Copyright

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2016

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins website address is: www.harpercollins.co.uk

Text © Katharine and Elizabeth Corr 2016

Cover thorns © Josef Mohyla & Andrew Unangst

Cover design © blacksheep-uk.com

Katharine and Elizabeth Corr assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008182984

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008188504

Version: 2016-06-09

For Laurence, who was my inspiration.

E.C.

In memory of Nana Pat, who really did make our

childhood magical.

K.C.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Authors

About the Publisher

THE KINGDOM OF THE SOUTH SAXONS, 522 AD

Witches do not kneel.

They do not grovel. They do not beg favours from any creature, mortal or immortal.

At the most, they bargain.

Meredith knew this; had known it for as long as she could remember. But, as she scrambled up the steep hillside, shredding her skirts and her skin on the long thorns of may trees, the things she had been certain of were no longer enough.

Finally, she reached the summit. This place was not holy, but it was old. Very, very old.

Meredith passed through the outer ring of pine trees, so tall and close growing they blocked out the sun and the wind, walking on until she got close to the single oak growing at the centre of the circle. The oak was twisted and split with age, green foliage flecked with cream. Not flowers, but bones: tied to the branches, littering the ground beneath.

Then, Meredith knelt.

She cleared a space in front of her, sweeping away the bones and dead leaves until the earth beneath was revealed, and pulled a knife out of her belt. She had no offering to bargain with. She had only herself.

‘This I pledge—’ Her voice was weak; she swallowed, ran her tongue over her cracked lips and tried again. ‘This I pledge: by the time the charmed sleep ends, one of my children’s children will be ready to face Gwydion, to defeat him and to remove all traces of his enchantments from the face of the earth. We shall have vengeance.’ An echo seemed to come from the encircling trees, throwing her words back to her:

… vengeance … vengeance …

Without hesitating, Meredith pressed the point of the knife into her palm, dragging the blade slowly downwards to split the skin, allowing blood to drip from her outstretched hand on to the ground.

‘I swear, not by the gods, nor by men, but by the bones and ancient soul of this land, to bind myself and my descendants to this fate.’

… fate … fate …

With one finger dipped in the blood, Meredith traced a shape on the ground: a binding rune. For a moment it glowed white against the dark earth, before burning away into smoke.

Merry was dreaming about blood.

Blood, running in scarlet rivulets across the black tarmac at her feet, pooling around her toes. So much blood that she could smell the coppery-tinny scent of it, like a palmful of coins warm from being clutched in her fist. She put her hand up to cover her nose and mouth, tried not to breathe too deeply. In the distance, someone was screaming.

She looked up. A boy was walking towards her across the flat, grey-lit landscape. Memory stirred in her mind. She knew this boy, and not just from her recent nightmares. She recognised his clothes: a cloak, pinned with a gold-coloured brooch, some sort of tunic and – trousers, she guessed they were, but not like anything she’d ever seen boys actually wearing. She recognised the evil-looking knife he carried. The boy was tall, with long, blond hair tied back – the same colour as her brother’s, but straight, not curly – and a handsome, angular face. As he came closer she saw for the first time, or maybe she just remembered, that his eyes were brown; brown, with little flecks of gold. And she gasped, not because his eyes were beautiful, but because they were hard and cold and full of cruelty.

Another memory floated to the surface of her mind. Somehow, she knew the boy’s name.

Jack?

The boy smiled at her, and it was like looking into the maw of a shark.

Meredith …

Merry woke with a gasp, swore, rubbed her eyes and tried to remember where she was.

In her bedroom, of course – she must have just dropped off. In the lamplight, she could see nothing had changed. There was no one else there: no strange boy with dead eyes staring down at her, threatening her with a knife.

Just another bad dream, that was all.

It was after midnight now. A quick peek into Leo’s room on the opposite side of the landing confirmed that her pain-in-the-neck older brother still hadn’t come home; it was just her and their mother’s two Burmese cats, and they were probably asleep on top of the boiler in the kitchen. Mum herself was working in France for the rest of the week. A self-employed graphic designer, one of her major clients was in Paris, and she spent a lot of time there. But that didn’t bother Merry any more. Not really. As she turned back into her own room, Merry’s glance took in the half-completed homework on the desk, the half-read magazines piled next to the wicker chair in the corner, the half-reorganised wardrobe. She picked up a couple of pairs of ankle boots and half-heartedly arranged them on the shoe rack, but it was no good. She hadn’t been able to settle, to actually finish anything, for days. The restlessness was like … ants, crawling over her skin. But there was definitely more to it than that. A person who was merely restless didn’t check under her bed every night before she turned out the light, or sleep with a tennis racket handily positioned against the bedside table.

