So many questions and no answers. Even if I had answers, they wouldn’t bring my family back. That’s what I tell myself when I check the wards one last time, trudging through the wind and the rain, bitter-cold fingers touching every glass vial, every brass bell, every silver coin. I know the pattern of them so well, I could do it in my sleep. Sometimes, I do dream of them. But in my dreams, my mother walks with me. Here and now, it’s just me, and the fog of my breath. And a glimmer, a flicker of red light blooming between the trees, and the darker shades that nestle between. There’s a howl, and the enraged call of a stag. Thunder of hooves, flash of movement, and then the slightest whisper of song, low and haunting . . .

I used to fall asleep to those songs.

I hold my breath, straining to hear more, my hands still on the silver wire—

‘Stella! I made hot chocolate!’

It’s a rare treat, Peg’s hot chocolate. He does something to it that makes it spicy. I catch up the last charm, a small wooden acorn, and breathe the old words of protection over it, satisfied when it flickers with the amber mist of spell-magic. And then I dash back through the puddles to the warmth of the kitchen, and Nan is there, curled into her old blue armchair with the frayed cushions, bickering with Peg.

When she sees me, her eyes light up. I shut the door behind me, shuck off my boots and my coat, and pull on my thick wool socks, then I dive into the other deep chair by the fire – this one of soft green cord. Nan sits opposite me, and in the flickering light, she’s as vivid as any living thing. Peg stretches out on the mantelpiece with a deep, dreamy sigh, and I reach for the wood bench and my hot chocolate, curling my cold, brittle fingers around the heavy mug as Nan clears her throat to begin.

‘Long ago, when the stars were young, and the world was greener . . .’

I lift my knees and curl them under me, and I let her words do their magic.

Monday morning, and Nan doesn’t exactly wave me off from the front door, but she does flutter about making suggestions of more fruit while I make my lunch, and she wishes me a day without drama. I hunch into my coat and shift my bag on my back, and bird-Peg flies over me in loops and whorls, showing off to the rest of the dawn chorus, until I reach the river road.

Mrs Mandrake stopped by to drop in my supplies last night, and though Nan made a point of tutting, I could tell she was curious as I unwrapped paper parcels to find a new pencil case, a neatly folded PE kit and a whole hoard of sparkling things: silver pencils, miniature star erasers, a pencil sharpener in the shape of a rainbow cloud.