MIDWINTER’S EVE

Gentle snowflakes drift onto my yellow-striped woolly hat and I squeeze my fingers together against the cold. Puffs of steam coincide with every breath, quick and erratic, like the breath of a baby dragon. I’m nervous. But then I’m about to kidnap the Princess of Nova.

Okay, so maybe kidnap is a strong word. But she’s not allowed to leave the palace without the express permission of her parents (the eminent King and Queen of Nova) and a huge entourage of bodyguards and secret service agents. Today, however, she’s sneaking out – all alone – just for me. But if we’re caught? I’m the one who’ll get the blame.

There’s a crunch of snow, and I spin around. Princess Evelyn is running towards me, blonde hair streaming behind her, barely contained by a pair of pink fluffy earmuffs.

‘Sam!’ She raises her arm, waving wildly.

‘Evie, you made it!’

When she catches up with me, her cheeks are flushed bright red from the cold and she tackles me in a giant bear hug. When we pull back, I see she’s wearing a bright white down jacket and skinny jeans. ‘I thought I told you to dress in a disguise?’ I say.

‘What? This is a disguise! These jeans are last season!’

A grin tugs at my lips. Princess Evelyn stands out even when she tries to blend in.

She brushes a blonde curl from her face. ‘Ready to go?’

‘Just about! How’d you manage to lose your security?’ I ask.

‘Oh, if a princess doesn’t have a few tricks up her sleeve, what good is it having magic power?’ She grins. ‘Don’t worry, they think I’m at a one-on-one intensive yoga session with my personal trainer, who I bribed with Midwinter mulled wine not to say anything about my absence. As long as I’m back in time to get ready for the Gathering tonight, they’ll be none the wiser. Plus, this is a very good cause. I can’t believe we’re going to see the Svenland elves!’ Princess Evelyn squeals in a manner that is most unprincessy. My smile matches hers as it spreads from ear to ear.

‘I know, right? It’s so exciting!’

The research I’ve done pops into my brain before I can stop it.

Svenland elves: naturally reclusive creatures who live in a vast network of glaciers and underground ice caves in North Svenland. They only leave their dwelling one night of the year, Midwinter, when they use their elf-magic to travel around the world, delivering handmade presents to young children. They are also rumoured to have the special ability to choose the perfect gift for any child. A small village nearby, Sventown, is a popular tourist destination for all things dedicated to Midwinter.

‘I’ve always wanted to go to Sventown, but it’s not exactly the kind of place a princess goes. Oh, we’re going to see all the beautiful lights and the trees and the huskies . . . it’s going to be so cool! And at the end of it, you’ll have the perfect present for Zain. How lucky are you? Even if you did leave it until the very last minute,’ she adds, with a sly smile, her elbow digging into my ribs.

At her words, my smile slips before I can catch it. Because technically, technically, I’m dragging the princess all the way to North Svenland under false pretences. The present I’ve asked for help with isn’t Zain’s.

It’s hers.

For a month I’ve known that I’d been chosen to find Evelyn a Secret Solstice present, and that I’d have to give it to her at the Palace’s Gathering on Midwinter’s Eve, in front of the royal family. And for a month I’ve wracked my brains, scoured all the shops in Kingstown . . . and come up empty. It’s the first time I’ve had to choose a gift for Evie since becoming her friend, and I want it to be perfect. Pretty tough, considering she can have anything she wants at the snap of her fingers. Talk. About. Pressure.

Plus, Secret Solstice presents are supposed to be unique.

Personal.

And secret. So I can’t even ask anyone for help.

Any person that is. No one said anything about magical creatures. Writing to the Svenland elves had been a last-chance gamble, a risk I didn’t think would pay off. It was something young kids did, asking for their perfect gift, not sixteen-year-old alchemists. Please help me find a Secret Solstice present for Princess Evelyn. I’ll do anything. I’d literally begged in my letter.

So when a reply arrived just yesterday, inviting me to visit them in North Svenland, I could hardly believe my luck. The only requirement they had was to bring the princess with me – and only the princess. No problem. Except for the whole ditching her security thing.

The ruse I’d come up with was for her to help me find a present for my boyfriend Zain. Of course, she’d said yes immediately. Her ability to be such a great friend to me made me feel ashamed I couldn’t be a good friend to her and think of a perfect gift all on my own.

It’s not as if I hadn’t tried. After shopping failed, I tried the handmade route, but the only things I know how to make are potions. There are decorative potions – liquids that serve no purpose except to swirl prettily from silver to gold and back again – but no matter what I mixed, nothing seemed special enough.

And it has to be something special.

The Svenland elves are my last hope.

‘Come on, we’re close to the car,’ I say, making my smile wide again.

Thanks to a few connections I have with an amazing potions-ingredient Finder named Kirsty, I’ve managed to get all the equipment we need for a winter outing and a car to drive us there. In true Finder-style, the equipment covers every eventuality – like a disguise for Evelyn, crampons for walking on ice and extra sets of warm clothing. The backpack she’s given me is so heavy, I haven’t even looked through it all. North Svenland is supposed to be one of the happiest places on the planet. What could go wrong?

I open the back seat and pull out Evelyn’s disguise.

‘What, in the name of all things magic, is that?’ Evelyn leans over my shoulder, her nose wrinkling.

‘This—’ in my hand is a curly brown ball ‘—is your wig!’

‘Over my dead body am I wearing that! Can’t I just glamour myself a costume?’ She snaps her fingers and her hair is now as pink as her earmuffs.

‘Nuh-uh,’ I say. Evie pouts and her hair returns to its natural colour. ‘We’re heading into the Wilds now and who knows what that will do to your glamour.’ I’ve heard stories of the Wilds – protected areas of nature that amplify and distort all human magic – distorting a glamour so badly, the wearer became permanently disfigured. Since Princess Evelyn is one of the world’s most powerful magic users, I hate to think what might happen to her. I have no ability to use magic at all, so I don’t have to worry.

‘Come on,’ I say. I give the wig a little shake so that it falls into a more hair-like shape. It still looks like the fur of a shaggy dog. ‘You can’t be spotted out here.’ This is the busiest season for Sventown and even though we’re only going to be passing through, I can’t risk her being photographed. Her face would be all over social media, and the secret service would be here quicker than you can say Midwinter to whisk her home. Not only is she at risk of attack (there are always threats to Evelyn’s security, even if she plays them down), if the royal family knew I was helping her sneak out, they might not let me see her again. And, selfishly, it would suck for me. I would still be left empty-handed on the gift front.

