got a bit of a funny head.’
‘It’s been a full-on couple of days,’ she says.
‘I guess.’
I get the charms out of the way, and then replace them over the wood as we close the gate behind us, muttering a few words. It makes my head throb.
‘Come on,’ says Zara. ‘Let’s get you inside.’
She takes the key from my hand, letting us both into the warm kitchen, where Nan and Peg are already entertaining. Yanny looks up from an enormous cheese sandwich with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
‘Hey.’ He waves.
‘Stella?’ Nan knows straight away there’s something amiss. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Just a headache,’ I say.
It’s already easing, I realize, as I drop my bag and throw off my coat. Zara takes it from me and hangs it with hers on the pegs by the door, and Peg puts the kettle on.
‘How was school?’ Yanny asks around a mouthful of sandwich.
‘Oh, OK,’ I say, dropping into a chair. ‘I thought you were under house arrest.’
‘Well . . . no. A bit. I said I was coming here. They weren’t exactly thrilled about it, but I think they knew they weren’t going to stop me.’
‘You can help us with our studies,’ says Zara.
Yanny looks curious, and I stare at Zara, hoping she’s not going to say much more in front of Nan.
‘Do you have homework?’ Nan asks. ‘I have heard of that.’ She looks very proud of the fact, sitting by the fire with Teacake on the arm of her chair.
‘Yes. History. We were going to do it in the study.’
‘Good idea,’ she says. ‘About time that room got used for some actual studying. Might be dusty though – you’ll need to take a cloth. There’s an old feather duster somewhere . . .’
We sit and have tea with her first, and though I can see it’s tiring for her, she’s bright with chatter, happy to tell Zara some of her stories.
Peg sees us upstairs after tea, once Nan has drifted off. He swishes the feather duster with his tail as we go, and Teacake follows behind.
‘What’s this studying all about then?’ Yanny demands once we’re in the wood-panelled room.
‘Just looking into things,’ I say, making my voice casual. ‘We have all these books; they may be useful. That’s all.’
He nods, but he doesn’t look very happy about it. ‘Dad would love it in here,’ he says, prowling around the shelves. ‘He loves old books.’
‘So does Peg,’ I say. ‘I just thought we’d see what we can find. I want to shift this glamour spell of Nan’s, and then I’m going to go back into the forest to find the palace.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ asks Zara.
‘For most people, it would be,’ Yanny says, sitting on the bench by the window, looking out towards Winterspell. ‘Not for our Stella, though.’
‘What do you mean?’ Zara asks.
I can’t speak; my mouth is dry. He already knows. ‘Stella is the Lost Prince,’ Yanny says. ‘And she isn’t going to find her answers in any of these old books.’
‘Yanny!’
‘Well?’ he demands, his eyes glinting. ‘Tell me you aren’t the Lost Prince. Swear it.’
‘I . . . can’t.’