The village of Silvessen turned out to be a ragged cluster of wattle-and-daub dwellings of considerable antiquity. Not a one of them had been built later than the fourteenth century, I’d have wagered. They were also in states of advanced disrepair.

We wandered down the central street, once a path of packed earth and stones, now a swath of soggy mud. Empty windows gaped in begrimed facades; thatched roofs sprouted holes where the dried rushes or straw had weathered away. Some buildings had lost their roofs altogether, their thick wooden beams exposed to the wind and rain.

‘All things considered,’ Jay said, looking around, ‘more of this is left than I’d expect.’

I saw his point. Half-ruined they may be, but if these houses were at least seven-hundred years old, and they’d been abandoned for centuries, they ought to have been rubble by now. Wattle and daub isn’t the sturdiest of building materials, even if it’s shored up with oak.

‘Em,’ I said, ‘are you getting anything?’

Emellana’s able to sense the traces of past magick, a skill popular with field archaeologists the world over. I suppose I am too, now, but not in the same way, and Em is still much better at it. She’s had practice. Years and years of practice.

‘Some preservation enchantments were in place,’ she answered, standing with one broad hand palm-flat against the whitewashed wall of a tumbledown cottage. ‘Long gone now, of course, but they would have kept these houses in decent repair for some time.’

‘Until the magick died,’ murmured Indira. Usually so self-possessed, she seemed unusually affected by the ruin around us, her eyes huge and sad in a face drawn in thought.

‘I wonder what happened,’ I mused. ‘And what kinds of people lived here.’ We didn’t know much about Silvessen, except that it had been a magickal Dell, with a settlement, once. The proportions of the buildings suggested a taller race of being had lived here; even Emellana wouldn’t have had to stoop all that much to fit through the doors. But beyond that, we knew nothing.

Emellana shook her head. ‘That I cannot tell.’

Neither could I, at least not by way of a cursory exploration. I’d need time and energy to go much deeper, and I didn’t have those things available just then.

‘It doesn’t look like anybody’s still around, anyway,’ Jay said. We’d reached the end of the main street, and unbroken moor stretched out before us, rain-lashed grasses and wind-ruffled heath and not much else.

‘In that case, I suppose we can proceed,’ I said, tentatively. I was waiting for Zareen’s verdict. She’d remained quiet throughout the whole of our exploration of Silvessen Village, but she was tense, alert; ready for something. Searching for something?

‘Wait,’ she said, softly. She was standing close to the walls of the last house on the street, looking up at the gaping remains of thatch. She didn’t elaborate, but nobody wanted to disturb her by enquiring, so silence fell.

The wind whistled as it surged down the village street, and something rattled somewhere.

I shivered.

‘I think…’ said Zareen. ‘I think there is another house.’

‘In the village? We passed some side streets, we could check—’

Zareen cut me off. ‘No. Not here. It’s, um.’ She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were turning darker, blackening by the moment. ‘That way.’ She pointed.

Jay and Indira exchanged a glance. ‘That’s the direction of the forest I saw,’ Indira said, and Jay nodded.

‘And in that forest, there is a house…’ Zareen’s voice had a strange, sing-song quality to it that I really didn’t like.

We all stared at her, but she said nothing else. When she looked at me, she hardly seemed to be seeing me.

The whites of her eyes were turning black.

‘Okay, Zar.’ I walked forward, slowly, until I stood about two feet in front of her, and stopped. ‘Zar, that’s great information, thank you, but you need to come back now.’

She blinked, and blinked again. Then her eyes focused on me, and the blackness receded a little. ‘Ves. Right.’ She shook herself. Her ready grin was nowhere in evidence. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any more halva, have you?’

Silently, I removed another plastic box from my bag and handed it over. ‘That’s the last of it.’

She took it, and devoured half of the contents on the spot. The familiar food seemed to ground her a little more, and the whites of her eyes came back. ‘Thanks,’ she said to me, and then she took off, walking fast, in the direction she’d pointed in. The same direction Indira had indicated. The place where the dark forest lay. Waiting.

I was suddenly, fervently grateful that Milady had sent Zareen with us, but of course it was no coincidence. Milady had a feel for these things. She’d proved that time and again.

***

‘So that weird feeling I was having,’ said Zareen, a little later. ‘It’s getting worse.’

We had crossed the rolling heath of Silvessen and plunged in under the trees, and I for one was having all kinds of regrets about it.

Picture the spookiest forest your imagination can come up with. Gnarled old oak and ash trees, twisted and black. A canopy so thick and dense as to block all light, shrouding the woodland in gloom. A heavy, eerie silence, broken only by your own, increasingly tentative footfalls.

