Shadows of Winterspell

For Aviva

CONTENTS

In the moment of dawn, the song of the centauride: a full-blown horn that rolls over misted grass. The forest is new, the first reaches of sunlight barely caught in the beads of dew that hang from every leaf and every blade. The centauride is down upon her knees in the deepest glen, still dark, and she pounds her fists against the ground to wake the trees, who wake the birds, who wake the world. Morning does not come easy; it does not come free. It comes with a fight – especially in the forests where the moon and her children like to dwell.

‘Estelle!’

‘Yes, Nan?’ I try to sound calm, but her voice often sends a little wire of shock through me. She has a knack for catching me just when I’m doing something I know she wouldn’t approve of, like using ancient words of magic to make strawberries come in October. I pull a dishcloth over their growing red hearts and turn from the sink as she billows out through the fireplace and swirls in front of me, slowly gathering into her usual shape.

‘This house is a mess. When was the last time you dusted?’ she asks, brushing at the front of her dress. ‘The whole place needs a thorough going-over.’

‘I think it’s OK,’ I say, looking around, fingering the silver acorn at my neck. I mean, it’s a bit cluttered, and actually I really can’t remember the last time I dusted, but I don’t mind, and I’m the one living here, after all: Nan’s a ghost, and my parents are only distant memories.

Nan was the one who brought me up – with books and gardening, with forest explorations, and adventures through the trees. We spent so many days on the outskirts of the forest, watching the creatures from afar, while she told me their secret ways and warned me never to go beyond our well-trodden paths without her. We tended our orchard and played hopscotch on the crumbling patio by the back door. She made jam sandwiches and told me tricksy tales of fae children and enchanted treasures, of goblins and of the palace locked deep in Winterspell Forest, lost to all, and she taught me how to look after our home. Nan is pretty awesome, but she’s been a ghost since before I was born, and it’s hard for her to do much these days.

When I was younger, she was a little more solid; she could cook, and she could hold me. But as I got older, she got thinner, and now she mainly hovers over me, making sure I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing: keeping the herb garden going, harvesting the vegetables, making the jam with the damsons and gooseberries, feeding the chickens. Oh, and learning the old spells that keep us safe here, hidden between the realms of fae and humanity.