‘I’m a fairy,’ he says. ‘And you’re taking all the fun out of this.’ He scratches at the back of his neck. ‘We should have done this in the morning. . . I need to get home.’

‘I thought fairies were smaller.’

‘That’s because you’ve only seen pictures in books. Are we supposed to wear bluebells on our heads too, as hats?’

I try to hide a smile; he looks very cross about it.

‘No . . . but I thought you had wings.’

He winces and keeps on moving.

‘So –’ he indicates a darkened room on the right of the corridor, empty and lit only by a red-filtered lantern swinging from the ceiling – ‘this is history. Lessons are on Mondays, after last bell.’

‘OK,’ I say, drawing my timetable out of my bag and grabbing one of my new sparkly pens to make a note of it.

He rolls his eyes and moves on again. ‘Next is earth science. Trees, water, elements, the natural world.’

‘Does that mean things like mer-fae . . . and dryads?’

‘Your books are getting old,’ he says, and there’s a shiver in his voice.

‘Yanny?’

‘What is it?’

‘You’re angry. I’m sorry if I’m not saying the right things . . .’

‘Dryads are mostly in hiding these days, and nobody has seen a mer-fae for years. Your books clearly don’t cover recent history. Let’s just get this done.’

He flits up the rest of the corridor. There’s a room for fae ethics and practical magic, glamouring and bewitching; and another, where the walls glow in soft amber shades, and low chairs are arranged in small huddles.

‘What’s this for? Why is it so dark up here?’

‘No electricity,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t work well around magic. This is time-out. Most of the fae kids are glamouring while they’re downstairs, and it gets hard.’ His voice sounds strained.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says. He looks at me, gives a shadow of a bleak, sharp smile. ‘I just need to get home.’

‘What’s it like, in Winterspell?’ I ask carefully. ‘Are the stories about the shadows true?’

His face tightens, and I immediately regret asking.

‘I don’t know about stories,’ he says. ‘The shadows are real.’ He winces, arching his back. ‘And I’m not talking about that now.’

‘Sorry – I just wondered . . .’ I frown, as his eyes flash amber again. ‘Does it hurt, to glamour? You don’t need to do it in front of me. I’m all signed up now, remember?’

‘It isn’t about you,’ he hisses. ‘I need to get through the school, and town, and home.’

‘Should we sit here for a moment, then? It’s safe here, isn’t it?’

His shadow writhes behind him, and there’s a dark flash of tattered shadowy wings.

‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘Got to get back. I should’ve done this another day . . .’

‘I’ll come with you.’

We rush through the corridors, down the shining steps, and he is a bright force beside me, static like a silver needle pricks through the air between us.