Silvessen Forest had it all going on. As we delved ever deeper into the woods, we instinctively gathered closer together into a protective knot. Nobody even needed Zareen’s unique powers to detect the threatening atmosphere; it was palpable.

Worse, we were having no trouble making headway, despite the closely growing trees and dense bramble thickets. A pathway wound a meandering route deeper into the wood, a path that had no business being there; the Dell was deserted. Who had been around to use it, all these hundreds of years?

‘All right, I’ll be the one to say it out loud,’ I finally said, albeit in a half-whisper. ‘This smells like a trap.’

‘No question,’ Jay agreed.

‘But laid by whom?’ answered Emellana, and her tone was more intrigued than concerned.

She had a point. Half of me might be filled with foreboding, but the other was growing increasingly curious. Who lingered still in Silvessen Dell, and why? What were they doing in an isolated house in the depths of the creepiest forest known to man or beast?

And what did they want with us, that they had laid out a trail leading right to their door?

We trudged through wet, half-frosted earth and dead leaves for nearly half an hour, as best I could judge. Then, at last, the canopy opened up and we emerged into a wide clearing.

The house was waiting.

The trip back to the Fairy Stone took next to no time. My trusty unicorn friend deposited me, gently, in the midst of the Seven Stones of Hordron and began to nip listlessly at the grass thereabouts. I could understand her lack of enthusiasm. I wouldn’t want to follow a meal of delicious, greasy chips with a snack of brittle, half-frozen grass, either.

I didn’t dismiss her, just yet. She wasn’t only my friend and occasional mount. She was my Familiar, and I was also hers, in a way. We were a team, closely bound, and if anybody could help me talk to the Fairy Stone, it would be Addie.

‘Okay, so,’ I told her as I approached the gate. ‘Here’s the problem, dear heart. This lovely stone stands between us and Silvessen, and I can’t get it to talk to me. It’s been asleep for a really, really long time, and it’s probably forgotten what it was like to be a magickal portal to a thriving enclave. It’s just a lump of rock now, like the rest of these. But I need it to be a gate again. Just for today. What do you think?’

Addie didn’t answer, of course. I’ve been trying to teach her some English, but we haven’t got any further than wheehehe, which I choose to interpret as a gleeful ejaculation, but who knows.

She lay down, though, right next to the Fairy Stone, with her gleaming hide pressed against it.

I took this as a hint, and followed suit. We formed a snuggly cluster of three — me and Addie and the moss-ridden Fairy Stone — and quiet descended.

Go deeper, Ophelia said. Between the echoes.

I shut my eyes, and sought for those faint, barely discernible echoes of long-lost magick I’d detected earlier. There they still were, right on the edge of my senses, like trying to hear somebody talking from a long way off. I focused. Maybe if I concentrated harder, I could hear the words…

They weren’t words, of course. Not exactly. But the longer I sat in silent meditation, the clearer the echoes became. Fragmented wisps of memory, in scents and tastes and colours. A fragrance of cherry-blossom and almonds, and cold lakewater. A brackish taste on my tongue, and then a sweet one. A glimpse of a green freshness, sun-drenched; a star-washed night, warm and then freezing and then neither.

Memories of Silvessen, long ago. Sensations and sights and tastes that had been brought back over that threshold, by those who had once passed through it. The Fairy Stone remembered.

So did I.

I drifted, lost in memory and dream. I was ancient and boundless. I was earth and rock and rainwater. I was magick and music and the echoes of things long-lost.

And then I was grabbed and roughly shaken, possibly even a little bit slapped, and I opened frost-crusted eyes and blinked them blearily at the foggy shape of a someone vaguely familiar.

‘Ves.’ Jay bent close, looked long and deeply into my eyes. ‘Ves, I need to know you’re still in there. Talk to me.’

I tried, honest. I managed to make my lips move, a little, but my face was frozen solid and I couldn’t even produce a croak.

Jay shook his head. He looked angry, and I wanted to apologise, even if I didn’t know what for.

But then he grabbed me, hauled me close, and wrapped both arms tight around me. He was warm, like cuddling a radiator, and he began rubbing my arms and back, roughly, chafing my flesh.

Slowly, warmth and feeling crept back in.

‘Jay,’ I croaked.

He let out a sigh. ‘For fuck’s sake, Ves. You couldn’t have waited for us?’

I stirred in his arms, but he didn’t release me. That was okay. I didn’t want to be released, yet. ‘I thought it would take a while,’ I managed to utter. ‘And I couldn’t sleep, so I thought…’ I didn’t know how to finish that sentence in a way that might satisfy an enraged Jay, so I didn’t try.

