Prologue

She wasn’t a creature. She wasn’t a shadow or a figment like he first thought. 

But she wasn’t human. Somehow he knew it.

Maybe that’s why he followed her along the frosted track. Maybe that’s why he found himself running further and further away from the park he shouldn’t have strayed from. 

“You live underground, right? Like a rabbit.” He shouted as he ran, even though he couldn’t quite catch his breath and talk at the same time. “Or a badger?”

They crunched leaves and snapped twigs dusted by the cold, racing until their chests burned and their pink noses started to run. And when they stopped, their laughter spilled out above them, frightening the birds that hid in the trees silhouetted against the bare, sullen sky. 

The two of them left imprints on a part of the world that would stay in their memories far longer than the footprints would stay in the ground. 

“Well, do you?”

“You’re silly.” She sniffed and fixed her silver eyes on him. ‘I live over there.’ Her breath curled into the sky as she pointed.

The wooden Romani wagon was so much more vivid than its white surroundings - the deep burgundy of the walls cast a bloodstain glow against the snow. 

“Follow me.” She gestured with glove-covered hands. 

He moved toward it, mouth wide open. The wooden spokes were too thick to curl his fingers around as he stood next to a wheel that was much taller than the two of them and worn from miles of travel. So many fine details, the eaves carved into curve and point and decorated with black painted lines. He’d seen nothing like it, maybe no one else had either. Maybe he was the first kid ever to have seen it.

He scanned the yellowing lace hanging in the windows before pausing on something; he was confused as he read over words etched into the wood just below the window. 

“What’s a skylark?” He creased his face as he looked back at her.

“I’ll show you.” She wrapped her small fingers around his, pulling him up the wooden steps onto the small porch as a rusting lantern on a chain swung back and forth. He stood in the doorway at first, playing with his hands and watching the strange girl as she pulled the scarf from her neck and removed her hood. Her thick black hair fell loose against her moth eaten jumper and reached all the way down to to the tops of her legs. Humans don’t have hair that long, he thought. 

“Come in then.” The ladder creaked as she climbed up and into the top bunk bed. 

He stepped into the space, looking up, turning in circles to see the golden patterns painted over the ceiling and all the trinkets that hung from it as they swung in every direction. There must have been a hundred glittering stars hanging from strings above his head catching the light as they twisted. As bright as any night sky he’d seen but just a little more magical.

What was this small house on wheels? This cluttered cavern of sights and sounds that was unlike anything he’d imagined before; no television or PlayStation, not even a light switch. So different, and yet he felt at home. He pulled his bulky winter coat from his warm body and the damp chill slipped inside his collar. The coat fell from his grip, brushing the dried larkspur and heather as it dropped, sending the dust into a dance that filled the air around him. Pieces of the caravan’s history began to rest against his clothes and skin and he imagined them dissolving into him so that he could be a part of it too.

As he crawled amongst the bedclothes and the layers of blankets and ruffles she drew an ivory lace curtain across the bed - a thin woven veil between them and the rest of the world. 

“Look up.” She lay down ushering him to copy. The gasp escaped him before he could stop it as he pushed his scruffy brown hair from his face to get a better look at the paper birds hanging from the ceiling. “They’reskylarks.” She sent one after another into a spin with just a gentle push. “They dance in the wind.” They watched them in silence until she reached her arm up toward the birds.  “This one’s my favourite of all.” It came away from the roof with a gentle tug. “Papa Léger,” she said as she placed it in his palm. “Now it’s yours.” He chuckled at the name and the awkward, angular shape made from yellowing note paper - someone's hurried handwriting was still just about visible. “I made them when I couldn’t sleep.” She whispered. “They’re my friends.”

 “Are you magic?” He turned his face to look at her.