Evie throws her hands up in the air, then takes the wig. ‘Okay, okay, you win! You owe me after this.’ She ties her long blonde hair into a low bun, then slips on the furry hairball. After a bit of tucking and adjusting, the wig falls smoothly over her head. She leans down and makes a few final adjustments in the wing mirror of the car.

‘Wow! Only you could pull off that wig!’ I exclaim. ‘Here are some funky glasses to complete the outfit . . .’

She wrinkles her nose again, but dutifully puts on the glasses. I tilt my head to one side and squint. I think she looks different enough not to be recognized at first glance. Anyone paying too much attention might guess – it’s hard to disguise her distinctive Novaen features: the bright blue eyes, aquiline nose and sculpted cheekbones. I’ll just have to drive quickly through the town and pray no one takes a closer look.

We hop in the car and I plug the co-ordinates of the elves’ home into the GPS on the dash. Excitement tingles through my veins. Although plenty of tourists visit the elvish headquarters every year, the true magic behind Midwinter presents – like how the elves deliver them around the world in just one night, or how they know the perfect gift for just about everyone – remains a mystery.

Evelyn blasts the radio and we end up singing the newest hit by mega popstar Damien at the top of our lungs. As we drive, the snow becomes heavier, coating the road in front of us with a dusting of sugar. The trees glisten in the low light, their spindly, leafless branches nestled in gloves of ice. It’s a pristine winter wonderland.

‘I can’t wait to see the Sventown decorations. Maybe we can get a few tips for next year’s Kingstown Midwinter Spectacular.’

I nod eagerly. The Midwinter Spectacular is my favourite time of year. Kingstown undergoes a transformation overnight. Thousands of fairybugs descend on the Royal Lane, covering it with a canopy of twinkling lights. The big department stores update their window displays, competing for the most extravagant dressing. Pop-up stalls swap costume jewellery and knick-knacks for hot chocolates, roasted nuts and wood-carved Midwinter ornaments. The city even smells different: like cinnamon and oranges, pine cones and mulled wine. Sventown is like the Midwinter Spectacular – but all year around.

‘Apparently, in Sventown, they have so many fairy lights, they outshine the Northern Lights!’ I say.

Evie shivers with anticipation. ‘Should be amazing.’

‘Well, we’ll be there any moment now. Keep your eyes peeled for a glow.’ Even though it’s the middle of the day, there’s a dark, dusky tint to the sky – the result of being so far north that the sun only rises for an hour or two. I look down at the GPS and back at the road ahead. According to the map, Sventown is just around the next bend.

And when we turn the corner, we almost need to shield our eyes from the multitude of fairy lights, baubles and neon signs that confront us. Sventown is everything that I imagined and more. The streets are filled with tourists, wrapped up in their winter warmest, milling in and out of the shops selling stuffed-toy versions of the Svenland elves, bags of fake, glittery elvish dust and elaborate wreaths of holly, pine cones and dried oranges. There are burly men offering rides in horse-drawn carriages – or dog sleds for the more adventurous.

My jaw hangs open as we drive through. My younger sister Molly and I used to beg our parents to bring us here, to wrap up in furs and ride in sleds pulled by huskies, to stroke the reindeer and maybe, just maybe, to ask for the absolute perfect present from a Svenland elf. But Mum and Dad couldn’t afford a trip like that – not back then. They just told us to continue writing letters to the elves, with a list of the things we wanted, in the hope of a reply. The replies never came, but somehow we always managed to get something off our wish lists on Midwinter morning – as well as gifts we never even knew we wanted.

‘Oh, please can we stop for a while?’ Evie asks, her nose plastered against the car window. She looks as excited as the children outside.

I realize I’ve slowed the car down almost to a crawl, despite my resolution to drive quickly. I shrug my shoulders, trying to shake the hypnotizing effect of all the bright lights and music. I almost wonder if the town’s been glamoured to make people feel happy. ‘We can’t,’ I say reluctantly. ‘You might be spotted. And besides . . . we don’t have much time.’

Evelyn pouts, but nods. She turns away as a girl on her dad’s shoulders does a double take at Evie’s face. She lifts a finger to point.

‘Okay, we have to get out of here,’ I say, putting my foot on the accelerator. We zoom out of the one-road town, leaving the bright lights behind us. A few moments later, we pass a guard building with a sign that reads: WELCOME TO THE NORTH SVENLAND WILDS. The Wilds keeper checks our passes, lifting the barrier up.

‘You’re visiting the elves?’ the keeper asks, surprise in his voice.

’Yes, we have an invitation,’ I reply.

The guard wipes his brow. ‘Phew! No one’s been up there this year. Normally, we get a steady stream of tour groups in from Sventown, but the elves cancelled them all this year – no explanation given. Maybe they’re working extra hard this Midwinter. Or maybe they’ve made it VIPs only . . .’ He leans down to peer closer through our car window.

‘Uh, best be off! Can’t be late!’ I say, trying to distract him.

Thankfully, he steps back. ‘Just be careful. We had reports of wild animals roaming close to the elvish gates – a tour group who chanced a visit without an invitation were chased away. But if the elves are expecting you, you shouldn’t have a problem. Wish them a Merry Midwinter from Hans – tell them not to forget my children!’

‘We will!’ says Evie brightly. When we’ve driven out of earshot, she turns to me. ‘I wonder why they stopped doing the tours . . .’

‘No idea,’ I say.

A creeping finger of doubt works its way along the bottom of my spine. But the elves wanted us to come. The invitation in my backpack is proof. I’m sure it’s all fine.

The GPS tells me to turn into a side road that looks like it hasn’t been ploughed all winter. We make it a short distance before even the winter-ready tyres begin to spin in the deep snow. The moment we fishtail towards the forest, the steering no longer under my control, I slam on the brakes. ‘So I think we’re going to have to walk from here.’

‘No problem,’ says Evie, jumping out of the car with a lot more enthusiasm than I have. The glow from Sventown seems to have attached itself to her, and she grins widely. ‘We’re not far, right?’