I peeped over his shoulder. There was Em, standing right behind Jay and watching me with palpable concern. So were Indira and Zareen, faces etched in a slowly fading horror, and if I’d even scared Zar then obviously I had messed up.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered.

Jay sighed again. To my surprise, he grabbed my head in an ungentle grip and planted a resounding kiss on my face. ‘Well,’ he said, in a calmer tone. ‘You’ve done it, so there’s that.’

‘Done what?’ I withdrew from Jay, reluctantly, but he had pulled back, so I sort of had to.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ That was Zareen, whose fear had sunk into something more like annoyance.

I hauled myself to my feet, slowly, painfully. I felt a thousand years old, and consequently was grateful for Jay’s steadying grip on my arms. A glance around revealed nothing of note. ‘Maybe someone could humour me, and explain.’

‘This is it,’ said Jay. ‘We’re in Silvessen.’

I took another look around. Morning had broken, as the song goes, so I could see more of the landscape than I had last night. But what I saw was a rolling landscape of moor and heath, which looked right, and there was the Fairy Stone, right where it had been last night.

It took me a moment longer to realise that the other stones weren’t there.

‘Oh,’ I said.

Zareen laughed. ‘Only you could spend all night trying to open a dead gate, fail, and then turn yourself into a new one by accident.’

‘And then not even realise,’ put in Indira, with unusual vehemence. She was staring at me with more than a little awe, which was odd, because I’m more used to looking at her that way. She’s the star pupil around here, not me.

‘I did what?’ I croaked.

Jay let go of my arms, me being more or less stable by then. ‘I got your message,’ he began. ‘Bright and early, thankfully, because if we’d been much later you’d probably have frozen to death. Or not. I mean, rocks aren’t especially vulnerable to the elements, are they?’

‘Rocks?’

‘Rocks,’ Jay repeated, grimly.

I looked pleadingly at Emellana. ‘Could somebody please just tell me what happened. Use small words. I’m tired.’

‘When we arrived here,’ Em answered, ‘we couldn’t find you. Naturally we were concerned. Indira thought perhaps you had found a way into Silvessen after all, but Jay felt that you would have come back through and awaited us, were that so. Zareen grew concerned that you may have gone through and been unable to come back, which naturally increased our fears for you. Only belatedly did we notice that the Seven Stones of Hordron had increased in number.’

That filtered through. ‘I turned myself into a rock,’ I said.

‘Not just any rock,’ Jay said. ‘A Fairy Stone. Because when I touched it I vanished from Hordron Edge and arrived in what I’m guessing is Silvessen. The others followed. And then we spent a solid half-hour trying to figure out how to turn you back into Ves.’

This was a lot to take in. My sleep-deprived, half-frozen and only partially thawed brain struggled to keep up. ‘I have no idea,’ I finally offered, that being the best explanation I could come up with.

‘You don’t know how you did that,’ Jay clarified.

I shook my head. ‘Addie was here. Maybe she turned me into a rock.’

‘Doubtful. This is something to do with your Merlin powers, isn’t it? Ophelia gave you an idea.’

‘I did call her,’ I agreed. ‘She told me to look for echoes. Memories. And the Fairy Stone remembered what it once was, and I… suppose I got caught up in that.’

Jay just nodded. I suppose it wasn’t worth his while to tell me what an idiot I’d been, or how close I’d come to remaining a Fairy Stone for the rest of my life. I was sufficiently alive to the horror of that idea.

‘How did you revive me?’ I asked.

‘In the end, brute force.’ Jay looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Nothing else worked.’

‘You slapped me?’ I thought I’d felt something like that.

‘No!’ said Jay, horrified.

‘I kicked you,’ Zareen clarified.

She didn’t look like she regretted it, so I patted Jay’s arm. ‘It’s okay. I barely felt it.’

A backpack lay on the ground, not far from Jay’s feet. It was a cheap canvas thing and had the look of a recent purchase about it. I noticed all this because Jay stooped, opened it up and retrieved several paper-wrapped bundles from inside it.

These he piled into my arms.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, vaguely. ‘I got you these.’

‘You had remarkable forethought,’ I replied, somewhat distracted, because the parcels smelled pungently and sweetly of almonds.

I opened one. Inside, a thick pastry case contained a filling my nose informed me was predominantly composed of almonds.

‘Is this… Bakewell tart?’ It smelled like it and looked like it, sort of. But not entirely. The crust was puffier than the ones I’d got from Kitchen, and the filling looked denser and squashier.

