‘How many magical kids are here?’ I ask, as we get out of the front gate.

‘Thirteen.’ He grins. ‘Lucky to have you, makes fourteen.’

‘Thirteen is lucky in some cultures,’ I say, making my voice bright and chatty. ‘In China, and the—’

‘Not in ours,’ he cuts me off.

‘That’s why you wanted me to start lessons?’

‘Partly,’ he says. ‘Also, because you have magic. I can feel it, and so can you.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I huff, as we dash through the streets, and the lights of the shops make the pavements shine beneath the pale mist of rain. Our footsteps are quick and light, and Yanny is panicking, I can feel it. We cross the road by the bakery, and he stumbles on the kerb.

‘I’ve got to run,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow – 7.30. Ashworth does assembly on Thursdays. The others will be there.’

‘OK.’

‘Sorry,’ he whispers. ‘Grumpy.’

‘It’s OK. See you tomorrow.’

He nods, and the air around him vibrates. Then he’s gone, fleet-footed, darting between cars and away towards the forest.

I stand there in the rain for a moment, my feet are numb, my hands prickle.

There were wings. Flimsy things that curled over his shoulders, broader than his back, but hardly more than shadows. I saw them unfurl and snag at the air. Saw the way they fluttered as he fled, with nothing more than an echo of movement.

What happened to his wings?

The Fairy

One of the boldest, most mischievous of the fae, the fairy is large in number and of earth, and air, and water, and fire. They tend to have large families, and some would say more courage than sense. It is they who defend the fae realm, and they who play tricks on passing humans. They are the ones most frequently spotted, but they are very good at glamouring, which means they may easily hide or change their appearance.

There is tell of earth fairies who live in the human world as humans, using their magic to round their ears and veil their wings. Hiding magic, though, is no mean feat, and fairies are prone to sickness. Their bodies are fragile in the world of men.

It’s getting dark as I reach home, the forest is more shadowed than ever. I skirt the house and linger on the moors by the river for a while, knowing Nan and Peg will be full of questions about my day, and not having a clue how I can answer them truthfully.

As I watch, I spot movement between the trees. Something small and bright bursts out and races fast as lightning towards me. I squeal, staggering back as it bounds up to my chest, all sharp claws and static and . . . soft fur. A small, vaguely triangular face looks up at mine, claws latched firmly into my coat, green eyes flashing.