‘And why are your parents not making this call?’

Well, you see, my mother died long ago from fae plague, and my father didn’t die of it, but he did not survive it whole either, so now he haunts Winterspell from his hidden palace, and all his shadows are at war with the fae.

He is the Shadow King, you see.

‘Um, it’s just my nan. She’s in the other room . . . She said I should do it to . . . teach me independence.’ I winced, crossing my fingers as I realized I should have pretended to be my mum or something. Why do I always have these thoughts too late?

‘How curious,’ the voice said after a short pause. ‘Come along in the morning, and perhaps we can sort something out. There are usually various formalities, but I suppose you’ll be coming alone? As part of this independence drive?’

‘Ye-es . . .’

‘Very well. Tomorrow – 9 a.m. sharp.’

The line went dead. So tomorrow morning, everything will change. Everything has already changed, actually; I’ve never defied Nan before.

I watch Peg flute up into the darkening sky and head back inside, where only shadows greet me. There’s a storm building in my chest. Nan appears as I pour hot water into a mug with fresh mint from the garden, but I can’t speak, can’t even meet her eye right now. She frets around me in a spiral of motion, and I wish she would sit down – a real body in a real chair. I wish she could hold me; that I could feel her paper-soft hands on mine, like I used to. Sometimes, here, my own skin aches for the touch of another human being – even just by accident. A nudge, a flick, anything.

Tomorrow, that might even happen. The storm inside me becomes a bright spark of hope. I hold my hand up in a silent goodnight as I head upstairs, and she holds hers out to meet it – except, of course, they don’t touch.

The Imp

The imp is a master of disguise and can shapeshift at will. Clever, naughty, not entirely trustworthy, they are the preferred familiars of many fae for their ability to spy and their fierce loyalty.

It’s hard to leave in the morning. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, thinking of Nan’s old glamour spell and whether there are features I should be hiding, but I can’t see anything out of the ordinary: brown hair, brown eyes, round face. Me.

I huff at myself and flit down the stairs, hastily undoing charms to get out of the door and the gate, then whispering the familiar words to restore them behind me. Then I charge off down the lane on my own, for the first time, while Peg flutters and spirals over my head demanding to know what I’m doing, chirping about duties and responsibilities. He’s so panicked, it would be easier – kinder – just to forget the whole thing.