Unwilling to risk another nightmare, Merry texted and played games on her phone for another hour or so, until her eyelids grew too heavy for her to focus on the screen any longer. She got up to close the curtains and peered through the window for a moment, hoping to see some sign of her brother. But there was nothing. Just the darkness and her own reflection – auburn hair half-falling out of a ponytail, shadows underneath hazel eyes – thrown back in fragments from the uneven panes of leaded glass.

Behind her, something began to rattle. Among the photos of her and her friends, which she kept on the dressing table, the one of her and Leo was shuddering. The motion grew, the frame rocking more and more violently until it hurled itself off the dressing table and smashed into the wall opposite. Merry yelped and flinched.

Oh no, not again –

She inspected the damage: the frame had taken a big chunk of plaster off the wall. That didn’t matter – Mum never came into her room. But she felt stupid. It had been four years since her power first began to emerge; eight months since she’d decided it was too dangerous for her to practise any more. Her capabilities were hardly a surprise.

It’s these attacks, and the nightmares, that’s all. Making me tense.

Ha. That was a lie and she knew it. Sure, the situation in Tillingham was making everything worse – that was obviously why she was dreaming about scary, imaginary blond boys. But the power she had … Recently, in the last few weeks especially, her magic seemed to be developing a life of its own. It didn’t shock her any more.

It frightened her.

In bed, Merry pulled the duvet up close around her neck and shoulders, breathing deeply, trying to force herself to relax. The familiar outlines of her room gave contours to the shadows: the bedroom furniture, the laptop open on her desk, the pile of clothes and shoes on the floor. She could hear the usual night-time noises of the house: doors banging slightly in the draft, floorboards and ceiling beams creaking as they cooled and contracted, the wind sighing in the chimneys. But tonight it all felt – alien. Like the recognisable shapes and sounds around her were fakes, put there to conceal something utterly strange, something that was crouching in the darkness just waiting for her to fall asleep …

She shivered, and pulled the duvet tighter.

Yellow light lanced through the curtains. There was the chug of a diesel engine pulling up outside, followed by the sound of a car door slamming – a taxi. Her brother was finally home. Merry’s shoulders relaxed and she glanced at her alarm clock.

I can’t believe Leo. There’s a bloodthirsty maniac running around town, and he decides to stay out until two in the morning? I could be lying up here bleeding to death, for all he knows.

She slipped out of bed. It was time to make Leo pay.

Thirty seconds later she was downstairs in the dark, quietly sliding home the bolts on the front door. She pressed her ear to the cold wood. Leo was stumbling up the path, swearing as he tripped on one of the uneven paving stones. He reached the door and she heard him drop his keys, pick them up, drop them again. More swearing. Then the tapping sound of Leo trying to fit the key into the keyhole, turning the lock. The door shifted in the frame.

‘What the—?’ Leo turned the key again, pushing against the door, trying to force it open. Merry grinned and ran back up the stairs. She’d let him in eventually, but –

Knock, knock, knock.

Merry froze. That wasn’t coming from the front door. That was coming from up above her, from the attic. She reached for the light switch. Nothing happened. She flipped the switch: on, off, on, off – still no light. A fuse must have gone somewhere. Or –

Or the maniac is up in the attic, and he’s cut the power –

Knock, knock, knock.

She stared up at the ceiling. And there was that feeling again, the same feeling she’d had in her bedroom but worse, tendrils of fear snaking up between her shoulder blades and giving her goose pimples. And now the unknown presence was right behind her, reaching out to engulf her –

Merry scrambled down the stairs and dragged back the bolts. Her hands shaking, she opened the door just as Leo was trying to ram it with his shoulder. He stumbled forwards and lay on the floor, groaning.

‘Leo! Leo, get up. I think there’s someone in the attic.’ She pulled ineffectively at her brother’s elbow.

‘Merry, I – couldn’t get door open. I’m jus’ – jus’ gonna lie here for a minute. It’s all – dizzy.’

‘Oh my God, you’re totally wasted.’ Merry stopped trying to drag Leo upright and slapped his arm instead. ‘I can’t believe it. We’re probably about to be attacked and you’re lying there completely—’

‘I had a couple – a couple of pints, that’s all. Three, maximum. Maybe six.’ He squinted up at her. ‘What d’you mean, attacked?’

‘The electricity’s gone and there’s a noise coming from the attic. A banging noise. I think someone’s broken in. What if it’s the maniac who’s been in the news – the one who’s been knifing people?’

Leo pushed himself up into a sitting position, cradling his head in his hands.

‘Merry, don’t be daft. Town’s full of police: whoever it was, he’s long gone. No way is he gonna be in our attic. Just – go back to bed.’ He pressed his hand to his mouth, grimacing. ‘On second thoughts, make me some of that mint tea you drink. Then go back to bed.’ The lights in the hallway suddenly flickered into life. ‘See? It was just a power – thing. Cut.’

Merry looked back up the stairs, frowning.