‘No, it’s just up ahead.’

‘Great.’

My fingers tingle, half from cold and half from nerves. If all goes well, I could be about to get Evie the perfect gift. If all goes well.

Out of the car, I’m grateful for my thick, fake-fur-lined winter boots, waterproofed against the snow. I wrap a scarf around my neck and pull on a pair of knitted mittens. Across from me, Evie is doing the same. ‘Ready?’ I ask.

‘Absolutely,’ she replies. ‘You came for a present, and we’re going to get one.’

I swing the backpack out of the back seat and lock the car. With the warnings about the wild animals ringing in our ears, we walk close to each other, our breath steaming in front of us.

Out of the drifting snow, we see our first sign of the elves’ dwelling: an outline of a tall gate. But the gates are closed. Locked. We reach them and I tug at the deadbolt wrapped around the iron bars. It doesn’t budge.

I sift through the backpack to find the invitation the elves sent me. The paper is a little crumpled, but according to the address, this is definitely the place. There’s even a little embossed image of it at the top of the card. Except in that image, the gates are open. I frown, my stomach churning. I don’t like to ignore my instincts, and right now they’re screaming at me that something isn’t right.

‘Uh . . . Sam?’

‘Hang on a sec.’ I crane my neck to inspect the fence, trying to see if there’s another entrance or maybe a buzzer to let the elves know we’ve arrived.

Evelyn tugs on the sleeve of my jacket. ‘No, Sam . . . you need to turn around.’ Her voice is quivering, and I spin around to look at her. Her face has drained of colour.

Then I hear it. A low growl. I hold my breath as I turn my head in the direction we’ve just walked. Only a few paces behind us, a dark grey shape materializes out of the falling snow. I grip Evelyn’s hand tightly in mine.

A wolf.

Evie and I both take a step backwards towards the gate, the cold iron pressing against our backs. The wolf takes a step forward, head low and swinging from side to side. Its amber eyes are fixed on us, and I don’t dare to break eye contact.

I still have the backpack on the ground from when I searched for the invitation. Slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements, I take out a metal thermos carrying hot chocolate I’d made for the road.

The wolf takes another step, stalking us. There’s another growl from a second wolf, this time from our left. Further away than the other, but getting closer.

The first wolf leans back like he’s about to pounce, and I know we can’t wait any longer. I launch into a sprint along the gate, pulling Evelyn with me. At the same time, I rattle the metal thermos along the rails, attempting to make as much noise as possible – both to scare away the wolves and to wake up the elves to rescue us.

Beside me, I feel Evelyn’s hand heat up with magical power. ‘Evie, no!’ I cry out. The last thing we need is for Evie’s magic to go crazy in the Wilds and blow us up – even before the wolves can eat us.

‘Argh, I forgot!’ Her hand goes ice-cold, but grips mine even tighter, her nails digging into my skin. Without magic, she’s just as powerless against the wolves as me.

Now there’s no mistaking that there are other wolves chasing us along the edge of the gate. When I whip my head around, I count at least four shapes, slippery as shadows, tracking us through the forest. My mind whirls, trying to think of a plan, the fear of the wolves on our tail and the jangle of the metal-on-metal jarring my nerves . . .

‘Miss Kemi! This way, quickly!’

The raspy voice is an answer to all my prayers. A metre or so ahead, there’s a small hole in the ground beneath the gate, and a little face – not much bigger than my fist – peeks its head from beneath the bars.

‘There!’ I shout at Evelyn.

‘We’ll never fit!’ she screams.

But I don’t give us the opportunity to debate. The wolves sense they’re about to miss out on their dinner, and they change direction. I can smell them now more than see them, the metallic tang of stale blood on their breath and the strong musk of their fur . . .

Evelyn’s right. The hole does look too small for us. Still, I drop down into a slide, heading feet first. We slip through the hole – which is deeper than it looks – and I crane my neck back, just in time to see the bars lower on the snapping jaws of the wolves.

We crash-land on a pile of soft snow.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask between pants of breath, laying my hand on her own heaving back. Her white puffy jacket is torn down one side, her wig askew and half covering her eyes.

Too late, I realize an unoriginal gift from a department store would probably beat getting mauled by wolves. Oops.

To my relief, she smiles. ‘Are you kidding? I’ve never felt more alive! I really thought we weren’t going to make it! And without the need for any magic at all. Now where’s that elf who saved us?’

‘Good point.’ I stand up and take stock. We’re inside a tunnel, the walls gleaming with compacted snow. It’s just big enough for me to stand, although the bobble on top of my hat brushes the ceiling.

I shout, ‘Hello!’, only to be greeted with an echo. I wonder what’s happened to the cheery, welcoming elves I’ve seen in the movies. They definitely weren’t supposed to be this mysterious. The elf that saved us also looked suspiciously young. I hope this isn’t one big practical joke to get the princess here, for some reason. ‘I think the only thing we can do is keep going. Maybe he’s gone to let the others know we’ve arrived?’

‘Absolutely,’ she says, and I grin at her optimism. She stands up, too, brushes herself down and pulls off the wig. ‘I don’t need this any more?’ I shake my head. ‘Then I’m ready.’

Our footsteps are the only sounds – strange, again, in a place that’s supposed to be in its busiest season. I expected to see toy-makers at work, or at least some sign of industry. We pass a cut-out in the snow, filled with the most incredible ice-sculpture of a reindeer. Or, at least, once it might have been incredible. Now the reindeer’s antlers are half-melted stumps, its face a lump of ice. This must be where the tours pass through. If they were running.

‘Do you think this is . . . normal?’ Evie asks.

‘Most definitely not.’

‘Oh, good, me neither.’ She edges closer to me, and a knot forms at the base of my throat.

This present had better be worth it. If you even get one, an annoying voice says in my brain. Nothing about this feels right, but I can’t think that way. I can’t have dragged Evie into all this danger for nothing.

‘Maybe when we reach the end of this tunnel, we can get some answers. That elf must be here somewhere.’

I nod, hoping she’s right. He’s gone to alert the others, I tell myself. The thought distracts me from watching my step, and I slip on an icy patch. My legs splay in separate directions, my arms windmilling, and I collapse onto the ground.

‘Are you okay?’ Evelyn gasps.

