Page 91 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

“Professor Everly – oh!” The elf nearly collided with Simon, somewhere in the middle of the fog. He blinked several times as he reached down to smooth his waistcoat. “Well, there you are! How excellent. I was worried for a moment that we had lost you!”

“Not at all,” Simon assured the elf firmly. “The lady was just reminding me that I have overlooked a very important part of my lessons. I am headed back this instant, in order to remedy the oversight.”

The elf brightened noticeably at this suggestion. “Oh, how exciting!” he said. He stepped aside in order to allow both Simon and Emma to go ahead – but he was quick on their heels, still chattering amiably as they headed for the parlour car. “While I have you, I was hoping to ask: How realistic would you say this train is? The Conductor has assured me that it is nearly identical to a genuine English locomotive, but I am sure that you must be the expert on such things.”

“I fear that most English trains do not line their passenger cars with leaves,” Simon responded dimly. “And the benches are generally made of wood—” He cut off with a fresh, hacking cough, as the haze outside began to burn at their lungs.

“Goodness, I will need to tell the Conductor!” said the elf. He followed along behind them, entirely unbothered by the acidic air. In fact, he hopped lightly ahead of Emma and gallantly offered her his hand across. “I am sure that he will appreciate the advice.”

Emma tried to take the elf’s hand – but Simon intercepted her instead, with a wary sideways glance at the faerie.

The parlour car had settled somewhat by the time they reentered – though Miss Catastrophe was now drinking some thing bright green from her freshly refilled glass, and the snow women had risen to speak with the shadows in a language that Emma did not recognise.

Several bowls of sweet-smelling stew had also appeared in their absence. Emma suppressed a faint grimace at the sight.

“Ah, good – we are all here!” Simon declared. Though his voice was growing hoarse from their travels outside, the words still carried admirably. He coughed once more and straightened his tie pin, before continuing. “I have been terribly remiss, it seems. If this is to be a proper lecture, I should give you all an assignment!”

One of the snow women tilted her head at Simon in confusion; this time, Emma saw that she had large black eyes that seemed to draw in all of the light around them. The faerie murmured a question to one of the shadows, which rustled oddly in response. This seemed to satisfy her, and she nodded politely at Simon.

“An assignment?” echoed the elf with the rose cravat. If possible, his interest seemed even more piqued than it had been before.

“Yes indeed,” Simon agreed. “I would like for you all to practise being entirely normal students. In fact – until we reach the next stop, you should go into the other cars and introduce your selves to the rest of the passengers in an exceptionally boring manner!”

The snow women murmured again to the shadows, who darted over to rustle at Miss Catastrophe – who then raised exactly one hand into the air, with surprising politeness. “But which language should we use?” she asked, with a tiny slur.

Simon blinked exactly once before responding. “Er… any language you would like,” he said.

The shadows rustled. One of the snow women beamed at him. The elf with the rose cravat gasped. “I will practise my French!” he gushed. “Oh, I mean… I will make it very boring French, of course.”

“Of course,” Simon agreed tiredly.

With this last question settled, the faeries began to filter out of the parlour car in opposite directions. All, that is, except for Miss Catastrophe, who swayed slightly on her feet – and then sat back down in her chair to stare at the drink in front of her.

“You… have no interest in being a boring student, I take it,” Simon observed weakly.

Miss Catastrophe blinked her robin’s egg eyes hazily. “I haven’t the time,” she said. “I am getting off at the next stop.”

Simon pressed his lips together, clearly thinking quickly. Before he could open his mouth to speak again, however, Emma became aware of a pointed red cap poking into the edges of her vision.

The little wax man had appeared once again; this time, she noticed, he was blocking the parlour car’s exit door.

“What exciting passengers the two of you have been,” a voice said. It was a man’s voice, low and musical; it had not come from the wax creature at the door.

A whip-thin, uniformed man had stepped in through one of the gangway doors. A gold-banded conductor’s cap shaded his pointed, chalk-like features – but the eyes that stared out from beneath it were an unnatural, glimmering green that reminded Emma of the spiralling towers she had seen in the distance outside.

The Conductor folded his arms neatly behind his back, considering the parlour car with a stiff, upright posture. He offered Simon a smile that did not fully reach those eldritch eyes.

“Leaving us so soon, Professor Everly?” the Conductor asked curiously.

Simon smiled back – but Emma noticed that he had turned to place himself between her and the rest of the faeries in the car. “I have enjoyed myself immensely,” he assured the Conductor. “But mortals weary quickly, I’m afraid, and I am yearning for my bed.”

The Conductor tilted his head idly. “Ah, how unfortunate,” he said. “We shall need to find you both some where to rest on the train. After all… I doubt very much that you will be able to return to your own world.”

Simon knitted his brow. “I am here as a guest,” he said slowly. “I am protected by hospitality until the stop at Gare du Nord. I was told that I may leave at any time before that.”

Emma winced, just behind him. “Simon,” she said softly. “I had hoped I wouldn’t need to tell you… but something happened while you were gone. I know that you left a lock of your hair with Professor Carew and told him to hide it in an iron-bound chest. Well, he – when I spoke to him, he swore that you had returned and asked him to open the chest for you.”

Simon blanched as he looked back at her. “He did what?” he demanded. “I assure you, I did not return to Wales; and I certainly did not ask Professor Carew to open that chest!”