‘I don’t know, Leo. When I was on the landing, it just felt really … scary.’ The words sounded pathetic, but she couldn’t think of another way to explain. ‘You’re meant to be the responsible one. You should check the doors and windows, that kind of thing.’ She paused, and tried to make her voice soft and coaxing. ‘Just a quick look? Please? Then I’ll make you some tea. You know I don’t like being alone in the house. I mean, it’s so isolated …’

‘Leave it out, Merry.’ Leo grabbed hold of the newel post at the end of the staircase and used it to heave himself upright. ‘I’ve got to get to bed; I’m working tomorrow.’ He checked his phone and groaned. ‘Today, even. You want me to do anything else, you’re going to have to get your wand and make me.’ He smirked at her. ‘Seriously, why don’t you go and cast a spell, or something?’

Merry stared at him, eyes narrowed.

‘I really hate the way you are when you’ve been out with Simon and the rest of those idiots. You know we don’t use wands. And you know Mum hates us even mentioning the craft.’ She started examining her fingernails. ‘In fact, when she gets back I might just tell her what you said. And what time you got in. And that you’re—’ she sniffed and made a face. ‘Geez, you reek. Have you started smoking again?’

‘No.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Leo scowled at her.

‘Y’know, if you were the witch in a fairy story, you’d be the kind that eats the children. Meredith.’

Merry scowled back.

‘Don’t call me Meredith.’

‘Whatever, Maleficent. Maybe I’ll tell Mum exactly how many parties you’ve been to in the last couple of weeks, and how much time you’ve spent not studying.’ He yawned and started walking up the stairs, weaving slightly, only narrowly missing the cats as they streaked past him. ‘Damn cats! Honestly, Merry, I’m knackered. And you’re crazy.’ He tapped a finger on his temple. ‘I’m going to bed.’

Merry quickly locked the front door, then hurried up the stairs behind her brother.

‘But Leo – what about those people who’ve been attacked? Three couples in two nights, just stabbed and left to bleed to death on the street. What if—’

‘Just give it a rest, Merry.’ Leo yawned and rubbed his eyes. ‘Look, you have got to stop obsessing about that. It’ll probably turn out they’re connected in some way, like …’ He screwed up his face in concentration, ‘I dunno, they’re all criminal overlords. Doesn’t follow whoever attacked them is wandering around town looking for his next victim.’ He yawned again. ‘But if it makes you feel better I’ll leave my door open. If anyone dodgy shows up, scream. I’ll come and – and—’ He waved his hands around vaguely.

‘Rescue me?’ Merry guessed.

‘Yeah. That.’

‘Fabulous. That makes me feel so much better.’

Leo shrugged his shoulders, went into his bedroom and promptly collapsed on to his bed. He almost instantly started snoring – loudly. Merry stood and watched him for a moment. Leo was probably right. The banging noise she’d heard was most likely to do with the central heating. And as for that feeling she’d had, that horrible, sickening fear – it was probably just stress, or too many late nights. She sighed and went back into her own room. But she left the landing light switched on.

‘What the—’

Leo sat bolt upright, pushing the cats off the bed. They yowled and jumped straight back on to it, tails fluffed up like feather dusters.

‘What is wrong with you two?’ He checked his phone: just after five in the morning. Still dark outside. Collapsing back on to the pillows, he closed his eyes against the pain in his head. It was stupid, to have drunk so much. But being with Simon and Dan and the rest of his old friends, and having to keep pretending … He could understand how Merry felt. He was starting to hate himself, the way he was around them.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound was coming from the attic. Just the plumbing, or some woodworm in the old timbers. Probably. He glanced at the cats. Both were bristling, their ears twitching back and forth. Leo sighed and got out of bed. This was all Merry’s fault, putting ideas in his head. The whole thing was ridiculous. Still, he was awake now. He lifted his cricket bat down from the top of the wardrobe and padded across the landing to his sister’s room. She was muttering faintly, frowning in her sleep, her hands clenched into fists.

‘Merry? Merry, wake up.’

He shook her shoulder and switched on the bedside lamp, causing her to screw up her eyes against the light.

‘Leo – oh, thank God.’ She covered her face with her hands for a moment. ‘I was having another—’

‘Shh.’ Leo put one finger on his lips.

‘Huh? Why are we whispering? And what’s with the bat?’

‘Listen.’

Knock, knock, knock.

The knocking was more frequent now.

‘That’s the noise I heard earlier,’ she murmured. ‘What is it?’

‘No idea. But it’s coming from …’ He pointed upwards. The noise stopped for a minute. Then it started again, slightly louder. ‘I’m sure it’s just a squirrel, or a rat, or something. A burglar wouldn’t be, you know, tap-dancing on the floor.’ He patted the cricket bat. ‘But I like to be prepared.’

‘Tap-dancing?’ Merry yawned and squinted up at him. ‘What the hell are you on about, Leo?’

Leo straightened up, running a hand through his hair.

‘Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve had less than three hours sleep and I’m tired, OK?’