‘Bakewell pudding,’ Jay answered. ‘Tarts are not the authentic, traditional form, or so the baker informs me.’

To my surprise, Indira handed me another paper parcel. That one contained a shortcrust concoction that looked much more familiar. ‘The bakers don’t seem to agree about that,’ she said.

I counted. Ten. Ten Bakewell somethings. ‘I shall now eat two of these,’ I informed the company. ‘Because rocks may be impervious to the elements, but I certainly am not. And then we’ll explore.’

They’re large, Bakewell puddings. You would think it would be difficult to fit two in me at once, but not when I’ve spent most of the night as a functional gateway to a lost magickal realm.

Having consumed enough sugar and pastry to power a rhinoceros, I felt better.

‘Right, then,’ I said, dusting off my hands. ‘If we could—’ I stopped, because while I’d been absorbed in pudding, Indira had gone right ahead without me. She was hovering about ten feet off the ground, hanging there with the grace of a dragonfly, and turning in slow circles.

The rest of our merry band was clustered beneath, looking up at her with (variously) curiosity, interest and anxiety. Maybe a little awe. Most people can’t levitate like that.

‘There isn’t much,’ Indira called down. She began to descend, very slowly, one arm extended all the way out. ‘But there’s something. That way. I can see rooftops.’

Jay smiled at me as I approached. ‘We thought we’d better check for residents before we start,’ he explained. ‘Just because nothing’s been reported about this place in a long time, doesn’t absolutely mean that nobody lives here any more.’

‘Good thinking.’ I felt somewhat bemused. I’d been so focused on the pastries, I’d missed the entire conversation.

Perhaps Ophelia’s lessons were paying off, far better than I’d ever imagined possible. I really had focus now.

Indira landed lightly upon the frost-tinged grass, hugging her dark coat closer around herself. She was shivering. I suppose it would be a little colder up there, right in the path of the wind. Or perhaps levitation at that level took more energy than it appeared to.

‘Nothing else?’ Emellana enquired.

‘Not that I could see from there. Just more heath. Some wooded land, that way.’ She gestured. Apparently this woodland or forest wasn’t in the same direction as the buildings she’d seen.

‘Let’s check out those roofs you saw,’ Jay decided, picking up his backpack.

‘Moment,’ I said, looking at Zareen. ‘Zar, are you sensing anything… I don’t know, weird out here?’

‘Weird,’ she repeated. ‘You mean like, ghosts and ghouls dragged screaming from unquiet slumber and bent on our destruction?’

‘Pretty much exactly like that, yep.’

‘Not yet.’

I permitted myself a small sigh of relief. ‘Great.’

‘I’ll let you know when I do.’

My relief withered and died. ‘When?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve got a feeling.’

‘A weird feeling?’

‘Uncanny, bordering upon eldritch.’

‘Super.’ I hefted my own modest bag of supplies, wishing I’d brought quite a few of Ornelle’s jealously guarded magickal trinkets after all. I wasn’t sure I was ready for eldritch.

Zareen’s response to everyone’s palpable discomfort was a wide grin. ‘Don’t worry. That’s why you’ve got me.’

‘And you are scary beyond all reason,’ I agreed. ‘That being the case, would you maybe like to go first?’

‘Hey. You’re the one wielding indescribably ancient magick of awe-inspiring power.’

‘You must be thinking of Indira,’ I murmured, striding forth with what I hoped was a confident step. ‘She wields magick to precise and devastating effect. I fumble magick, make a mess of it and occasionally luck out anyway.’

‘Occasionally,’ Jay said, nodding gravely. ‘Yes. That coincides exactly with my general observations of your success rate.’

I lifted my chin as I stalked past him. ‘Just don’t blame me when this all goes spectacularly pear-shaped. I did try to warn you.’

Bakewell’s popular with tourists, but not so much in October, so rooms were plentiful. Except, of course, it was stupid o’clock and tiny country towns don’t have the kinds of places where you can get a room at any hour of the day or night.

So we couldn’t get in to Silvessen and we couldn’t get anywhere to sleep, either. So far, so disastrous.

Luckily, we had Emellana Rogan with us. If she isn’t the most well-travelled woman on the planet, it has to be a close contest.

‘Just a minute, then,’ she said, once we’d crossed Bakewell twice looking in vain for a “rooms available” sign with lights in the windows. She gestured in the direction of the dark and barren fields, bordered with drystone walls, that ringed the raggle-taggle cluster of buildings. ‘Plenty of space out there. Come on.’

