Those who didn’t manage to snag a seat at the table are scattered around the camp in those odd chairs or sitting right on blankets spread on the ground.

One of the girls stands and announces something in French, and then a cheer goes up and plates are passed and the clinking of silverware begins. Near the firepit, a boy sitting on the ground pulls out a fiddle, filling the lakeshore with cheerful music.

“What’d she say?” I ask Maxine of the girl’s announcement.

“She welcomed Pascal and his guests. They’re happy we’re here. She toasted the founder of this place too. They all did.”

Someone at the table snaps and the taper candles spring to life, dripping more wax on the tablecloth.

A bowl of green beans is levitated into my hands, and I spoon them onto my plate.

Despite not being able to understand a word my hosts say, despite the unease, I sympathize with these people.

Being a person at all is lonely. Being a person with something big to hide about yourself is even lonelier. To live among people like you, to not have to hide, is a priceless gift. It’s what we’re trying to achieve at Haxahaven. And although I don’t see myself moving into a tent anytime soon, they seem to have achieved it here. However strange the world might think these people, they have one another, and isn’t that worth something?

I don’t know who suggests it first, Pascal or the boy with the fiddle, but soon half the camp is running full speed at the lake. There’s a rushing sound as a dozen people break the glassy surface of the water, splashing as they go.

Some dive in headfirst, submerging their entire bodies. Others wade in only to their ankles.

Oliver appears at my side. “Are you going in?” He looks unbearably perfect like this, haloed in golden light, gazing down at me.

“I never learned to swim.” I glance behind me back to the now quiet camp. “Should we go look for the founder instead?” I appreciate Pascal’s welcome, but I’m finished playing around. Witnessing the casual joy with which Pascal and his friends use their power has only made my longing for magic worse and anxiety about the veil heighten. The itchy feeling of dread doesn’t go away, even in a place as beautiful as this.

Oliver nods, concern across his face, but then Pascal calls his name. “Come on!” Pascal urges.

I can see Oliver is torn. He wants to support me, but we are here as Pascal’s guests, and it would be rude to wander off.

“Let’s wait just a little while longer?” he asks. “I’m sure Pascal has a plan.”