‘Don’t mind her,’ Yanny says. ‘She’s always grumpy in the mornings. Moon sprites don’t like daylight.’

‘She’s pretty fierce,’ I reply, stealing another glance and wondering if I’d look anything like she does without Nan’s glamour.

There are so many fae here, it’s a bit like a dream, or like one of Nan’s stories got tied up with one of my favourite books about human schools. There are some who look a little like Yanny – perhaps fairies too – and there’s a girl who looks like she could be Tash’s cousin. There’s a boy with a greenish tint to his skin and hair like dark moss, and a couple of others who seem entirely human, save for their pointed ears and shadow wings, and a girl with golden skin and the same tiny horns as Principal Ashworth. A couple of adults, who I guess must be teachers, sit to one side looking faintly bored. One has the same neat, twisted horns; the other is grey-skinned and stocky, with curling silver hair and the most beautiful dark lacy wings. He catches me looking and winks.

‘That’s Mr Flint,’ Yanny whispers. ‘And that’s Miss Fern. She’s a sprite—’

‘Our new girl here is Stella Brigg,’ Principal Ashworth booms over him, gesturing at me with an outflung arm. ‘Welcome, Stella. We are excited to have you with us.’ He grins, and the whole room is silent as everybody turns to stare at me.

‘What sort of a fae is Stella?’ asks Tash, her voice all innocence and curiosity. ‘Might we be permitted to know?’

Principal Ashworth glares at her, but it’s clear everybody wants to hear my answer. What am I going to say?

‘I’m not fae,’ I whisper eventually.

‘Stella hasn’t worked that out yet,’ Principal Ashworth says. ‘Our lives are not all so simple – so cut and dried. Stella has some magic, or she would not be here. That is enough for me, and it will be enough for all of you.’

He pivots on one heel and makes for a whiteboard in the corner of the room, where a new timetable has been drawn in wavering lines, and gets everybody to copy down the revisions while he talks about Mrs Ingot, who will be joining the school next week to cover Ms Spicer’s maternity leave. It’s a lot like an assembly downstairs, to be honest, only there’s the odd warning about glamours easily slipping during PE, and about the spell room, which must not be used without a teacher present.

‘Finally,’ says Principal Ashworth, ‘end of term is coming up, and I’m sure you’re looking forward to some well-earned rest. Be warned, there will be homework – you must not let all the work you’ve been doing go to waste over the break!’

‘How can you stand keeping secrets from Zara like this?’ I whisper at Yanny as we head back upstairs to history later on. Zara was definitely suspicious earlier, when we’d clattered in late together after the assembly, and I can’t help feeling it’s only going to get worse. ‘It’s making me feel horrible.’