Sometimes he liked to imagine that people could be, people like her, far away from the real world, different from him and everything he knew. She lived in a house on wheels that he imagined travelled through the woods and beyond; her accent wasn’t quite as English as he was used to and her clothes didn’t smell clean like his. Perhaps she could climb trees whenever she wanted and sit amongst the birds and perhaps she could lay out looking at the stars until bedtime drifted past. Is that what magic people do? 

“There’s no such thing as magic.” She sniggered at the thought and he pretended he wasn’t disappointed as he reached for one of the strings pinned into the roof.

“This one is Lord Serpentine the third,” he said as he took the bird in his fingers, making it move awkwardly and giving it a terrible French accent. She laughed uncontrollably, covering her mouth with small hands as the delicate sound filled the darkening space around them. He smiled because she thought he was funny.

“Lord Serpentine.” The name sounded even sillier when she repeated it as she stroked its paper edges like it was a friend. 

“How old are you?” 

“I’m eight whole years.” She gave a proud smile, her crooked teeth on show. 

“I’m ten.”

She grinned at his double digits. “Wow” she mouthed.

“We’re friends now,” he said as he replaced the paper birds. He linked her little finger with his. “Pinkie swear? That means promise.” They lay there with their baby fingers entwined and he hoped she didn’t notice the purple pattern on his wrist or the scratches on the back of his hand.

“Are you home Skylark?” A woman’s voice called as the doors closed.  She snatched her hand away from his and sat up in her bed, pulling a necklace over her head. 

“I’m not supposed to wear it.” She was whispering the words to herself, but he heard it anyway as he watched a mischievous grin spread across her lips. She tucked the necklace underneath a multi-coloured crochet blanket but it peered through the holes in the weave. A dirty gold heart locket etched with vines and flowers, with a tiny bell that hung from the tip.  He tucked it further under the bedclothes for her as she swept the curtain aside. “Vivien, I made a friend.”

“Oh, I do love meeting your invisible…” Vivien caught his eye and paused. Surprised for just a second. “…friends.” She moved towards them stopping at the edge of the bed, her eyes squinting, her head at the perfect level to see them. “Well hello, young man.” She had a warm, generous smile that lit her eyes. “I’m Vivien, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

He didn’t notice how she’d used that word.Finally.

“You’ve been making friends with my little Skylark have you?”

“We met at the park,” he said as Vivien held his hand and shook it loosely. “You’re a Skylark too?” He looked over to the girl, a cheeky smile spread across his face.

“No! It’s just my nickname.” She turned to Vivien as she spoke. “We’re going to be friends forever.” 

 “I think you might be right about that.”

He felt calmed by this woman with her soft face and wiry brunette hair that was greying at the roots and thinning like the edges of the lace curtains. Her eyes were endless, full of stories and wisdom as they studied his face. She lent into him, straightening up the collar of the shirt beneath his brown jumper.

“You’re a special young man, I can tell. Don’t you forget about us, ok?” She kept her voice low and stared into his eyes as if she saw only him. There was nothing for him to say as he repeated her words to himself. “You understand?” He nodded at her gently. 

A voice called from over the hill, travelling through cold air toward the caravan and he flinched his head towards it, all expression falling from his face as he started to move from the bed.

“That’s my Da’, I have to go.”

He climbed from the bed as Vivien helped her niece down. He’d felt his eyes widening with a brief panic that shivered over him but despite the panic, the urgency, the voice in the distance, he stopped to look back at the girl for a moment. He barely understood what he was feeling but he stepped over to her quickly, kissing her awkwardly on her cold cheek as she stared at him. It was just one small peck but it felt like instinct to him. Then he was turning and running from the caravan, leaping down the steps to the slippery ground below and not even caring if he fell.

“I’m sorry if you were worried, he was quite safe with us.” Vivien called after him.

“These animals are dangerous.” His father said it loud enough for them all to hear. He was bristly and coarse with a croaking voice and a firm grip around his son’s wrist. 

The boy looked back at them as his father pulled him along the track, his face shocked at the word.

Animal.

“No Da’, they’re magic.”