‘It’s because Stella broke the spell,’ Peg says, speaking very slowly as if we’re very stupid. ‘All those years glamouring the house – and you, Stella – the energy had to come from somewhere. It came from you. And now it’s back!’

‘That . . . would make sense,’ says Nan, stretching out her feet to admire them.

‘Are you still a ghost?’ I ask.

‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘Only now, I’m a little more substantial. And I,’ she says grandly, sweeping up and over to the kitchen, ‘am going to make us all a lovely healthy dinner. And then I’ll feed the chickens, and then . . . I’m going to read a book.’

Peg grimaces as Nan reaches for the dusty jar of lentils at the back of the worktop, whistling under her breath. I grin at him. I’d eat lentils every day for the rest of my life if I could hear her whistling while she does it.

Well.

Nearly every day.

I wrote Shadows of Winterspell at a time of great change and loss for our family, and there were times I felt as alone and as roarish as the stag himself. But. I wasn’t.

I’m very grateful for all of the people who have shown such kindness over this last year, and over the last four books, and always.

Firstly I’m thankful to my agent, Amber Caraveo, who takes such dreadful synopses and pushes them until they’re actually a fully formed story, and for so much more besides. I’m thankful to my editor Lucy, for all her faith and wise, gently steering words. I’m thankful to my publicist Jo Hardacre, for getting me out and about, and to all three of them, and everybody else at Macmillan Children’s, to Sabina, Cate, Amber, Jess, Kat, Alyx et al., for kindness, and for general heroism, and flowers, and proofs. And cake.

I’m thankful to all of the librarians, teachers and booksellers who work so tirelessly and with such passion at such trying times, and I’m thankful to all of my fellow authors, for reading and shouting and for being such wonderful, passionate inspirations. I know I’d not be where I am without you.

Special thanks to Caroline, Aviva, and Lu, I am honoured to call you friends, thanks to Judith, and Charles, and thanks without bounds to my husband Lee, and to our children Theia, Aubrey, and Sasha, and to Rocky too, for laughter and silliness and hugs and stories and love. So much love.

Here is love, now, to my childhood family. To my father Harry Berry - how we have missed you. To my brother Matt, who we lost too soon. We play your piano, and treasure your hat, though it’s too small for my head. To my mother, Helen, whose love is fierce and strong and constant as she has been. You will always be an inspiration, to all of us. To my sister Hannah, who is precious and brave and who has been through so much with me, and to Mike, whose own love has been such a gift.