‘Hungover, more like.’ She stared up at him for a minute. ‘Damn. I suppose you want me to come up there with you?’

‘Well, you’re the one who’s making me paranoid. What do you think?’

Three minutes later, Leo was switching on the light in the attic. Merry was standing, shivering, on the bottom rung of the metal pull-down ladder.

‘Well, I think we can rule out an intruder,’ Leo shouted down at her. ‘Unless he’s really, really tiny.’

‘Huh?’

He poked his head back though the hatch.

‘Come on up and I’ll show you.’

Merry muttered under her breath, but she climbed the rest of the ladder and came to stand next to him, hastily brushing a cobweb off her pyjamas. It was years since either of them had been up here. The attic – really a whole bunch of attics connected by odd steps up and down – was huge, and just as well. Mum was a chronic hoarder; she never threw anything away, on the basis that ‘it might come in handy someday.’ Or alternatively, ‘this is bound to be worth something eventually.’ After sixteen years the attic was crammed with cardboard boxes of various sizes, old pieces of furniture and artwork, unidentifiable things draped in sheets. It would be a tight squeeze for even the smallest burglar. Leo and Merry manoeuvred their way through the dust and detritus. The knocking was getting more frequent, more insistent.

‘What the hell is it?’ Merry asked.

‘I don’t know, but it’s coming from over there.’ He waved a hand towards the corner, where a dark oak chest had been wedged between a broken armchair and an old-fashioned sewing machine table.

The two of them went over to the chest and carefully lifted Merry’s old doll’s house and a stack of commemorative issues of the Radio Times off the top of it. Something inside was banging noisily against the wooden frame.

‘Right,’ said Leo. ‘You open it.’

‘How about you open it and I stand over there at a safe distance and watch you?’

Leo sighed.

‘No, you need to open it. Then, if anything jumps out, I’ll hit it with the bat.’ He waved the bat around a bit, to demonstrate.

Merry shuddered and stepped away from the chest.

‘But what’s going to jump out?’

‘Oh, for – something less annoying than you, hopefully. How on earth should I know? Just open it.’

‘Ugh, fine. After three, OK?’ Merry counted; she got to three, lifted the lid and leapt back quickly.

Nothing jumped out at them. Merry gave a little ‘oh’ of relief and surprise and went to peer inside. Leo came and craned over her shoulder. The chest was empty, apart from a pile of children’s picture books and a seven-sided wooden box, tucked away in the corner.

The box was twitching.

As they stared at it, the twitching got worse. The box started slamming against the side of the chest again.

‘What is it?’ Leo asked.

‘Er, it’s a jewellery box?’

‘Yes, so I can see. But why is it doing that?’

‘How on earth should I know?’ Merry scowled, then turned away and started fiddling with the dials on an old record player sitting nearby, shaking her hair forwards so Leo couldn’t see her face.

Leo rolled his eyes.

‘Come on, Merry. This has got to have something to do with your lot.’

‘My lot?’ Merry swung round. ‘You know I’ve never been allowed to practise. You know I’m completely untrained.’

‘Seriously?’ Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Look, I also know you do stuff on the quiet. Or you used to, at any rate. You know I know. But I’m not going to tell on you to Mum. Just make it stop – jumping, will you? The noise is really starting to get on my nerves.’

‘I still don’t know what you expect me to do about it.’

‘Merry!’

‘OK, OK,’ Merry huffed. She reached down slowly, carefully, and picked up the jumping trinket box. It stilled immediately.

Merry looked up at Leo and smiled.

And then she fainted.

Merry must have been unconscious for all of about thirty seconds. But it was a really intense thirty seconds.

Something had come out of the trinket box. Not a physical something; more a sudden swell of energy, running like electricity up her arms and into her chest. Then everything had gone dark.

And out of the darkness came images. A pair of large oak doors set into the middle of a stone wall that seemed to reach up to the sky and beyond. An endless, winding corridor dimly lit with candles. A chair – no, a throne of some sort – near to a wall lined with shelves, shelves crammed with hundreds of faintly glowing glass jars. And a boy chained to the throne, a blood-red crown upon his head. It was the boy from her nightmares. Merry could hear him struggling for breath, and she thought for a moment he was unconscious. But his eyes focused, and she saw his lips move:

‘Help me …’

Merry opened her eyes.

Leo was kneeling over her, his face white and tense.

‘Merry? Are you OK?’

‘Yeah. I think so. Help me sit up.’

Leo put one arm underneath Merry’s back and slowly pushed her upright.

‘Here, lean against this.’ He pulled an old beanbag over and put it behind her. ‘What happened?’

‘I’m not sure. I – I saw things.’ She shuddered. ‘I saw him again.’

‘Him?’

‘The guy from my nightmares. But he wasn’t … killing people, this time. He was chained up somewhere – like, in some old, medieval castle.’

‘Jesus, Merry. What the hell’s going on?’

Merry breathed out slowly.

‘No idea. Where’s the box?’

