We trail around the edge of town, and make our way out on the river path, towards my house and the forest, but as we go, it starts to get harder to see the glamour on him, and he is mostly sleepwalking, leaning into Zara while I focus my energy on seeing him the right way.

‘OK?’ Zara asks after a while, as we head further out of town.

‘Mm,’ I manage. ‘Nearly there . . .’ But as I say it, I realize I can’t get us into the forest past the shadows with him like this, even if his faelight works. My mind is buzzing with the effort of hiding him already. We can’t leave him there to find his way through by himself. There’s only one place we can safely go now.

Home.

I look at Zara. It’s probably time for an explanation.

The Mer-Fae

Moon-worshippers, water-breathers. Silver-skinned, and teeth sharp as the finest tailor’s needle. The mer-fae are fierce, and wild, and better avoided. Legend of them is thin, tattered like old lace, for they keep to the deep, dark waters of the lakes that lap at the ancient yew, and they rise only in a blood moon.

Their song is sorrowful, for they do not recognize the passing of time, and every time they walk the solid earth that man has claimed, it is diminished. Flee, man-child, from the mer-fae. Its mirror eyes will make all the world a shimmering dream from which you’ll never wake.

‘We’ll go to mine,’ I say, as we get to the top of the hill, and the house comes into view down below, just before the forest and the slow swell of the mountain. ‘Nan will know what to do.’

‘Ghost Nan?’ asks Yanny.

‘Stella?’ Zara stares at us both. ‘What now?’

I take a deep breath. ‘The forest isn’t haunted; it’s full of shadows because the old fae king is mad with grief. He locked himself away in his palace and cursed it so that nobody could get close – nobody could even find it – and the shadows he made with all his sorrow invaded Winterspell. So all the fae are fighting with the shadows and living underground, and the trees are dying as the shadows spread. It’s all part of the Shadow King’s curse. My nan says that’s maybe why Yanny’s wings are the way they are – the shadows blight everything.’

‘And . . .’ She looks between us wildly, tucking her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat. ‘Let’s say I’ve got all that. For now. What was Yanny saying about ghost Nan?’

‘Ah yes. And my nan is a ghost who is getting thinner by the day.’

Yanny laughs, and Zara stares, and I can just feel the swift tick of her mind, working it all out, recognizing the truth of it. She sits down on the side of the hill, pulling me and Yanny with her on to the cold, scrubby ground.