Only, I’m not. It’s just that her spell made a shield that disguised me. And it’s been there so long that we don’t know what I’d look like without it. Every fae is different, and sprites like us have many forms. Would I have horns? A tail? Nan has pointed ears and moon-round silver eyes, but I am a mystery. She says it doesn’t matter; that I am Stella, whatever shape I’m in. She says I can find friends in books, and that is true. And we have many, many books, so I have spent days and weeks caught up in adventures with the characters between the pages. But the longer I’m here alone, the more I crave my own adventures. My own friend.

I mean, Peg is a friend, of course. But he’s very small and a bit flighty, and he can be pretty superior. I haven’t got the courage to tell him yet what I’ve done. It’s going to be a Big Deal.

I phoned the school.

After I talked with Nan and realized she might really never let me go – and that the forest may be out of my reach for as long as I live – I really did it. I checked the perimeter, set the charms swinging, silver sparkling in the low sun all along the fence, and muttered the familiar words Nan taught me that keep the fae and the shadows of Winterspell out of our home – our sanctuary: ‘Not mediocris, nor twisting umbra-form, shall pass between these acies, for they mean domum; our domum be our sanctum, free from inimicus be.’

And then I made the call we’ve been arguing about for so long.

It wasn’t easy. First, I sprinkled salt in a circle around the kitchen table. (If Nan had come back, she’d have known I’d hidden myself from her and Peg on purpose, but I could have just told her I wanted some privacy. She wouldn’t have known what I was really doing.) Then I picked up the phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. Dialled. Cursed my shaking fingers and wondered what on earth I was going to say.

‘Broadmere Academy – how may I direct your call?’

That was as far as I usually got. I’d tried many times . . . and put the phone down. But I had already told my reflection that today was the day, and the face that looked back at me had beamed with hope and possibility.

‘Um. I’m new to the area. And . . . how do I register?’

‘Register?’

‘To come to school.’ My cheeks blazed.

‘Oh! Well, usually your parents would apply, through the usual authorities.’

‘Oh.’

Silence. And then a long sigh.

‘One of those, eh. Name?’

‘Estelle. I mean Stella. Stella Brigg.’

‘One minute . . .’ Sound of papers shuffling, a lot more sighing. ‘OK. Hold,’ the woman’s voice snapped.

The phone line crackled, there was a pipping sound. I stared at the phone. It wasn’t really going how I thought it would, so far.