‘You dropped it.’ Leo gestured towards where the box had fallen, lying on its side on the floor. At least it wasn’t moving any more.

‘Pass it over.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, after what just happened? Shouldn’t I be taking you to the hospital or something?’

‘I’m fine, Leo. Just give it to me.’

For once, Leo didn’t argue; he picked up the trinket box and handed it to her. There was no trace of the ‘energy’ she’d felt earlier.

The box was quite small, its diameter less than the length of her hand. There was an intricate, fluid design carved on to the lid, interlocking figures of eight curling along each of the seven edges, punctuated at every corner with a triangular knot that looked vaguely Celtic. In the centre of the lid was a circle with a crescent etched over the top of it: the Moon. Merry tried to prise the lid open with her nails, but the box was locked. Absentmindedly, she traced a finger over the design. She’d seen that pattern before.

‘Let’s go back downstairs. I’ve think I’ve got the key that will open this.’

While Leo went to make some tea, Merry returned to her room and started rummaging in drawers and boxes. Eventually she found it: the charm bracelet Gran had given her for her twelfth birthday.

‘What’ve you got there?’ Leo put the tea down and knelt on the floor next to her.

She held the bracelet up to him by one of the charms: a small silver key.

‘It’s got the same design on it, see?’ Picking up the trinket box, she pushed the key into the keyhole. The lock turned with a faint click. Merry lifted the lid carefully and peeked inside. ‘Curiouser and curiouser. Look.’

She tipped the contents of the box out on to her duvet: a faded fragment of stiff paper, what looked like a short braid of human hair, and the hilt of a sword. Probably a hilt. It didn’t look like it belonged to the type of swords she’d used at fencing club a couple of years back, and it wasn’t big and shiny like the swords in fantasy films. The short grip was wound about with worn strips of leather, the guard was a narrow block of dark-coloured metal, the pommel was gold, set with red stones. And the whole thing looked old. Very old.

‘This is so bizarre. That looks like it should be in a museum. And what on earth is this for?’ asked Leo, picking up the braid of hair and examining it. ‘What does it all mean?’

Merry sighed. ‘Unfortunately, I think it means that we need to go see Gran.’

Leo groaned. ‘What, now?’

‘Course not.’ Merry locked the three objects back in the box. They couldn’t be that important, whatever they were, or they would never have just been left up in the attic. ‘I’ll call her tomorrow. Maybe I can pop over there after school.’ She glanced up at Leo, who was holding a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. His face had gone slightly green. ‘We’d better get some sleep.’

Merry just about managed to drag herself out of bed a couple of hours later. The bus journey took forever – the Tillingbourne river, swollen by two weeks of almost constant rain, was in flood for the first time anyone could remember – but at least first period was indoor netball. The match went well: she scored four goals and chatted to Verity from her history class whenever the action moved out of their third. The trinket box was entirely forgotten. But she shouldn’t have hung around in the changing rooms after everyone else had left. Immersed in noting down the new timetable for the after-school javelin and track club, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Esther Perkins: a minor bully / major irritant since primary school.

‘Hello, Meredith.’ Esther smirked. ‘Haven’t seen you around for a while.’

Merry shrugged. ‘It’s a big school.’ She moved to go past, but Esther moved too.

‘Really? I thought maybe it was ’cos of Alex. Bet you think you’re a real hero, pulling him out of the river. Bet you think you’re too good to hang round with the rest of us now.’

Merry took a deep breath.

Here we go.

‘Get lost, Esther.’

She stepped forwards, but again the other girl blocked her path.

‘But why did he need rescuing, that’s what I want to know.’ Esther leant closer. ‘I’ve heard what people say about your family. My mum says your gran should be locked up. Says she’s a wicked old bag. Only a matter of time before she ends up hurting someone.’

Stay calm, Merry. Keep control …

Another deep breath.

Oh, this would be so much easier if I still did magic.

I could just put a memory charm on you.

I could make you forget your own name, let alone mine.

Just one little spell …

But that was where it had started with Alex: one little spell, that had led to another, and then another – Merry had promised herself that she would never, ever let anything like that happen again. So instead, she slung her PE bag across her back and forced her way past Esther.

The other girl’s voice followed her out of the changing room, taunting:

‘I know what you are, Meredith Cooper …’

The day slid downhill from there. When her friends went out for a coffee at lunchtime, she had to stay in and finish some overdue art homework. She seemed to be developing some kind of hearing defect: there was definitely a random buzzing sound coming from somewhere, almost like the babble of distant voices, but nobody else could hear it. There was no answer when she called Gran’s landline – the only number she had – to ask about the trinket box. And everyone at school kept going on and on and on about the vicious knife attacks in town. The fact that no one had died so far was, frankly, miraculous.