‘Fine, I think. But it might be time for these.’ When I’m sure of my footing again, I open the backpack and pull out two sets of crampons – spiky soles that we can strap to our shoes to prevent us from slipping.

‘My boots have never been so undignified,’ Evie says, stomping into the ground to test the strength of the spikes.

‘At least you’re not going to make an undignified fall on the ice, like me!’

‘True.’

‘Oof, no wonder my bag was so heavy,’ I say, pulling out a pair of small ice picks as well. If I’d searched the bag thoroughly beforehand, maybe I could have used them against the wolves. Serves me right for not thinking I’d need to be prepared.

Wrapped around the ice picks is a note from Kirsty: IN CASE OF A FALL ON ICE: Do *not* try to stop yourself with your crampons – you will only break an ankle! Use the ice pick to slow your fall. Then help each other!

Evelyn grimaces. ‘Come on – this is the home of the Svenland elves, not some kind of perilous mountain climb.’

No, not a perilous mountain climb. But maybe . . . I remove my glove and touch the tunnel walls, snatching my hand away at the bite of cold. I remember something I read about Svenland, and how it is dominated by great oceans of ice. ‘I think we’re inside a glacier? That means there might be cracks or crevasses we could fall into. Watch your step.’ As if in response, the tunnel groans, the ice shaking beneath our feet. I don’t like this one bit; no matter how much Evelyn is enjoying herself. The situation is too unpredictable, too out of my control for me to be comfortable. ‘Okay, let’s not mess around. We need to find that elf – and if we can’t, then we need to get out of here.’

Crampons on, we pick up the pace. It takes a few steps to get used to the extra grip, but we walk with a lot more confidence now. Within only a few minutes, we reach the end of the tunnel.

I stop dead, and Evelyn almost collides with my back. I look up, struck still with awe. Hanging above us are constellations of snowflakes, each at least as big as the palm of my hand, forming a snow-white web across the ceiling of the huge cavern. The walls have changed from bright white to azure blue, so blue I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d walked into a cave of sapphires instead of ice.

‘Look, there’s a door over there,’ says Evelyn, pointing to a spot on the far side of the cave. ‘It’s opening!’ she says with glee.

A head pops around the door and we get a good glimpse of a real Svenland elf – the same young one as before. He’s got a small, sharp face, every part of him angled to a point – from his nose to his chin to his diamond eyes – but his broad smile makes him at least seem friendly. He beckons us with a gloved hand, then disappears behind the door again.

‘Wait!’ I cry out across the cavern, but he’s gone. ‘Argh, are the elves really this annoying?’

‘At least we’re getting somewhere,’ says Evelyn. She squeezes my arm. ‘The wolves were just a little setback, right?’

‘Right,’ I say. I try to match her smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. My first footstep into the cavern produces an echo that in turn makes the ceiling of snowflakes shake and tinkle, like a wind chime in the breeze.

I exchange a glance with Evelyn, trying to ignore the ominous sounds from above us. Evie talks to break the tension. ‘So have you thought at all about a present for Zain? I mean, it’s not exactly like Midwinter is a surprise . . .’

‘I know, but with all that’s happened this year, it kind of slipped my mind. Plus,’ I glance sideways at her, ‘some people are really hard to buy for.’

Before Evie can reply, a snowflake the size of a dinner plate lands a few steps away from us. It doesn’t land softly, drifting to the ground like normal snow. It lands like a ninja weapon, one sharp point slicing into the ground.

‘Oh, dragons,’ I say. Then we run.

The snowflakes slice the air around us, whistling past like multi-pointed throwing knives. One whizzes close to my jacket, ripping my sleeve before I can dodge it. Adrenaline and fear pump through my veins, my legs careening towards the door. Evelyn’s right behind me, but the crampons make it difficult to move with any real speed, as they dig stubbornly into the ice.

Just ahead, there’s a dip in the snow. I leap over it, crashing against the door. I tug it open, then turn to help Evelyn through. ‘Watch the snow!’ I shout, but I’m not clear enough. Evelyn thinks I mean the snowflakes, and she looks up.

‘Jump!’ I cry, but it’s too late. Her foot sinks into the dip. In a split second, my worst nightmare comes true: the ground opens beneath her feet – a hole hidden by the snow – and Princess Evelyn of Nova disappears into a crevasse. I jump forward, but the ceiling of snowflakes comes crashing down and I’m forced to retreat into the safety of the next tunnel. There’s a sound like the slam of a wooden door from where Evelyn disappeared.

‘Evie!’ I scream.

But the princess is gone.

There’s a sharp cough from behind.

I turn slowly from the wall of ice, wiping tears from my cheeks before they can freeze in place. If Evelyn’s hurt or worse . . .

Six elves are in front of me. There’s no sign of the friendly elf from before and they look different from the elves in the reference books and movies I’ve seen. Their eyes are hard and sharp, glinting like black diamonds in the flickering torchlight – the only colour an unusual ring of bright blue around the edges of their irises.

‘Please, please help me!’ I choke out. ‘My friend might be hurt . . .’ My words die in my throat as I register that four of the elves are pointing icicle spears at my middle.

An elf steps forward, swathed in an elegant reindeer fur coat. His head only comes up to my waist and he wears a circlet of holly and rich crimson berries on his thick head of dark hair. His paper-white skin is wrinkled with lines, but – as he comes closer – I can see that the lines aren’t like normal human wrinkles. It looks instead like his skin has been touched by Jack Frost – delicate spindles of ice making patterns on his skin like a windowpane.

‘Who are you?’ the elf says, his voice like gravel. ‘What are you doing here? This place is closed to humans.’

I shake my head. ‘I came with my friend, and she’s fallen down a crevasse. I have to find her! Now!’

‘Your friend is safe,’ says the elf with a sneer. ‘How you managed to get so far is another story. Explain yourself!’

‘She’s . . . safe?’ I almost fall to my knees in relief – I’m only held up by the thought of not impaling myself on those pointy spears. Then I explode. ‘Where is she? Take me to her! She’s . . .’ She’s the Princess of Nova is what I want to say, but I hold my tongue. I don’t know what these elves want from me – they don’t appear to have been expecting us. I hold my head high. ‘You invited us! Here, look – I have a letter, signed by a Snorri Elf.’

