The ghost of Sir Hereward, who guarded her bedroom door, woke with a start. A ghostly “Good Morning, Princess” followed Jenna as she strode briskly down the corridor.

“Morning, Sir Hereward,” she called back over her shoulder, and disappeared around the corner.

Sir Hereward shook his head. The Living were always in such a hurry, he thought. The ghost performed an old-fashioned military about-turn and began a slow march down to the Palace doors where, once the Princess had left her room, he now spent his days on guard.

Downstairs, Jenna grabbed a few leftovers from the supper table, pulled her red winter fur-lined cloak tighter around herself, and headed out, winding her way through the assortment of snow sculptures, stopping briefly to admire her favorites. As she drew near the Palace Gate, Jenna saw two large, ungainly figures loitering on either side. She approached cautiously, wondering who they might be. And then she remembered—it was the day of the annual Castle snowman competition. She pushed open the Gate and walked out through two guard snowmen.

“Happy Snowman Day, Princess!” one of the snowmen said.

Jenna jumped in surprise. Then she saw the bob of a red bobble hat followed by the cheeky grin of a small boy peering from behind the bulk of the snowman. Perched on the shoulders of a much taller friend, he was in the process of putting the finishing touches to his snowman.

“Happy Snowman Day,” Jenna replied, smiling in return. “He’s good,” she said, pointing at the snowman.

The boys laughed. “We’re going to win!”

“Good luck!” Jenna walked off into Wizard Way, her fur-lined boots pressing the fresh snow beneath. With her red cloak standing out against the more sober colors of most people’s winter robes, Jenna was easy to spot as she made her way along the freshly cleared path that ran beside the shops. She passed by a motley assortment of snowmen. Larry’s Dead Languages sported a surprisingly upbeat snowman with a large melon-slice grin and Larry’s favorite scarf. Jenna suspected that once Larry saw it, both the scarf and the grin would rapidly vanish. Wizard Sandwiches boasted an eye-aching snowman made from rainbow-colored snow, and outside Sandra’s Palace of Pets was a disconcertingly giant rabbit complete with a supersize carrot. Jenna walked slowly on past a trio of small printing shops, each with an identical little snowman wearing a printer’s apron and reading a book. As she neared the Wizard Tower, she saw a familiar figure heading toward the Great Arch. He was wearing the still—to Jenna—unfamiliar dark blue robes of the Chief Hermetic Scribe and had a long metal cylinder tucked under his arm.

“Hey, Beetle!” she called, picking up speed.

The Chief Hermetic Scribe turned and waved, then waited for Jenna to catch up.

“Hello,” puffed Jenna. “How’s it going?”

Beetle smiled. “Good,” he said. “Really good. And you?”

“Great. Yes, fine, thanks.” Jenna regarded Beetle shyly. He seemed so very different in his official robes. It was hard to believe this was the same Beetle who had been working for the irascible Larry not so very long ago. He seemed taller, older, and his brown eyes regarded her with an expression that was strangely distant. Beetle used to look so happy to see her, thought Jenna, but now that he was Chief Hermetic Scribe he was much more reserved. She wasn’t sure if she liked that. The gold bands on the sleeves of Beetle’s robes glittered as he raised his free arm to shield his eyes against the bright morning sun and then, in a happily familiar gesture, run his hand through his unruly black hair. Jenna smiled.

“Better get going, got to meet Marcia in”—Beetle looked at his timepiece—“five minutes and forty-two seconds precisely.”

Jenna looked horrified.

Beetle broke into a broad smile. “Gotcha!” he said.

“Oh, you pig,” said Jenna, laughing—happy to see a glimpse of the old Beetle. “For a horrible moment I thought you’d turned into Jillie Djinn!”

“Nope. Not yet, anyway.”

“Um . . . so how are you? I haven’t seen you for ages. Since . . . gosh . . . Simon’s wedding, I suppose. Are you busy? Well, I guess you must be—”

The old Beetle disappeared and the Chief Hermetic Scribe looked at his timepiece. “I’m sorry, Princess Jenna. I really must go. Stuff to do and all that.”

Jenna could see that Beetle was longing to be off. She felt as if she was being a nuisance, and that wasn’t good. Jenna had an uncomfortable sense that she had once made Beetle feel just like she was feeling now.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “Well. I’ll see you around, then. Have a nice day.”