by Amy Wilson
‘Your words. Your spells. You’ve used them before, in class . . . You use them more than you think. And you tell yourself they’re just words, but they’re not. They’re the language of magic, and they’re powered by the magic in you. That’s what you need to use.’
‘I don’t know the words for glamouring . . .’
‘There aren’t any,’ he says. ‘You just need to feel it. Imagine a barrier between us and the world, see the picture you want everybody else to see, and live in it.’
Zara frowns. ‘What? How’s she supposed to live in it?’
But I get it. I know the feeling he’s talking about. I know about barriers. All the things in our own barrier around our house, they’re just moments of thought, symbols of power. Perhaps I can make my own, without the silver.
‘You’ll have to judge it,’ I say to Zara. ‘Stand clear . . . and let me know if anything changes.’
I stare at Yanny and see him as he is, but also as he makes himself. A little shorter; a little more stout. No wings. Skin and hair, warmer; eyes, less bright; teeth, less sharp. It occurs to me as I’m doing it that I’m diluting the best bits of him, but I push the thought away. It’s distracting.
‘Well?’ I ask Zara, my mind fragmented.
She stares at us.
‘Zara!’
The work I’ve done on Yanny evaporates.
‘Yes!’ she says. ‘Sorry. I was pinching myself. You did it. I mean it was a bit wobbly, and you made him a bit short, but to a casual passer-by . . .’ She shrugs. ‘He’d pass.’
I pull all my thoughts together again, and something Yanny said earlier, about the stitches coming undone, suddenly makes sense. It is like stitching something; a new reality. One piece of deception leads to another, and if you lose yourself halfway, the whole thing sort of collapses. Yanny is uncharacteristically patient while I work; he looks utterly spent.
‘There,’ I whisper. ‘Got it?’
‘You’ve got it,’ Zara says, leaning in and taking hold of Yanny’s hand. ‘Come on. March.’
We wrangle ourselves through the town centre, huddling up tight to each other, avoiding the gaze of anyone we meet. A couple of dogs definitely notice there’s something unusual going on and give us a wide berth, but the people we pass don’t seem to see anything out of place.
We trail around the edge of town, and make our way out on the river path, towards my house and the forest, but as we go, it starts to get harder to see the glamour on him, and he is mostly sleepwalking, leaning into Zara while I focus my energy on seeing him the right way.
‘OK?’ Zara asks after a while, as we head further out of town.
‘Mm,’ I manage. ‘Nearly there . . .’ But as I say it, I realize I can’t get us into the forest past the shadows with him like this, even if his faelight works. My mind is buzzing with the effort of hiding him already. We can’t leave him there to find his way through by himself. There’s only one place we can safely go now.
Home.
I look at Zara. It’s probably time for an explanation.
The Mer-Fae
Moon-worshippers, water-breathers. Silver-skinned, and teeth sharp as the finest tailor’s needle. The mer-fae are fierce, and wild, and better avoided. Legend of them is thin, tattered like old lace, for they keep to the deep, dark waters of the lakes that lap at the ancient yew, and they rise only in a blood moon.
Their song is sorrowful, for they do not recognize the passing of time, and every time they walk the solid earth that man has claimed, it is diminished. Flee, man-child, from the mer-fae. Its mirror eyes will make all the world a shimmering dream from which you’ll never wake.
‘We’ll go to mine,’ I say, as we get to the top of the hill, and the house comes into view down below, just before the forest and the slow swell of the mountain. ‘Nan will know what to do.’
‘Ghost Nan?’ asks Yanny.
‘Stella?’ Zara stares at us both. ‘What now?’
I take a deep breath. ‘The forest isn’t haunted; it’s full of shadows because the old fae king is mad with grief. He locked himself away in his palace and cursed it so that nobody could get close – nobody could even find it – and the shadows he made with all his sorrow invaded Winterspell. So all the fae are fighting with the shadows and living underground, and the trees are dying as the shadows spread. It’s all part of the Shadow King’s curse. My nan says that’s maybe why Yanny’s wings are the way they are – the shadows blight everything.’
‘And . . .’ She looks between us wildly, tucking her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat. ‘Let’s say I’ve got all that. For now. What was Yanny saying about ghost Nan?’