It was kind of understandable that people wouldn’t shut up about it. Until they started, Tillingham was probably the safest and most boring town in Surrey, if not the country. Gran and the others had made sure of that. The problem now, Merry thought, was the current of excitement running under the fear, the way some people were starting to – well, almost enjoy themselves: dissecting every detail of the attacks as if they were discussing the latest instalment of some gory Scandinavian crime show. After last night’s drama, the whole thing set her teeth on edge.

Later that day, as Merry stood stuffing some folders back into her bag, two girls from her art class came down the hallway, chatting loudly. They stopped at their lockers, right next to Merry’s.

‘So, my aunt called last night – she’s a nurse at the hospital, right?’ said Eloise. ‘And she’s been looking after those people who got attacked.’

‘Oh my God, really?’ exclaimed Lucy.

‘Yeah. She said all four of them had lost huge amounts of blood. That’s why they’re all in comas.’

‘That’s horrible.’ Lucy grimaced.

Eloise leant in closer.

‘Yeah. My aunt says the places where they were attacked must have been covered with blood. Running with it, she reckons.’

‘Ew, that is so disgusting,’ said Lucy. ‘Hey, Merry, did you hear what—’ She stopped. ‘Are you OK?’

No, Merry wanted to say, I’m not OK. Because I can smell the blood, just like in my nightmare, I can almost taste it, and my fingernails are aching like I’m about to cast a spell right here in the middle of the corridor, and –

‘Merry?’

Oh my God, I’m going to be sick.

There were a couple of Year 11 girls hanging out in the toilets, but after one surprised glance at Merry’s face they both left rapidly. Merry held on until the door swung shut behind them then sank to her knees, gripping the edge of the basin in front of her, jamming her fingernails hard against the cold porcelain. Long, slow breaths – that was the key. If she could just calm down, the magic might ebb away again before it could do any damage.

Gradually, the tingling in her fingers subsided. Merry risked relaxing her grip. She stood up slowly, turned on the tap, waited as the water ran over her hands and wrists. As long as she looked more or less normal before she ran into Lucy and Eloise again she could probably –

There was a girl in the mirror. Just standing there, watching her.

Merry jumped and spun around.

The room was empty.

She swung back to the mirror. The girl was still there: a long plait of dark hair hanging over one shoulder, green eyes, full-length dress belted at the waist. Merry began to tremble. Her brain was screaming for her to run, but her legs just wouldn’t cooperate. The girl moved closer, until she stood at Merry’s shoulder, so close Merry ought to have been able to feel her breath against her neck – she leant in, as if she was about to whisper in Merry’s ear –

Pain lanced through Merry’s hands as magic exploded from her fingertips. The large mirror above the handbasins shattered. The girl’s reflection disappeared.

Merry staggered into one of the stalls and locked the door.

Fifteen minutes later, the shaking and the nausea had started to subside. She had no explanation for the imaginary girl. Because she must have been imaginary. It was probably just exhaustion. Or – she touched her fingers to her forehead – perhaps she actually was coming down with an ear infection, and it was giving her a fever. But what she’d done to the mirror … Her magic never used to behave like this, never; yet in the last few weeks it had become – unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Spilling out at odd moments, occasionally heralded by a painful tingling sensation in her fingernails. Completely different from the spells she’d managed to teach herself by sneaking books out of Gran’s house: no words, no rituals, no music. Just raw power. She hadn’t dared try to cast a spell deliberately, to check what was going on. Maybe it was all these months of not allowing herself to practise witchcraft, or the nightmare situation with Alex leading up to her decision to quit. Maybe it was because she’d never been properly trained. She had no idea – there was no one to ask about it. As far as Mum or Gran were concerned, she didn’t do magic.

Merry glanced down at her fingers. Her nails still throbbed, but otherwise there was no outward sign of the energy that had surged through her hands. They looked normal, just like she did. Which was a joke, because she’d wanted to be normal for so long. Not in the beginning, not when she first found out she was a witch, but after Alex –

She was desperate to be normal. At least, she’d thought that was what she wanted. It was what she’d wished for.

Well, maybe she was finally getting her wish. Maybe her magic was going crazy because it was draining away. Leaving her. And that was a good thing. The best thing that could be happening to her.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

The bell rang. Merry was still sitting in the stall, staring absentmindedly at some graffiti daubed across the cubicle door, asking anyone who happened to be sitting on the loo with a pencil to ‘Tick if you came here to get out of PE’. She couldn’t face going to her last class. The day was nearly over, anyhow.

‘Merry? Come on, I – what the – what happened to the mirror?’

Merry swore silently. Ruby was her best friend, had been since they both started secondary school five-and-a-half years ago. She should have known Ruby would come to find her.

‘I know you’re in here, Merry. Lucy said you looked like you were about to faint. Mind you, she also said your fingernails were glowing. Have you bought some of that glow-in-the-dark nail varnish? Can I borrow it?’

Merry emerged from the stall.

Ruby looked her up and down, frowning.

