I whip back in through the gate and race up the steps to the lobby before I can change my mind. Mrs Edge watches me crash through reception and shakes her head, but she says nothing. I head up the wide enchanted staircase to the first floor, and then on to some older, worn steps, where Yanny is waiting.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t like lying to Zara.’

‘If you weren’t ready, you wouldn’t be here,’ he says.

And there doesn’t really seem a good answer to that. I nod, and he whispers a word at the top of the steps, and the old wooden door swings open. On the other side, candles flare in sconces on the walls of a narrow corridor. It’s cold up here, and draughty. It’s like another school entirely. I pull my coat tight as Yanny walks on.

‘What’re we going to do?’ I whisper. The candles gutter as we go, making shadows swoop and dance.

‘Just have a look around so you know what you’re missing. Don’t worry – nobody’s going to eat you!’

He grins, turning to me, but the grin is full of sharp teeth.

‘Yanny!’

A man swoops down the corridor to us, cloak flying, his small round face creviced and pitted with scars.

‘Ooh, a new student!’ the man says, coming to a stop and peering at us with his head to one side.

‘Ah, not really,’ says Yanny, looking between us with an awkward grimace of a smile. ‘At least, she is new, but . . . I was just showing her around. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be here, sir.’

‘And yet, here I am!’ The man gleams. ‘You have been caught out, Yanny.’ He gives me a sharp look. ‘Perhaps you had reason. Stella, is it?’ he asks. ‘I heard about your trial period. Mrs Edge was most curious about you.’

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

‘She says she doesn’t know much about fae magic,’ Yanny says. ‘But there’s something there. So I thought . . .’

‘Quite right,’ the man says with a brisk nod. ‘So, Stella – not a forest dweller, then?’

I shake my head, trying to calm the fizz in my blood. Whoever this man is, whatever this place is, there is power here. How are these worlds colliding? I thought the forest was magic, and that school would be . . . not magic. I stare into his unblinking gaze.

‘But Yanny’s right – there is something,’ he says, tilting his head to the other side. ‘How curious. Well, now you are here, so welcome. This is the Magical Department. I am Principal Ashworth. Come along – let’s have a talk. Onward!’

He hustles down the corridor to a narrow, winding staircase that takes us up into a round study with crinkled glass windows on every side.

‘Now,’ he says, perching on the edge of a broad wooden desk. ‘Stella. You’ve seen our magical underbelly. You will have to sign the contract. Yanny generally has good instincts. Have you magic?’