The elf frowns. ‘That is not possible . . . I am Snorri Elf and I have invited no one to North Svenland all winter. It is strictly forbidden.’

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I have no answer to that, because if he didn’t invite me, then who did?

There’s a commotion from behind Snorri, and a high-pitched voice says, ‘Wait, wait!’ The four scary ice-spear-pointing elves grumble as they’re pushed apart by the young elf who saved us from the wolves and waved to us from the doorway. ‘I invited her,’ he says, between gulps of breath. He’s leaning on his knees, panting hard. He’s dressed much more like the traditional images of a Svenland elf – with a red pointed hat, red scarf, green vest and tights, and little red booties. His irises are only tinged with a pale blue. I ball my hands into a fist, barely keeping myself from exploding with rage. He’s the one who led us into this.

I’m not the only one who’s angry. Snorri looks ready to turn the spears on the young elf, too. ‘Uyuni, explain yourself.’

‘Grandpa, I’m sorry. When I saw her letter, I had to respond. This is Samantha Kemi.’

The emphasis on my name makes me blush, but the old elf remains unmoved.

‘Samantha Kemi, you know, the great alchemist who won the Wilde Hunt?’ the young elf rambles on. ‘She can help us; I know she can!’

The white rage on Snorri’s face fades and more frost lines spread across his face. He faces me again, his eyes wide. He looks . . . relieved.

‘She wrote to us?’ he asks.

‘Yes, Grandpa, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.’

‘Then maybe it’s not too late . . .’

‘Excuse me!’ I shout out, unable to keep it in any longer. ‘If my friend is safe, I need to see her RIGHT AWAY.’

All the elves turn to look at me, and Uyuni shrinks into his scarf. ‘Oh, you can’t,’ he says.

‘What? Why?’ I cross my arms over my chest.

‘I need you to help us first, and then I will return your friend to you,’ says Uyuni.

‘Help you with what?’ I ask, my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour.

They want Samantha the alchemist, I remind myself, and I look closer at my captors. The Jack-Frost lines spreading across their skin. The blue rings around their eyes.

As if on cue, Snorri lets out a huge sneeze that covers the guard-elves in front of him with a layer of snow. They don’t flinch, but one of them lowers his ice spear to let out a sneeze of his own.

They’re all symptoms, I realize.

‘Oh, dragons,’ I say, far from the first time today. ‘You all have sneasles!’

Sneasles – or snow measles – a highly contagious and debilitating disease that is most at home in sub-zero temperatures. Thought to have been eradicated by the start of the twentieth century through vaccination.

I make a mental note to change my research file: not eradicated. I clamp my hands over my mouth, but I already know it’s too late. I must have it, too.

Uyuni steps forward, his gloved hands spread in front of him. ‘Another reason I can’t bring you to the princess. Quarantine.’

‘Oh, that’s just great,’ I say, my arms folded across my chest. ‘So you trick me into bringing the princess with me so you can use her as a hostage and then infect me with a disease, and you expect me to help you?’

Uyuni shrugs. ‘Yes. Will you?’

I swallow and then nod. ‘Do I have a choice?’

I’m taken to a room equally as big as the one with the snowflakes, where hundreds of cots are lined up in a row, each one only big enough to fit a small child. In every cot, an elf lies prone. It looks as if the entire Svenland elf colony has come down with sneasles – and the sound of sneezing and coughing is almost deafening.

I spot a female elf in a bed near me, her hair brittle and her skin covered in flaky white patches. As I approach, she lets out a low moan. I take one of her hands and feel her pulse. It’s extremely fast – she’s in the grip of the worst of the illness.

Sneasles – an old cure is needed. Mix one part dried chilli flakes, two parts yak’s milk, with a phoenix feather, and make sure to administer hot – the steam is part of the cure.

I could mix it, if I was at home.

‘She was one of our head present-makers,’ Uyuni says, from behind me. ‘One of the first to become ill. The disease spread through our colony too rapidly for us to contain it – we only managed to quarantine the very youngest. In the meantime, all present production has come to a halt.’

‘But sneasles isn’t a deadly disease,’ I say, scouring my mind for everything I know about the unpleasant sickness. ‘She should recover eventually – maybe a week or two?’

Uyuni stares me straight in the eye – difficult when he’s shorter than four feet and I’m almost six. ‘But for us, you see, it is worse than deadly.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘What I’m about to reveal to you is a prized Svenland elf secret.’

I bite my lip. ‘I have to know, so I can help you,’ I prod, when he doesn’t say anything further.

His eyes dart to Snorri, who gives him the nod of approval. Only then does he continue. ‘The gifts we give at Midwinter spread joy to children around the world, everyone knows that. But there is a second purpose. The act of giving renews our elf-magic, and if we do a good job, the goodwill lasts us all year. If we aren’t healthy by Midwinter, we cannot make any presents. Without presents, we cannot spread joy. Without joy, there’s no elf-magic . . . and there might never be Midwinter gifts again.’

‘Ever?’ I gulp.

‘Ever.’ The finality in his voice is deafening.

It takes a few seconds for me to register the gravity of the situation. ‘And you waited until Midwinter’s EVE to ask for help? I don’t understand – don’t you have your own healers?’

He shakes his head. ‘Our healers have fallen sick as well.’

‘But there must be specialist alchemists in North Svenland who could help you,’ I splutter. ‘Any alchemist on the planet would have helped, if you’d asked!’

The little elf’s hand flutters to his chest. ‘Us? Ask for help from humans?’ He blinks several times, processing my question. ‘You don’t understand . . . we never write to the outside world without receiving a letter first. It is our Midwinter Law. That’s why it was a stroke of fortune that you wrote.’

‘Fortune?’ I blink, unable to comprehend how close the world has come to disaster. You’re the only alchemist who would have written to them, I realize. Letters to the Svenland elves are written by children. Or by teenagers in a bind. I shake the fear away and slip into alchemist-mode. ‘Okay. Do you have any alchemical ingredients here at all? Phoenix feathers? Yak’s milk?’

Uyuni shakes his head.

‘Then I need to get back to my lab, at home. Do you have a Transport panel?’ I scan the room, looking for a large, mirrored surface that could send me back home in an instant. Transporting would definitely be the fastest way for me to get back to the lab so I can start mixing.