‘Ah yes. And my nan is a ghost who is getting thinner by the day.’
Yanny laughs, and Zara stares, and I can just feel the swift tick of her mind, working it all out, recognizing the truth of it. She sits down on the side of the hill, pulling me and Yanny with her on to the cold, scrubby ground.
‘Is it just you and her?’
‘And Peg. He’s, um . . .’
‘Um what?’ she persists.
My mind whirrs, but it’s never going to win against Zara. I look at Yanny, but he’s leaning back on his elbows, eyes closed, face tipped to the darkening sky.
‘He’s an imp.’
She slaps me on the arm, and then claps her hands. ‘IMPS ARE REAL!’
‘Don’t shout about it!’
‘No. OK.’ She bounces a bit, clasping her hands together. Then she turns her full bright on me again, and it makes me laugh.
‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘What kind of fairy are you?’
‘Not a fairy,’ I say. ‘I’m a sprite.’
‘A sprite,’ she breathes, staring at me, her head on one side. ‘I thought they were smaller.’
‘I don’t think they are,’ I say, looking down at myself. ‘Nan cast a glamour over me when I was small, and I haven’t worked out how to break it yet, so I don’t really know . . .’
‘Not a lot smaller,’ says Yanny. ‘Pretty much the same as fairies, only not so clever, and not so good in battle.’
‘Yanny!’
‘S’true,’ he says, shaking his head sadly.
‘You’re delirious. I’ll show you, when I can work out how. I’m sure I can fight just as much as you can.’
‘So why haven’t you?’ he asks, his eyes still bleary.
‘I wasn’t allowed to. Nan says she was protecting me.’ I shrug, knowing it’s cowardly. Yanny wasn’t allowed to either, only he did.
‘And your nan,’ Zara says, frowning. ‘Ghost Nan. She’s getting thin?’
‘She died a long time ago . . . She came back to look after me when my mother died. She’s OK, just . . . Yeah, a bit worn out sometimes.’ I shrug, trying to make it sound like it’s all OK, and nothing to be so sad about.
But I am so sad about it.
When I see her getting thinner, when I see how exhausted she looks – when she disappears entirely, even if it’s just for a couple of hours – it’s terrible. I thought she’d be with me forever. It seemed only right, since the rest of my family is such a disaster. She does always come back, I remind myself. And she always says she’ll hang around for as long as I need her to. The way things are at the moment, she’ll see that being for a long time.
‘So, ghost Nan looks after you?’
I press my fingers into the earth.
‘Yeah. And Peg. And I have a new little cat called Teacake . . .’
Zara’s eyes get all soft, and I wish I could take it back, because I just want to see the bright of her excitement, and now it’s gone.
‘You and Yanny have been hiding whole worlds from me! Whole . . . magical worlds.’ She stares out at Cloudfell Mountain and the dark swathe of Winterspell.
I wince. ‘I know.’
‘And now I’m supposed to be all noble and understanding?’ She sighs.
‘You are noble and understanding,’ I say.
>
‘Why didn’t you say something when I was asking before?’
‘I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t realize there were fae at school, or magic lessons. I just wanted to be normal.’
‘Normal!’ She shakes her head. ‘Who’s normal? What’s normal?’
‘I don’t know! I thought that school would be, I suppose. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I’m glad you know now. Are you OK? Do you still want to come with us?’
‘I do!’ she says, reaching in her bag for her phone. ‘I’ll just have to text Mum to let her know I’ll be home late.’
I watch her screen light up with an instant reply that’s more kisses than words, and Zara smiles, tucking it back into her bag. She catches me watching.
‘OK?’ she whispers.
I look towards home, where smoke is curling from the chimney, and people – or at least creatures – are waiting for me.
I smile back. ‘Yeah.’
‘Cold,’ whispers Yanny, sitting up and folding into his knees, shivering as a bitter November rain begins to fall. ‘I’m cold. Can we move, please?’
‘Come on, then,’ I say, steeling myself.
