The train itself is only slightly less crowded than the station. The four of us cram into a carriage, leaving Pascal on his own in another car. I’d feel a little bad, but he’s so good-natured about everything he waves us off with a “Goodbye, new friends! Have a pleasant journey!”

“Is he always like that?” Maxine asks Oliver.

“Like what?”

“So…” She struggles for the word.

“Cheery?” Lena supplies.

“Yes, that’s it. So sickeningly cheery.”

Oliver laughs. “We can’t all have your depth, Maxine. Pascal is nice, he’s just nice. Is that so hard to believe?”

Maxine shrugs. “I don’t trust any man who has that much to smile about. Plus, there’s the lying about magic.”

“Oh, hush,” Lena says. “I think he’s fine.”

“You’re so judgmental! Can’t people just be friendly and welcoming?” Oliver says, but there’s no malice in it.

Maxine rolls her eyes.

“Tell me about this morning. What did I miss?” I ask.

“It was good. A school. They had a library and a dining room and uniforms that were less dramatic than the Haxahaven capes. We met a few students. They all fell in love with Maxine at first sight.”

Maxine nods enthusiastically. “It’s true.”

“Sounds like I didn’t miss much?”

Oliver turns to face me. “No. We just missed you.”

It’s a warm feeling, to be missed, and my earlier annoyance dissipates. “I missed you too.”

I tilt my head against the window of the train and let the trees blur into one another, a sea of green and blue and brown. My head knocks against the window as we zip by, a steady thrum that almost hurts as the train jostles on its tracks. Cheer up, Frances, William would say if he were here. He’d love Pascal. But he’s not here. He never got to go to Europe.

The train takes only an hour, but the countryside feels so different from Paris.

Our stop is a local platform, quaint in its smallness. A train station guard doffs his neat little navy cap to us as we step off the train.

He asks a question and Maxine responds in French.

We look at her for a translation. “He asked if we had any luggage. I told him it was only a day trip.”

I tilt my head up to the blue sky and breathe. The air smells like wildflowers here, verdant, like something growing. It reminds me of being back home in the garden of Haxahaven.

Pascal takes off down the dirt road that leads into the trees, nearly skipping with excitement.

“Only a short walk, friends!” he says.

We follow him in a neat line to avoid the carriage tracks dug into the road after years and years of use.

We walk the opposite direction from town.