To my horror, he shakes his head again. ‘No, we don’t deal with any of that kind of human technology.’

‘Then how am I going to mix the cure?’

‘Well . . .’ He squints at me. ‘You humans are too big for the traditional chimney method I would have suggested.’

‘There’s no way I’m fitting through our fireplace at home! It’s half blocked up!’

‘Hush, hush.’ After a few moments, he snaps his fingers. ‘Aha! Have you met our friendly neighbourhood reindeer?’

‘Reindeer?’

‘Why, yes! They’re how we get around in Midwinter – I know just the one that will be perfect for our cause.’

‘Fine,’ I say. Then I scream. One of the wolves from outside the compound has followed us inside. His vicious teeth are bared, his hackles raised . . . until Uyuni reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a treat. Then the ‘wolf’ turns as friendly as a teddy bear, rolling on the floor with his paws up. I blink and see that it’s not a wolf at all, but a huskie . . .

Uyuni sees the look on my face and has the decency to look sheepish. ‘The “wolf chase” was one of the precautions set in place by Snorri in case anyone from Sventown tried to enter the compound. As were the snowflakes, and the holes in the snow. We don’t want the infection spreading to the outside world. Not in this highly contagious form.’

No, not with all the children around, I think. Sneasles might be nasty in adults, but in the young and vulnerable it really can be deadly. Then I frown. ‘But you knew I was coming? Why didn’t you clear the “precautions”?’

Uyuni’s pointed face twists into a sly grin. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten why you came here.’

I hold my breath. Evelyn’s perfect present.

‘It is all part of the plan – if you can save us.’

I swallow hard. ‘If you say so.’

Cure the elves. Save the princess. Get the gift. Simple, right? Oh, but first . . . ride a reindeer.

No problem. Gulp.

The reindeer takes the bright orange carrot from my hand, his slobber covering my mittens. I make a special effort not to grimace. We’re about to share a long journey together and I don’t want to offend him.

‘You two should get along,’ says Uyuni. ‘Your name is Sam, and his is Sami. There aren’t any special tricks to riding our reindeer,’ he continues, stroking the white fur underneath the reindeer’s chin. ‘I’ll tell him the destination – you just hold on tight.’

I bite my lip and catch one of the reindeer’s deep brown eyes. He munches away on the carrot, not appearing too bothered that he’s about to fly me to Nova. ‘Are you sure there’s no other way?’ I ask.

‘There’s no time for anything else.’

I nod, but it’s more to give myself encouragement than to accept Uyuni’s words. I grip the front and back of the saddle and launch my legs over the reindeer’s shoulders. I lean forward and whisper in his ear. ‘Okay, Sami . . . it’s just you and me.’

My legs snuggle into his thick white fur, and already it feels different from the very small amount of horse-riding I’ve done in the past. I’m much higher on the reindeer’s shoulders than I would be on a horse, and there are no stirrups for me to put my feet into. ‘Uyuni, what should I do with my—’

There’s no time for questions. Uyuni takes a handful of elvish dust from a pouch at his side and throws it over me, then slaps poor Sami on the haunches with the flat of his palm. Sami takes two steps forward and then a flying leap into the air. I have no choice but to fall forward onto Sami’s neck and grip his fur as tightly as I can.

Only sheer alchemist’s curiosity forces me to keep my eyes open. The experience is similar to Transporting, except that Sami does actually appear to be doing some work. With every step he takes, the miles disappear, and although I can tell there is wind rushing by at terrifying speeds, I don’t feel any cold. Still, I nuzzle deeper into Sami’s neck, willing him not to make any sudden movements. I’m only holding on by the strength of my thighs and the grip of his fur in my mittened fingers.

Within minutes, the bright lights of Kingstown come into view. So that’s how the elves manage to get presents to the special children all over the world on Midwinter. Despite the chill in the air, warmth spreads through my toes, and I can’t help but grin widely. The elf-magic is pure joy, and it’s the feeling that Svenland elves spread to children around the world. I need to cure them to make sure it stays that way. It can’t be gone for ever.

Lost in my thoughts, I cry out in shock as Sami’s hooves hit our rooftop. It must have snowed here, too, as there’s a dusting of white powder on the tiles. ‘Uh . . . Sami, do you think you could land on the ground, rather than the roof?’

The only reply I get is a whuff from his nose, and he lowers his head to lick the snow. He doesn’t budge, and when I attempt to use my legs to guide him towards the edge of the roof, he gives me a stubborn shake.

Sliding from the saddle, I whisper silent curses to elves and reindeer and all things Midwinter. I’ve never set foot on our roof before – it’s just not something that I would ever do in my ordinary life. But since becoming one of the most famous alchemists in Nova, nothing about my life is ordinary any more.

At least Sami won’t be noticed. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that Svenland reindeer (and their riders) under the influence of elvish dust are invisible – hence why there have never been any sightings on Midwinter night. I hope that’s true. I’ll have a hard time explaining myself otherwise.

The magic only works while I’m touching Sami, and I let go very reluctantly. I drop to my knees and creep to the edge of the roof on the street-side, but there’s absolutely no way to get down. Towards our back garden, there’s a drainpipe that leads to our kitchen extension. It’s going to have to do.

Taking a deep breath, I lower myself slowly off the roof, grateful for the crumbly brickwork on the back of our house that enables me to dig my toes in to get some grip. I slide down the drainpipe inch by inch, my face pressed so close to the metal that it stings my cheek. Higher than I would like, my foot slips and I have to let go. I land on the ceiling of our kitchen with a thump.

From there, I clamber down our rose-bush fence and into our garden, grateful that there are no sharp thorns in the wintertime. When my feet touch solid ground, I could almost kiss it. Instead, I look up to make sure that Sami is still waiting for me. He seems patient enough. I’m not looking forward to the climb back.

My watch tells me that it’s just gone noon – it’s barely been two hours since I met the princess. Did that really happen so quickly? Thankfully, it’s Sunday, so our store is closed and my family have gone out for last-minute Midwinter shopping – I won’t infect them. I still have no time to lose, as they could return at any moment. I creep into the kitchen.

There’s no sign of anyone. Thank the dragons for that.

