At Midwinter everyone brought in a tree from outside and adorned it with candles and winter flowers. People bought one another cards decorated with pictures of cauldrons, creatures from folklore, phases of the moon or witches on old-fashioned broomsticks. It had also become standard for these cards to have real spells printed in them. Sometimes the right people tried the right spells and accidentally epiphanized, which made this time of year very busy for the Guild, who did not like the epiphanized to go unacknowledged.

The epiphanized can, of course, see many things that are almost invisible to others. For example, as she finished the last of her marshmallows, and savored her final hot chestnut, Effie took in the part of the medicinal tonic stall that carried real, enchanted remedies of the sort Lexy made, and she easily found her way to the slightly warmer section of the large covered bookstall that stocked real magical books. For normal people, these areas did exist, sort of, but just looked very, very boring, or were too dark to properly see.

Effie scanned the bookstall—she was always unable to resist any kind of bookstall, shop or library—but her eyes were soon distracted. Right next to the bookstall, sitting on the cold floor with a thin blanket over her legs, was a woman who looked as if she’d been sleeping rough for a long time. Effie could see that she had once been very beautiful. There was something in her eyes, some glow to her skin. Maybe it wasn’t beauty exactly, but something else . . . Effie smiled, and the woman smiled back, but it was a weak, sad smile. What had happened to her? Drugs? Drink? A run of bad luck? Or . . .

Or maybe she’d set off one night to go to the Otherworld and then the worldquake had happened, and she had got lost somehow. Maybe she’d forgotten her home, and her family, and that she had a daughter . . . Effie suddenly ached for her mother. Was she also lost and alone out there somewhere, waiting for someone to help her? Before she knew what she was doing, Effie had given the woman on the floor the eight pounds she had left. It would at least buy her a couple of days’ worth of food and some hot drinks. Effie wished she could do more. She held the woman’s hand for a few seconds and looked into her eyes. The woman looked back and . . .

When people give charitably to others, there are many ways it can go wrong. The person giving may feel superior, puffed up and important. Effie didn’t yet know this, but there was a lengthy section on charitable mishaps in Jupiter Peacock’s introduction to his translation of “Galloglass.” Peacock had gone so far as to declare real charity impossible, because, he argued, people only give to make themselves feel better, and never because they genuinely love others.