‘You look crap. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Just felt a bit sick. I didn’t sleep well last night, but I’m fine now.’ Merry walked over to the basin with the least glass in it, ran the tap and splashed some cold water on her face. A glance in one of the mirrored fragments made her wince. Her hair was wrecked: twisted into knotty tendrils where she’d been running her fingers through it – even more of a contrast than usual to Ruby’s glossy curls. Her face was paler than normal, her hazel eyes puffy and red-rimmed. The ear infection was obviously some horrible virus. Flu, or something. ‘Is there a bug going round?’

‘Not that I know of. Morning sickness?’

‘Hilarious.’

While Merry dried her face on some hand towels, Ruby took the opportunity to pull out a small mirror and touch up her lipstick.

‘So, why aren’t you sleeping? Is it because of these attacks? My sister’s been having nightmares all week.’

Occasionally, Ruby could be almost too perceptive.

‘Your sister’s ten. And why would I have nightmares? I can take care of myself, you know.’

‘Alright, keep your knickers on.’ Ruby started fiddling with the stack of bracelets on her wrist, turning them over and over. ‘I heard from Alex, by the way.’

Merry stiffened. Alex would never reveal to anybody what she’d told him. Probably. And if he did, Ruby wouldn’t believe him. Probably. She’d never believed the gossip that sometimes got repeated about Merry’s family.

Still …

‘He says he’s doing OK,’ Ruby continued. Merry relaxed fractionally. ‘His counsellor’s got him into extreme sport, running obstacle courses or something. Sounded a bit of a nightmare, to be honest, though you’d probably love it.’ She shrugged. ‘I still think you should text him – at least try and figure out what his problem is. I mean, you saved his life, Merry. Surely he must want to talk to you?’

Merry turned away and yanked some more paper towels out of the dispenser. Ruby was right, in a way. Alex had jumped off a bridge into a flooded river, and Merry had gone in after him. She had saved him. Had stopped him drowning, at any rate. But Alex wouldn’t want to talk to her again, not in a million years. He hated her, and she didn’t blame him.

It was definitely time to change the subject.

‘Let’s go to the library for a bit. Leo’s picking me up around six – he could give you a lift home, if you like?’

Ruby’s eyes glazed over.

‘Hell yeah.’

As they stood outside school waiting for Leo, Merry wondered if she had made a mistake. Offering Ruby a lift was probably going to land her in trouble. At eighteen, Leo was only two years older than Merry, but he’d gone all superior and grown-up over the last few months since he’d left school; at least, he had when he wasn’t hanging out with his best friend Dan. Plus, Ruby had a massive crush on him, and she wasn’t shy about letting him know it.

Leo definitely wasn’t into Ruby. He wasn’t really into girls at all. But only Merry knew. Leo hadn’t told anyone else: not Mum, and certainly not any of his friends.

Things had come to a head the previous summer. Leo, Dan and his other close friend, Simon, had spent four months hitchhiking their way around the US. By the time they had flown back to the UK Leo had realised that he liked Dan – really liked him – and not just in a best mates kind of way. Merry remembered the conversation word for word.

‘I think you should tell him, Leo. Maybe he feels the same way.’

‘Dan? You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s got a serious girlfriend. He’s completely loved up. Besides, Simon just wouldn’t understand. I don’t know how he and the others would react if I told them. I think – I’m not sure they’d think I was me any more.’

He’d had such a dejected look on his face. Merry had hugged him and told him she loved him and supported him, over and over. She had also (in her head) threatened to curse anyone who gave him a hard time, once he’d got up the nerve to actually tell them.

Leo’s battered black Peugeot pulled up to the curb now. Merry could see his blue eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow – he shook his head at her. She was probably going to pay for this later. But before she could say anything Ruby had surged ahead and jumped into the front seat. Leo said hello to her pleasantly enough. Then he turned back towards Merry, and glared.

It was going to be a long ride home.

It was Merry’s turn to make dinner. Yesterday, Leo had made them sausages and mash, so Merry, who was generally speaking a better (though unenthusiastic) cook, decided to go for something marginally healthier and try a vegetable stir fry recipe she’d torn out of a magazine. She was pretty pleased with it, but Leo spent most of the meal picking out the broccoli and complaining about Ruby, Merry’s friends in general, and the fact that he was having to ‘babysit’ her. It was true that Ruby had been unbearable in the car: giggling at everything Leo said, brushing her hand against his leg at every opportunity. Merry didn’t blame him for being annoyed. Plus, she knew he was tired in the evenings; he was working long hours on a local farm, saving money for when he started studying medicine in September. But still, she finally had enough.

‘For God’s sake, Leo, she was only in the car for half-an-hour. And it’s not like I expect you to stay in with me every evening. You’re out just as much as I am. Why are you being so obnoxious?’

And that was it. They ended up having a massive row, basically about nothing. Leo spent the rest of the evening in his room, not even coming down for the latest episode of their favourite sci-fi show.