I squinted, as though that might help me see farther into the darkness. ‘Space?’ I echoed. ‘For what?’

But Em had already set off, and the rest of us had to work hard to keep up with her long stride. She led us on a forced march for some two or three minutes, then stopped in the midst of what felt to my feet like reasonably soft grass.

‘We’re sleeping here?’ said Indira, doubtfully. ‘Just on the ground?’

I could sympathise with her obvious discomfort at the idea. Indira struck me as a fastidiously neat person; rarely had I seen her with so much as a hair out of place.

Me, I was more worried about the cold.

Emellana smiled enigmatically, and gestured again, a gesture I might have termed flamboyant if it had been anybody but self-contained Emellana who’d made it.

The air rippled, folded itself up, and became a tent. A glorious tent, expansive and inviting, wrought from some airy and ethereal fabric most pleasing to mine eye.

It was warm, too, as I soon discovered. We piled inside to find blankets and pillows laid out in five bundles, and not only did the tent protect us from the freezing wind, it also seemed to be gently heated.

‘Ms Rogan,’ I said fervently. ‘You are a queen amongst women.’

She actually laughed at that, a little. ‘I consider it a fair trade for spiced honey cakes,’ she informed me.

‘Ooh, good point,’ said Zareen, flopping down into a nest of blankets and extracting her boxes of goodies.

‘So you’ve employed this trick before,’ I surmised around a mouthful of Bakewell tart.

She inclined her head. ‘Only when there is no other choice. It is rather draining.’

‘Where did you learn it?’ asked Indira. ‘I’ve never come across such an art.’

Emellana finished her cakes and lay down, stuffing two pillows under her head. ‘I learned it from a silk-weaver in Hangzhou.’

Indira said nothing, but her face was hungry, like she’d eat the whole of Hangzhou alive if doing so would procure her its secrets.

‘Not yet,’ said Jay, shaking his head at his sister. ‘You haven’t got time.’

Indira sighed in agreement, and flopped into her blankets.

‘Time to sleep,’ I decided. ‘Big day tomorrow.’

Awfully sensible of me, wasn’t it? Right up there with all that going to bed early I’d tried to do earlier in the evening.

But despite the delicious comfort of my blankets and pillows — almost as good as a real bed, you’d hardly know you were lying on cold, damp grass — I couldn’t sleep. My mind turned and turned upon the problem of the Fairy Stone, and the foolish promise I’d made to solve it post-haste.

Promises are dangerous things. They’re only made of words, and I’ve been forming sentences for a while now. Too easy to make.

Keeping them is the harder part, but one rarely thinks about that while uttering grandiloquent oaths. Whatever confidence I’d felt an hour ago had disappeared somewhere.

I couldn’t sleep because I didn’t have time. My team were relying on me to get them into Silvessen, and whose fault was that but my own? I’d borrowed Merlin’s arts for exactly this reason, and now I had to work out what to do with them.

Stifling a sigh — it wouldn’t do to wake my compatriots as well as failing them — I got up again and crept out of the tent.

The clouds were clearing and the sky was a veil of stars. I stood looking up at them for some time, hoping some Muse of Magick would bless me with a flash of conveniently timed insight.

Nope.

‘Fine,’ I muttered, extracting my phone.

It may surprise you to learn that Ophelia owns a phone. It certainly surprised me. It isn’t that she eschews modern conveniences altogether, despite the antiquity of her cottage. But she rarely bothers with them, and you know why? Because she doesn’t need them. What do you need a fridge for if you’re Merlin? She’s got storage boxes that keep food chilled and they’re powered by magick, not electricity. Why do you need an oven or a gas-powered stove when you can summon as much fire or heat as you like with a flick of your fingers? Ophelia’s kitchen is marvellous because she’s marvellous.

Phones, though. She might be able to communicate over long distances in magickal ways, but most of the rest of us can’t. So she keeps a mobile.

In a drawer. I found it a few weeks ago, buried under a stack of papers and unrecognisable paraphernalia and clearly untouched in some time.

I took it out and quietly placed it somewhere a bit more obvious. I don’t know what premonition made me do that, but I blessed my accidental forethought now as I stood in a field in Derbyshire, half-frozen and out of ideas, and hoped she’d consent to answer the thing at three in the morning.

She did. Eventually.

‘Ves?’ she said, crisply. Not sleep-fuddled. Probably up late working on some new, brilliant potion.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I know it’s obscenely late.’

‘‘What’s the problem?’

‘It’s the gate into Silvessen.’ I gave her a speedy precis of the situation, then waited impatiently through a rather long silence from the other end.

‘It’s completely dead?’ she said at last.