I run as fast as I can through the kitchen and into our laboratory, heading straight to a drawer in the lab that is painted bright red. Inside, I pull out a paper mask that I secure over my mouth to prevent me from breathing the disease on any more surfaces. Lab containment rules: in case of infectious disease. There’s also a pair of gloves, which I put on, and a jar of specially mixed anti-magical-disease spray, which I use to wipe down every surface I might have touched since I opened the door in the kitchen. Lastly, I go around and secure every lock in the house. No one is going to be allowed in until I’ve finished the cure.

I hope Grandad’s game takes a nice long time, and the rest of my family doesn’t return from their Midwinter shopping until I’m outta here again. Otherwise, they’re going to be very confused when they try to enter.

Once everything is sanitized and locked up, I get to work.

My first stop is the bookshelf in the lab. I search under ‘W’ for ‘Winter cures’ and find what I’m looking for – a recipe book for Winter Ailments and Distresses (including, but not limited to, frostbite and ice blindness). I flip through the book like a madwoman until I find it: Sneasles – a cure. Just as I had suspected. Phoenix feather, chilli flakes and yak’s milk, mixed together until steaming hot. Ah, but there’s something else, too, that I hadn’t thought about. The yak’s milk can’t be reheated by flame once the potion is made. If I need to make sure it’s still steaming when it reaches the elves, I’m going to need lava pebbles, which I can heat up and drop into the mix right before giving the cure.

Next I have to go into our store itself to collect the ingredients. The Kemi Potions Shop storage system is a series of shelves that extends almost three storeys high, accessible by ladders and pulleys. I clamber up the first ladder with practised speed, heading straight for the ingredients that we need and praying that we have everything in stock.

Jars labelled ‘phoenix feathers’ and ‘lava rocks’ tucked under my arm – I can get the chilli flakes from our kitchen, and the yak’s milk from the huge fridge in our laboratory – I slide down the rungs of the ladder back to ground level. This is exactly what I live for, and I’m thrilled to be mixing such an interesting potion – rather than the decorative ones I’ve been trying out for Evelyn, or the innumerable cures for the common cold I’ve been mixing for customers ever since winter started.

As I walk through the threshold from the store and back into the lab, I let out a huge sneeze and almost drop the jars. On the ground in front of me, spikes of frost coat the hardwood flooring like a scattering of icy-white pine needles.

Highly contagious. Yeah. They weren’t kidding. And spreading fast. If I didn’t have enough incentive to make the cure as quickly as possible, I sure do now. My first job is to bring the yak’s milk and chilli flakes to a boil. I place a stout, black, cast-iron pot onto an open flame, pour in the ingredients and set a timer on my phone. Next up, the phoenix feathers.

The jar is tightly sealed, and I have to twist with all my strength to get it open. When it finally comes free, I gasp. I rarely get to work with such a beautiful ingredient. Despite the years in storage, the feathers haven’t lost any of their natural lustre. The sharp quill ends are such dark red they might even be black, but the colour progressively lightens to crimson, then burnished orange, finishing in beautiful, bright, golden-yellow tips. These are the feathers that a phoenix sheds naturally, the ones they reject, so I can only imagine how beautiful the real thing must be.

Out of habit, I consult the recipe book one more time. Next to the image of a phoenix feather, there’s a warning printed in thick bold font: PREPARE FEATHER WITH EXTREME CAUTION. Phoenix feathers have a tendency to combust and dissolve into ash when introduced to the air. Work speedily to avoid this.

‘Oh, no!’ I cry out. I quickly spin the lid back on the jar, only now realizing why it was done up so tightly to begin with. In our lab, we have an airless glass box for reactive ingredients, and I curse myself for not thinking about it sooner.

I rush towards, it, placing the jar inside. Once I press a button, the air is sucked out, making it safe for the feathers. Using special handholds ending in gloves, I remove them from the jar again. All I need to do is strip the fine strands from the central spine of one feather, then mix them into the potion when it’s come up to the boil.

Don’t combust, don’t combust, don’t combust, I beg as I slowly begin to tear off the delicate strands. They fall onto the base of the box like hair on a salon floor.

My phone beeps, and I spin around to check on the yak’s milk. It’s just about boiling and there’s plenty of steam rising. I pull on some thick oven mitts and bring the steaming cauldron over to the sealed glass box where the phoenix feathers are.

Unfortunately, some of them are already turning to ash. ‘No, no, no!’ I say, frustrated at my bad alchemy. Working at double speed, I rescue the strands that haven’t yet turned and bring them out of the box, chucking them into the boiling milk with only half the care I might normally take

There should just be enough. I now need to leave it to dissolve for half an hour. I take off my gloves and collapse onto the bench, my head dropping into my hands.

My palms feel scratchy and strangely cold. I lift my head to see white flaky patches covering my palms, and leading up into the sleeves of my hoodie. Not good. Not good at all. My sneasles is spreading at an alarming rate. No wonder the elves were overcome so quickly, with such a virulent strain of the disease at work. Their healers didn’t stand a chance.

Uncontrollable shivers wrack my body, so I set another timer and curl up on the bench.

When my phone buzzes again, I’m jolted awake. I’ve slept almost the entire time, the sneasles overcoming my immune system and making me drowsy. I rush over to the potion, which has turned a vibrant red. I lean forward and inhale the steam, a soothing sensation spreading down my throat. I sip a tablespoon of the mix, and my head clears, the white patches on my hands fading and the urge to sneeze lessening . . . I’ve made the cure after all.

I pour the mixture into a heat-retaining flask, then throw some lava rocks in my pocket. I can use the fire there to heat the rocks – and therefore the potion.

When I look down at my hands again, the symptoms of the disease have disappeared completely. I put the flask into my backpack and set about unlocking all the doors. How I’m going to get back on the roof, I have no idea. Thankfully, when I step into the backyard, I see that Sami has decided to be nice after all, and has come down to ground level.

‘Come on, then,’ I say, giving him a tentative pat on the flank. ‘Let’s do this one more time.’

Uyuni is waiting for me as soon as I arrive back in North Svenland, and together we administer the cure to the elf colony with lightning speed. The lava rocks make the potion bubble and boil, the steam rising into the air and enabling all the elves to breathe a little easier.

