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The London fog hides the stars. They glint here and there but cannot break through the soupy sky. "What should we do now?" Ann asks.

Felicity breaks into a broad grin."Everything."

Flying over London on a cold night by magic is an extraordinary thing. Here are the gentlemen leaving their clubs, the queue of carriages coming up to meet them. There are the mudlarks, those poor, grubby children, searching through the filthy banks of the Thames for a few coins and a bit of luck. We've only to dip low and we could touch the tops of the theaters in the West End or put our fingertips to the great Gothic spires of the Houses of Parliament, which we do. Ann sits upon the rooftop beside the towering clock of Big Ben.

"Look," she says, laughing."I've a seat in Parliament."

"We could do anything! Steal into Buckingham Palace and wear the crown jewels." Felicity says, stepping across the spindly towers on her tiptoes.

"You w-wouldn't d-do that, w-would you?" Ann asks, horrified.

"No, she wouldn't," I answer firmly.

It is exhilarating to have such freedom. We fly lazily over the river, coming to rest beneath Waterloo Bridge. A rowboat passes under us, its lantern fighting the fog and losing. It's a curious thing, but I can hear the thoughts of the old gentleman in the boat, just as I have those of the fallen women in the Haymarket and the toppers driving through Hyde Park in their fancy private carriages as we were flying past. It is faint, like overhearing a conversation in another room, but nonetheless, I know what they are feeling.

The old man puts stones in his pocket, and I know his purpose.

"We've got to stop that man in the boat," I say.

"Stop him from what?" Ann asks, twirling in the air.

"Can't you hear him?"

"No," Ann says. Felicity shakes her head as she floats on her back like a swimmer.

"He means to kill himself." "How do you know that?" Felicity asks.

"I can hear his thoughts," I say.

They're dubious, but they follow me down into the thick fog. The man sings a mournful song about a bonnie lass lost forever as he puts the last of the stones in his pocket and moves to the edge of the rocking boat.

"You were right!" Ann gasps.

"Who goes there?" the man shouts.

"I've an idea," I whisper to my friends."Follow me."

We push through the fog, and the man nearly topples backward at the sight of three girls floating toward him.

"You mustn't do such a desperate act," I say in a quavering voice that I hope sounds otherworldly.

The man falls to his knees, his eyes wide. "Wh-what are you?"

"We are the ghosts of Christmas, and woe to any man who does not heed our warnings," I wail.

Felicity moans and turns a flip for good measure. Ann stares at her openmouthed, but I, for one, am impressed by her quick thinking and her acrobatics.

"What is your warning?" the old man squeaks.

"If you should persist in this dreadful course, a terrible curse shall befall you," I say.

"And your family," Felicity intones.

"And their families," Ann adds, which I think is a bit much, but there's no taking it back.

It works. The man removes stones from his pocket so quickly I fear he'll turn over the boat. "Thank you!" he says. "Yes, thank you, I'm sure." Satisfied, we fly away home, laughing at our resourcefulness and feeling quite smug indeed about saving a man's life. When we reach the elegant houses of Mayfair once again, I'm drawn to Simon's house. It would be an easy thing to fly close and perhaps hear his thoughts. For a moment, I hover, moving closer to him, but at the last moment, I change course, following Felicity and Ann into

the sitting room again, where the tea is now cold.

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