‘Seems to be. I can’t find so much as a stray thread of magick in there, and I couldn’t get it to accept any of mine, either.’

‘It’s not like a battery, Ves. You can’t just recharge it.’

‘So I discovered.’

She was quiet again for a time. ‘It is a conundrum,’ she allowed. ‘The gate is inactive because Silvessen Dell is a dead enclave. Were the enclave revived, so too would the gate be, but you need to revive the gate in order to access the Dell.’

‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘Jay cannot assist you, I collect?’

‘If there is a Way-henge inside Silvessen, Jay can’t find it. Probably for the same reason.’

‘Hm. Then you’ll have to go back a bit.’

‘Back? Back where?’

‘Think of Farringale and Baroness Tremayne.’

Hm. Baroness Tremayne, a troll noblewoman who’d survived the death of Farringale by centuries. In a manner of speaking. ‘Between the echoes,’ I said. ‘I still have no idea what that means.’

‘It is about memory. And dream.’

‘I hate to keep being such a downer, but I have no idea what that means, either.’

‘You probably do, Ves. Didn’t you tell me you detected a memory of magick within the Fairy Stone?’

‘Yes…’

‘The Stone remembers what it once was. Somewhere, between the echoes of memory and time, there’s a thread you could use.’

‘All right, thank you, but how do I find it?’

‘Go deeper. Remember what I’ve been teaching you.’

Deeper. Hm. I thanked Ophelia with as much grace as I could muster (which was less than she deserved, but what can I say? It was three in the morning, I’d hardly slept, and I was badly feeling the pressure) and hung up.

Go deeper. Right.

Sleep being out of the question, I didn’t bother returning to the tent. Instead I sent a text to Jay’s phone. Meet me at the Fairy Stone, it said. Bring sustenance.

Then I trudged wearily out into the grassy field. When I judged I’d put enough distance in between me and both the tent and Bakewell, I retrieved my syrinx pipes and played Addie’s song.

My glorious unicorn Familiar answered promptly, as she usually does. I still had her bag of chips about me, even if they were cold by now. She didn’t mind. I admired her rippling, pearly mane and gleaming silvery hide as she devoured my offering of peace and friendship, and then I was up on her back and we were galloping away.

Two or three strides in, Addie spread her beautiful wings and away we flew.

This statement disconcerted Indira, who, of all those present, probably understood me the least.

‘It’s okay,’ Jay reassured her. ‘This is Ves. Her idea of evil is making people eat too much cake. Or turning your hair fabulous colours without telling you.’

I frowned. ‘I’m sure I could think of something more diabolical than that.’

‘When you do, I’d be delighted to hear about it,’ said Jay. Words that would, probably, haunt him someday soon.

Indira just shook her head. I think the gesture meant “I give up trying to understand this” more than an utter rejection of my entire personal worth, but one never knows.

‘I, for one, am entirely in favour of Evil Ves,’ said Zareen. ‘I see honorary membership of the School of Weird in your future. School tie and and everything.’

‘Hey. Weird and Evil aren’t the same thing, Zar. Haven’t you kept saying that.’

‘Maybe I was lying.’ She shook out her green-streaked black hair, smiling with cat-like satisfaction. ‘I’m Evil like that.’

‘Anyway,’ said Emellana, mildly intervening. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Onward,’ I said. ‘Right after I pick up our picnic from Kitchen.’

‘Ves,’ said Jay, with a faint sigh, ‘we aren’t delving into the frozen wastes, battling for survival against the uncaring elements. There’ll be food.’

‘You said that so beautifully.’

‘And it made not the slightest difference to you, did it.’

I beamed at Jay and exited stage left, en route straight to the pantry.

***

I met up with the rest of Team Unstoppable outside the House. Not at the front door, obviously. That would be far too mundane. I found them skulking in the cellar, as befit such a shady mission. They were gathered around the Way-henge, Zareen leaning casually against the wall, Indira standing stock-still and tense in a corner, Emellana apparently thinking of something else entirely, and Jay pacing up and down, his phone in his hand. Everyone looked up sharply as I barrelled through the door, then relaxed when they saw it was me.

‘Okay,’ I panted, having done a wee bit of running on my way downstairs. ‘I’ve got something for everyone.’

‘Samosas?’ said Jay.

‘Check. Bhajis for Indira.’

Indira actually smiled, a bit. Nothing like food to cheer people up.

‘Halva for Zareen.’

‘Pistachio?’

‘Of course.’

I was instantly divested of the article in question, Zareen snatching it out of my hands like a greedy child, and disappearing it with a flick of her fingers. Only a swirl of shadow remained where the halva had been, and that soon dissipated.