I don’t have a phone, and neither does Nan – the very idea is comical – so there’s no way to warn her of what’s coming her way. We’ll just have to deal with it. Zara and I help Yanny to his feet, and we run down the hill, slipping and sliding through the mud, spattering our clothes as the rain gets stronger. By the time we reach the garden, our breathless shouts have turned to laughter, and then we hit the barriers, and of course Yanny’s presence sets off all the alarms.
I wonder why mine don’t. I suppose it’s Nan’s super-glamour. Or maybe the spell allows for me, since I live there. I shake my head and unwind the silver wire to let us all through, speaking the words of peace, and then we rush for the door, bursting into the bright kitchen before I’m really ready.
Nan, Peg and Teacake are all in there, sitting around the fireplace. Teacake has a saucer of milk on the rug; Peg is being a bird, sitting innocently by a mug of hot chocolate. They look up as Zara and I collide on the doormat, suddenly aware of muddy shoes and dripping coats. Yanny staggers through, careless, dropping on to the bench and holding his hands out to the fire.
‘Stella?’ Nan demands, rising from her armchair.
‘This is Zara, and that’s Yanny. He’s a fairy, I told you about him. He’s a bit . . . under the weather. Zara’s a human. They’re my new school friends. Um, Zara, this is my nan. And that’s Peg up on the mantelpiece . . . And that’s Teacake.’
Teacake looks up from her milk. Yanny whistles. Everybody stares at me. I give them a toothy sort of smile, while my stomach churns, and my skin prickles with heat.
‘What’s wrong with your fairy friend?’ Nan asks eventually.
‘He was a bit run-down, and his glamouring got out of control. Mrs Mandrake used a bit of mer-fae nest to revive him!’
‘She’s very good in an emergency,’ says Nan. ‘Always has been.’
‘Did you know she could do that?’
‘Of course!’ says Nan. ‘Most humans have a little fae in them, if they open their minds to it – and the closer to Winterspell you are, the easier that is . . . But now, tell me the rest of the story. You all look highly hassled.’
‘We’re OK. And Yanny’s better than he was, thanks to Mrs Mandrake, but I had to do the glamouring for him through town, and it was all a bit of a struggle, and so . . . I thought we’d stop here before we get him home.’
‘Well at least you got that bit right,’ says Nan. ‘Glamouring, eh? And it worked?’
‘Yes.’
‘She did a great job,’ Zara says brightly.
Nan blinks. ‘Well. Good. You all look wrung out from your adventures, I must say. Food is what we need now.’
She gives me a long, stern look so I know we’ll be talking again later, but for now, she seems happy enough to boss me and Zara around the kitchen. We make spaghetti with garlic and fresh tomatoes, and green beans from the garden. Zara flits about with me, her eyes filled with wonder at everything; even the battered old colander is charming and needs inspecting. Teacake remains curled before the fire while we cook, and Peg watches it all closely from the mantelpiece, occasionally sending sparks up the chimney with a flutter of his wings. Nan billows around us, and she’s just as bossy and chiding with Zara as she is with me, but the more she does it, the brighter Zara glows.
When dinner is ready, we set the table together, and suddenly it hits me that I’ve never done this before. Never had to lay the table for more than just me. Yanny stirs and stumbles up, fetching salt and pepper, raiding the drawer for the old steel cutlery and sending it flashing across the table.
And then we sit. Yanny, Zara and I, and Peg with his special old tin plate in one corner of the table; Teacake with her gold-rimmed saucer in another.
‘You said you have an imp?’ whispers Zara.
Peg fixes his dark bird eyes on me.
I shrug. ‘He’s good at disguise.’
‘It’s the bird,’ Yanny says with a yawn, picking up his cutlery and spearing a strand of spaghetti with the fork. ‘Imps like being birds. They like to fly; they like to look down on others.’
‘Ridiculous,’ says Peg.
Zara stares, her eyes wide as saucers.
‘Go on, show her,’ says Yanny. ‘She’s already seen plenty today; it’s a bit late to be pretending it all isn’t real.’
Peg growls, his form blurring, stretching and re-forming.
‘Wow,’ says Zara.
‘Isn’t he lovely,’ Nan says with a smile.
‘You’d better tell us what you’ve got planned next,’ says Peg around a mouthful of food. Teacake eyes his tail as it swats against the table, and before I can do anything, she’s pounced on it.
