Niamh has slowed to a stop behind the goat. I’m waiting for her to tackle it, but she turns to me instead, motioning for me to go on.

“Everywhere that Mary went! Mary went, Mary went!”

The goat takes a few nimble steps towards me. I look at Niamh and point urgently at it. She points back at me and mouths, “Keep going!”

I give her what I hope is a furious look, but I tap my wand in the air again. “Everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go!”

The goat is nosing at my trainers now, its horns rubbing up against my shins. I take a step backwards. It looks up at me and steps forward.

“It followed her to school one day,” Niamh whispers.

I swallow. “It followed her to school one day!”

Niamh has my arm. She’s urging me backwards.

I keep singing—“School one day, school one day!”—then whisper to Niamh, “What are we doing?”

“Leading it back to Watford.”

“You take over.”

“Why would I do that, Agatha? It’s under your spell.”

I keep walking backwards. The billy goat follows, not a care in the world now, like I have it on a leash.

“It followed her to school one day, which was against the rules!”

When we get to the Watford gates, there’s no one guarding them. Niamh opens the latch and holds one side open. I step through. The billy goat looks around. It glances up at me, then trots through and away, out onto the Great Lawn.

Niamh is frowning at me in a very pleased way. “Good show, Agatha.”

“Won’t it just get out again?” There’s a wall around the Watford grounds, but it’s mostly just for show. There are spells to keep out Normals and intruders, but not wildlife. (That’s probably why the Humdrum sent so many creatures after Simon.) If the goat got out once, it will get out again.

“I’m not worried about them escaping,” she says. “I’m worried about them leaving.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“We can’t exactly keep the goats of Watford in a pen. They’re supposed to know they belong here. They shouldn’t just be wandering away.”

“That sounds like exactly the reason people keep animals in a pen.”

Niamh’s looking down at my wand. “That was some tidy spellwork. I’ve never seen anyone cast a nursery rhyme before.”

I’ve never even considered casting one before. “You just have to commit to it,” I say, tucking my wand into my pocket.

“Well, I never would have tried it,” she says. “The rhyme’s about lambs, not goats. Your dad’s always telling me I’m too literal…”

I look up over the Lawn, at the drawbridge and the ramparts. And the peak of the White Chapel. “I’ll wait here for you,” I say. “I’m still feeling a bit off.”