‘And since I love you,’ I added. ‘I also got sholeh zard.’ I handed her a Tupperware container, within which a golden and fragrant pudding lurked.

Zareen eyed me suspiciously, though she snatched the container. ‘I begin to think you’re buttering me up for something. What’s the catch?’

‘You’re welcome,’ I said, ignoring that. ‘Em, I wasn’t sure what you’d like but they told me these spiced honey pastries are popular at Court right now.’

‘There are people manning the kitchen at this hour?’ Emellana looked either impressed or appalled, I couldn’t decide which.

‘Well, there’s Magnus. Nobody can persuade him to sleep.’ I handed her a waxed paper bag. ‘And for me, Bakewell tarts.’

‘I smell something deep fried.’ Jay ostentatiously sniffed the air.

‘Chips for Addie. If we need her, I don’t want to have to explain why I didn’t bring her a picnic too.’

‘Right.’

‘Again.’

Jay inclined his head. ‘Okay, enough dawdling, we’re going.’

He said that ringingly, and with purpose, so I was puzzled when he returned to his phone and remained deedily occupied.

‘I’m sure she’ll wait,’ I said, when a few minutes passed.

‘Who?’ Jay didn’t even look up.

‘The, uh, person you’re dating.’

He did look up, then, but only to crook an eyebrow at me. My cunning attempt to find out more about Jay’s mystery woman (about whom he had been notably tight-lipped) went unanswered. ‘I’m finding the way,’ he said.

‘With the Wapp!’

‘The— the what?’

‘The Way-App. The Wapp. You know?’

He stared at me, and blinked.

I began to feel uncomfortable. ‘What?’

Jay shook his head, a gesture remarkably similar to his sister’s quarter of an hour before. I might be the death of these Patels. ‘I’m wondering,’ he said, putting his phone away in a pocket.

‘Wondering what manner of merciful death I deserve?’

‘Wondering why I didn’t think of that name myself. Come on.’

I was grabbed, and firmly escorted into the henge. Zar and Em and Indira came forward, and we did a circle-of-hands thing. The Winds of the Ways began to swirl around my feet, the sense of building magick grew, and honestly the whole thing seemed very Captain Planet to this child who’d always wanted to summon the power of Heart. And there were five of us. Coincidence? I think not.

Jay’s obviously the power of Wind. Emellana is Earth, with her solid-rock steadiness. Zareen is as changeable as Fire, so that leaves Water for Indira. Not a perfect fit, but Indira’s good at literally anything that doesn’t require her to talk, so she’ll run with it.

I was mentally casting Alban in the role of the Captain when the Winds reached screaming-pitch, and we whirled away.

***

‘It’s funny you should have brought Bakewell tarts,’ said Jay, once he’d got his breath back.

The comment passed me by, at first, for we emerged into a darkness so blank I felt a momentary panic. Rarely does one encounter such pitch blackness; there’s usually light somewhere, even in the depths of night, even if it’s only a faint glow. But tonight, the moon lay sulking behind a thick cloud cover and wherever we’d fetched up was obviously far from civilisation.

I collected my wits, always rather scattered after a jump through the Ways, and mustered a glowing ball of light. The ravenous darkness swallowed its soft, genteel glow, and I hastily summoned several more. Only once I had the place properly floodlit did I register Jay’s remark.

‘Why’s that funny?’

‘Because we’re not far from Bakewell.’

I took a long look around.

We had appeared in the midst of a proper, proper henge, none of those underwhelming types where there’s nothing to see save a slight mound or two. Several ancient, craggy stones over half a metre tall surrounded me in a wide circle, dark and moss-covered. Beyond them stretched a ragged moor, scrubby with grasses greenish and tawny-brown.

Bakewell. Derbyshire.

‘We’re in the Peak District?’ said Zareen.

‘We are. And this is Hordron Edge, otherwise known as the Seven Stones of Hordron.’

I shivered as he spoke, mostly because of the brisk midnight winds sweeping over the moor. Maybe a little bit with fear. I hadn’t forgotten the impenetrable, blinding dark. ‘That sounds suitably mystical,’ I said, hoping, as I often do, to ward off fear with flippancy.

‘Head west a bit and you’ll hit Ladybower Tor.’

‘Charming.’

‘And for Zareen’s interest, Cutthroat Bridge is over there.’ Jay pointed off into the darkness.

Zareen grinned. ‘Already I’m liking this place.’

‘And Silvessen?’ said Indira, all business as usual.