The first to recover is the head present-maker, who introduces herself to me as Layla. I kneel so that she can give me two big kisses on the cheek, before she rushes off to start the production on the presents. North Svenland is instantly transformed. Newly healthy elves scurry on the ice, like ants in a colony, stringing lights and decorating trees. Even Snorri has tears in his eyes when he sees it. ‘I thought this would be the first time Midwinter wouldn’t come to North Svenland – and I don’t think our spirits could have survived that. Is there anything we can do for you?’

‘The princess?’ I ask, still nervous that I haven’t seen her this entire time.

‘Of course!’ says Uyuni, jumping up and grabbing my hand before Snorri can answer. He drags me through the ice tunnels – and back through the snowflake cavern. I look up in terror, the ninja-like snowflakes back in place, but Uyuni just giggles. ‘Don’t worry any more. Now, I promise, the giant snowflakes are perfectly safe. In fact, they are unique to North Svenland. You won’t see them anywhere else in the world.’

I look up again, swallowing my fear. He’s right – they are beautiful when I can admire them without worrying they’re going to crash on my head. Combined with fairy lights that another group of elves are setting up, they twinkle and shine like the world’s most perfect chandelier.

We descend a snowy staircase into a small room, lined with furs. Princess Evelyn is sitting in the centre, a picture book open on her lap, surrounded by tiny elf-babies who are crawling over her and cuddling under her arms. Her brown wig is being used as a pillow for one sleeping baby, and her long blonde hair is curled over her shoulders. She looks up at me when we enter, her bright blue eyes sparkling. ‘Sam, where have you been? Aren’t they so cute?’

I can’t help but grin. ‘They’re adorable.’ One elf-baby tugs at my trouser leg, and I pick her up. Her cheeks are chubby like she’s carrying two little snow globes in her mouth, with none of the sharpness of the grown-up elves. I laugh as she pulls my bobble hat. ‘Are you okay?’ I return my attention to Evie. ‘It looked like you fell a long way. Are you hurt?’

‘You mean you didn’t get down here using the awesome ice slide? I had the time of my life! I’m thinking about installing one at the palace . . .’

My jaw drops and I turn to Uyuni. ‘An ice slide?’ So it wasn’t a dangerous glacier crevasse after all.

He winks at me.

‘So, Sam,’ continues Evelyn. ‘Did you find out what to get Zain for Midwinter?’

A flush of heat rises in my cheeks and I wonder if I should just tell her the truth. But Uyuni gives me a warning look and I make up a lie on the spot. ‘I’m not allowed to say – it’s a secret.’

‘Well, let’s be getting back so that we can be ready for the Gathering!’ She smiles broadly. ‘This has been a really long yoga session – but it was worth it.’

‘We’ll show you the way,’ squeaks the elf-child in my arms, and I lower her to the floor. Evie is led away by an army of young elves, giggling and squealing as they pull her arms.

When it’s just me and Uyuni left, I turn to him. ‘I helped you with your cure . . . can you help me with my original request? What did all this have to do with finding the perfect present to get the princess?’

My heart drops as he shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, Samantha. I thought by bringing her here, I would be able to determine the perfect present for her. But I’m afraid I have no idea what it is. Maybe the sneasles took the magic out of me.’ His voice is sad, but there’s a strange twinkle in his eye.

My shoulders slump. ‘That’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll just be the first person in the history of Palace Gatherings to show up without a Secret Solstice. I’ll never be invited back again. I’m a terrible friend.’

‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you,’ says Uyuni, with a small shrug.

I nod, and let him lead me back through the ice tunnels to the entrance of the elvish home. It’s like a different place already – the ice sculptures are back to their original magnificence, bright, colourful lights shine all around the entrance and there’s a smell of rich cinnamon and apples in the air. The perfect Midwinter palace.

‘Wow, someone turned on the Midwinter magic!’ Evie exclaims.

I give her a small smile. ‘I guess I’m not the only one who’s last-minute when it comes to Midwinter presents.’ I look down at Uyuni. ‘Goodbye and . . . stay well.’

‘Thank you,’ he says, taking both my hands in his and giving them a kiss.

Evie glances at her watch and lets out a gasp. ‘Oh, dragons! We’re only just going to get back in time to get ready for the Midwinter Gathering! At least you have a gift for Zain – I hope it was worth it.’

I look into Evelyn’s bright blue eyes, and I know I have to tell her the truth. ‘I’m sorry, Evie. This whole trip was supposed to help me find you the perfect Secret Solstice gift. Not Zain. I couldn’t think of anything to get you. But not even the elves can help me. You’re not going to have anything for the Solstice. I’m the worst friend ever.’

The pause that follows seems to last an eternity. She’s been chased by wolves, nearly killed by snowflakes and fallen through a glacier. I’ve almost killed the princess several times, and if this was 400 years ago, I bet she’d have my head for treason.

But instead, she throws her arms around me and gives me an enormous hug. ‘Are you kidding me? I haven’t had this much fun in years. This day out is the best Secret Solstice present anyone could have given me.’

I think back to the twinkle in Uyuni’s eye. How he invited me to bring the princess in the first place. To all the precautions he ‘left’ in place to ramp up our adventure. And how there wasn’t really any danger to her – at least apart from a bad case of sneasles.

Maybe there is something to the elf-magic, after all.

Later that evening, I show up at the entrance to Castle Nova in a festive maroon dress, made from the softest crushed velvet, the palace’s invitation clasped between my gloved fingers. I pause outside and take a deep breath. Even though I know she will treasure the memory of our day for ever, I still feel bad that I haven’t got an actual present for Evie.

A drop of cold lands on my cheek, and I look up to the sky to see snow falling, a cascade of tiny white drops lit by the glow of twinkling fairy lights. Was it only earlier today that we saw those giant snowflakes? I think. This day feels like it’s lasted a lifetime. Dear Svenland elves . . . if only I could bottle a snowflake for Evelyn. That would be something. I send the thought out into the snow, and steel myself to head inside.

There’s a puff of wind, and my coat pocket bulges with a hidden weight. I frown. I slip my fingers inside the pocket and my heart stops as they touch smooth glass. I pull out the mystery object. It’s a snowflake the size of my palm, encased in a special elvish glass so it won’t melt.

It’s special. Unique.

It’s the perfect present for Evelyn. A memory of our day together.

‘Thank you, Uyuni,’ I whisper.

Then I race towards the warm glow of the castle doors, where the princess is waiting.