Peg squeals, jumping up and swiping at her; Nan is so surprised, she loses her grip on her chair and floats up into the air; and I start flapping about, trying to separate the kitten from the imp. Yanny watches this all with a delighted grin on his face, and Zara beams.
‘Amazing,’ she whispers, amid the smash of plates on the floor, the silver whirl of cutlery as Peg whips his tail across the table. Teacake jumps up and clings to the candelabra, swinging from the ceiling, sending beams of light and shards of shadow across the room. Nan has virtually disappeared in the chaos.
‘Enough!’ I shout, grabbing Teacake and pulling her on to my lap. The kitchen slowly settles. ‘We need to work out how to get Yanny home.’
‘I can just walk?’ he says, taking another wedge of bread from the dish in the middle of the table. His plate is sparkling clean already, and he does look a lot better.
‘Not on your own,’ says Zara.
‘Who made you the boss?’ he demands. ‘I’m fine now. Thank you for your help, but I am perfectly capable of making my way home all by myself.’
‘Your judgement is impaired,’ I say.
‘And Mrs Mandrake said you can’t glamour for a few days . . .’ adds Zara.
‘I don’t need to glamour just to get home. It’s only over there.’ He points vaguely in the direction of the back door.
‘But –’ Nan sighs, collecting herself and sitting back at the table, her face serious as she stares at me before turning to him – ‘you shouldn’t go in alone if you are unwell. Stella and Zara can join you.’ Her gaze lingers on the curve of his would-be wings. ‘I would come if I could, but my time has passed for that. Perhaps Peg could travel with you all.’
‘Ah, no,’ says Peg. ‘I’ll keep the boundaries here. The nights are getting longer, and the shadows stretch further these days.’
He never did tell me why he’s not allowed in there – I forgot in all the drama of finding my mother’s acorn and meeting my father’s shadow. But it doesn’t seem quite the time to ask right now.
‘Is it safe for Zara?’ I ask Nan. I can’t quite believe she’s OK with me going in there. She isn’t, I realize, as I look at her. She’s
pale, and her edges are tattered, almost vibrating. She isn’t OK with it at all. It’s just that there’s no better option. ‘I mean, with her being human . . .’
‘Safer,’ Nan says. ‘The shadows won’t have any hold over her. In fact, she’s about the best company you could have in there. Teacake will go too, no doubt. I wouldn’t have any of you go in there alone.’ She gives me a hard stare.
Zara glows. ‘You see. Humanity has its own power.’
‘Humanity has all the power,’ Yanny mutters, standing. ‘Only not in the forest right now. Come on, then – let’s get this over with.’
Zara pulls a face at me. ‘Makes him grumpy, being sick.’
‘I’m not sick. Just tired.’ He pulls his coat on and turns to Nan. ‘Thank you, Mrs Brigg, for dinner. It was lovely, but I really must go.’ He stalks to the door, but it’s laden with charms, and he jolts back when he touches it. ‘Stella –’ he gestures to the door – ‘if you please?’
‘Goodness sake,’ I say. I pull down the silver bells, unlocking the door and opening it to the brittle, dark night. ‘After you. Peg, will you put the bells back up?’
‘No, I’ll just leave the place unprotected,’ Peg says sarcastically.
I glare at him. I’ve got enough strop on my plate without him joining in.
Teacake scoots out ahead of us, and I give Nan a quick, grateful smile, and she nods with another one of those ‘we’ll be talking’ looks on her face. I blow her a kiss and head out after the others into the wind and the rain, unhitching all the charms around the silver wire so we can get out. Only, they’re not live. I forgot to set them again once we were inside.
‘Stella?’ Peg bounds up to my shoulder. ‘Have the barriers been down all this time?’
‘No – I just . . .’ I stare at him. ‘I took them down to let Yanny in, and then I whispered the spell so he’d be able to enter in peace. The silver at the door was working . . .’
‘But not the fence.’
‘It was only for an hour or so. What do you think might’ve happened?’
‘Probably nothing,’ he says. ‘Go on. I’ll get everything back up. Be safe, Stella. Keep your power close.’