Em hadn’t spoken. I noticed she had taken up a station by the largest of the visible stones, a great, mossy outcropping fully a metre tall. She’d placed one hand against the stone, and stood with her eyes closed.

I drifted that way. So did Jay. ‘Found something?’ I asked.

‘Wouldn’t be surprised,’ Jay put in. ‘They call this the Fairy Stone.’

‘For good reason,’ said Em, without opening her eyes. ‘Whatever magic once flourished here is long, long faded, but I can feel traces of it, still.’

I hesitated, then laid a hand against the Fairy Stone myself. I’d tried this trick before, without much effect. Whatever arts Emellana (and my mother) employed to sense long-past magick, I didn’t have them at my disposal.

But now I was a walking reservoir of incredibly ancient magick and things were different. The stone thrummed under my fingers, a faint, distant pulse, like the echo of a failing heartbeat.

Realisation struck. ‘This was once a gate.’

‘The gate to Silvessen, specifically,’ said Jay. ‘And our first objective is to figure out how to get through it.’

I realised he was looking at me.

So was Emellana. And Indira, and Zareen.

I felt a stab of regret. If I hadn’t mentioned my borrowing of Merlin’s powers, maybe I wouldn’t be so thoroughly on the spot now.

I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do.

‘It’s not like I can just, tell it to open,’ I tried to explain. I could say this with authority, because I’d been trying.

‘I don’t know how these things work,’ said Jay, shrugging.

‘Me neither.’ Zareen sat down with her back against the Fairy Stone, and shut her eyes. Maybe she needed a nap. It was pretty late.

Indira hovered nearby, patently deep in thought, but since she said nothing I concluded that she, too, was stumped.

I stared, pleadingly, at Em.

‘The gate is long closed,’ she said. ‘Sealed. I would say it has been hundreds of years since it was last opened.’

‘And there’s no magick left here,’ I put in, gloomily. It wasn’t magick I was feeling in the stone; only a memory.

Jay stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning at the problem. ‘Could you maybe… add some?’ he said, looking at me.

‘Me personally?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re full of lyre-magick from the Fifth Britain, and Merlin’s powers to boot. If anybody can, it’d be you.’

True, that, but I couldn’t say I had a great deal of control over it. Odd things happened when I touched things, sometimes, and of course there was the whole turning-into-a-unicorn thing. But the things I touched had to have some kind of magick or potential of their own before anything much would happen, and the unicorn thing only came about when I was in Addie’s glade.

The Fairy Stone may have enjoyed a glittering past, but today it was dead as a dodo.

‘I’m not fully trained,’ I apologised. ‘If there’s any reviving-of-ancient-gates in my curriculum, we haven’t got to it yet.’

Jay looked disappointed. I could understand why. If you’ve brought the embodiment of ancient British magick along on your quest, only to find that she can’t open an ancient magickal gate, that’s a bit of a downer, isn’t it?

‘Maybe… if we use the regulator.’ That was Indira, so softly spoken that the wind almost whipped the words away.

‘Good thought,’ I allowed, cautiously. ‘If it’s the loss of magick that turned this gate into a dead lump of rock, maybe a revival of magick could reverse the effect.’

‘But we were supposed to deploy that in Silvessen,’ Jay disagreed. ‘This isn’t Silvessen. We’re right out in the regular world, in the open. It’s risky. And I’m not sure it would even work.’

‘Then it will have to be Ves.’ That was Emellana, sounding vaguely amused, I wasn’t sure why.

Jay and Indira both looked at me, and waited.

I thought I heard a faint snore from Zareen.

‘I can’t do it,’ I said, trying to sound calm. ‘At least, not immediately. I need some time to think about it.’

And maybe call Ophelia. I didn’t really want to have to call for help five minutes into our mission, that was embarrassing, but going home in defeat because we couldn’t pass the first obstacle would be significantly more so.

Jay nodded, agreeably enough, but I noticed he’d begun to shiver. ‘How long do you think that will take?’

‘Too long for us to stand out here while I do it. I’ll make you a deal.’ I took my hand off the Fairy Stone, though my fingers continued to thrum faintly. ‘Take us to Bakewell. Let’s find rooms for the night, get some sleep. In the morning, feed me sumptuously on Bakewell tart — the proper, authentic kind — and I promise to come up with the answer.’

Jay held out both of his hands. ‘All aboard the Patel bus, leaving for Bakewell in three minutes,’ he announced. ‘Or, close enough.’

Clinging to the prospect of sweet, almond delights to sustain me, I permitted myself to be whisked away, trying not to quail too badly under the foolhardy promise I’d made.

Idiot.