‘Are you waiting for a written invitation?’ he bursts out eventually, as we reach the lane by my house. His eyes are brighter, his hair glints with gold strands, and the shadow wings are just about visible against the darkening day.

‘What? No!’

‘Then tell me. Tell me what you are, Stella. I knew from the very start that you were something. I tried to tell myself I was wrong – but I wasn’t, was I?’

I take a deep breath. Finger the acorn at my throat.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.

‘For what?’ he demands.

‘For lying to you. I wanted to make friends, and I didn’t know when I started at the school that you’d be there. That fae would be there. I just wanted . . . I wanted to meet people . . .’

‘So you are fae?’

‘Yes. No. I . . . Yes. I’m a sprite.’

‘So why do you live out here? Why don’t you live in Winterspell?’

‘My nan took me in, when my mother died. She raised me here, to keep me safe from the shadows. The house was built by her grandfather – he was a human. And Nan glamoured me when we fled. She used the last of her magic to do it, and it’s stuck. I don’t even know what I truly look like!’

‘If only we all had enchanted houses to hide in,’ he says, his eyes flicking up at the red brick house and the smoke curling from its chimney.

‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugs. ‘You may as well come back,’ he says, registering the charms on the silver wire fence around the house. ‘If you want to. Aren’t you curious about your true home?’

‘Ye-ess . . . but what about the shadows?’

‘The shadows I fight every day?’ He shrugs. ‘You’ll survive them.’

I stare at him, and then Peg comes wheeling over, landing on my shoulder and staring fiercely at Yanny. Of course, he can’t say anything, because he’s pretending to be a normal never-before-seen breed of bird, but his claws dig into my shoulder like curving question marks, and I’ve had enough of deceptions for the day.

‘Yanny, this is Peg,’ I say, as Yanny watches intently. ‘Peg, this is Yanny. He’s a fairy.’

‘Well I guessed that much,’ says Peg, as Yanny’s eyes widen. ‘What sort of a fairy is he?’

‘Um . . .’

Peg glares at Yanny.

‘I’m a fire fairy,’ Yanny says. ‘And . . . what sort of a bird are you?’

‘Ha!’ caws Peg. ‘You think I’m a bird!’

‘I think you’re parading as a bird,’ Yanny says. ‘It seemed rude to ask what sort of imp you are.’

Peg mutters something under his breath and then sighs as Teacake charges up to us, winding around my ankles with a yowling sort of purr.

‘And who is this?’ Yanny smiles, crouching.

‘I call her Teacake.’

He gives me a quizzical look, tickling Teacake behind her ears. She scooches in close and gazes at him adoringly, her green eyes flickering like cold fire.