Now Merry was sitting in the bath, watching the ends of her fingers shrivel up, headphones on and music cranked up to drown out the thunderstorm raging outside. Usually she liked to sing along to her favourite songs – loudly – but tonight she just wasn’t in the mood.

Geez, what a day. She’d had an uncontrollable magical outburst at school, hallucinated about some strange girl and managed to have a fight with her brother. And it was only Tuesday.

The trinket box was preying on her mind too. She’d called Gran’s house again and left a message, but so far Gran hadn’t phoned back.

The bath water was cold. Merry pulled the plug and got out; there was no reason to put off going to bed any longer.

Time to man up, Merry. Woman up.

As she passed Leo’s bedroom she paused for a moment, tempted to knock and say goodnight, but she couldn’t hear any signs of life – no point in waking him if he’d already gone to bed. She crossed the landing to her own room. But at the door, she hesitated.

She couldn’t make herself go in.

Something was wrong.

As her hand lingered on the door handle, she felt something. Some kind of energy, similar to the energy that had surged from the trinket box and knocked her out the previous night. But this time, it was far, far stronger.

She drew her hand back.

Magic.

Merry panicked. Forgetting her current no-magic policy, she tried to think of a spell she could use against whomever – whatever – was on the other side of the door. She tried to think of any spell at all, but her mind was too full of images: images from when she had first touched the trinket box, images from her nightmares. Almost without any conscious decision, she turned the door handle and stepped into the room.

The boy from her nightmares was standing on the other side of the door. He yanked Merry towards him, pushing the door shut as he spun her round, putting one hand over her mouth and his other arm around her body, pinning her arms to her sides and crushing her against his chest. She kicked backwards with her heels, beat her fists against his legs, but his grip only got tighter.

This was no dream.

‘I would not willingly hurt you, maid, but you must be still.’

Merry ignored him and slammed the back of her head against his face.

The boy grunted, but his grip didn’t falter. ‘I’ve a blade in my hand. Unless you wish me to use it, be still!’ Something sharp pressed against the side of Merry’s ribcage. She stopped struggling. ‘Now, I am going to take my hand from your mouth. You will not scream.’

Merry tried to remember how it had felt when she’d smashed the mirror earlier that day. If she could summon even a fraction of that power, force him away from her –

The pressure from the knife-point increased. But she couldn’t feel the faintest flicker of magic. The repelling charm she was saying in her head might as well have been a nursery rhyme.

‘Agreed?’

Merry nodded. The boy lowered his hand, placing it instead around her throat.

‘What is this place?’

‘Tillingham,’ Merry whispered. ‘We’re just outside Tillingham.’ She felt the boy shake his head. He didn’t seem pleased by her answer.

‘Where is Gwydion?’

‘I don’t know anyone called Gwydion.’

The boy’s hand tightened slightly.

‘Then why do I know your face? Why am I drawn to this … this dwelling?’ There was anger in his voice, but underneath the anger Merry could hear panic. The boy was terrified of something.

‘Please, let me go. I don’t know what you want. I can’t help you.’

‘You’re lying. You must help me.’ The boy turned Merry around so he could see her face. ‘I know you. I remember little else, but I know you!’

The bedroom door burst open and the light came on. Merry tried to duck as Leo took a swing at the boy with his cricket bat. He wasn’t quick enough. The boy shoved Merry towards her brother and leapt for the window. He paused and looked back at her, crouched on the sill for a moment, before jumping out into the darkness.

Leo ran to the window and leant out. The next moment he was on his knees next to Merry, his arms around her.

‘It’s OK, Merry. He’s gone. God, I thought – I thought—’ He took a deep breath. ‘Who the hell was that? Was it someone from school? Did he hurt you?’

‘No, he didn’t.’ Merry clutched her stomach as a ripple of nausea shot through her. ‘He didn’t hurt me, not really. It was him, but it can’t have been. He’s not real. At least, I didn’t think he was.’

‘You’re not making any sense. I think you’re in shock.’

‘It was that man – boy – the one I’ve been having nightmares about.’ She shivered. ‘But you saw him too, didn’t you? I’m not – I’m not imagining it?’

Leo shook his head.

‘Of course I saw him.’ He dragged the duvet off the bed and wrapped it round Merry’s shoulders. ‘I just tried to bash his head in, didn’t I? God, this is crazy. Maybe he just looked a bit like the guy in your nightmares?’

‘No. His clothes were exactly the same. Every last, weird, detail, right down to the stupid brooch thing he had on.’ She groaned, pressing shaking fingers to her temples, remembering how the boy had asked for her help, how certain he’d been that he knew her. None of it made any sense. And why hadn’t she been able to cast a spell? Sure it was a long time – at least seven months – since she’d deliberately tried to use her power, but even so …

She swallowed; her throat was parched.

‘How did you know he was in here?’

‘The cats. The pair of them were on the landing, staring at your room and hissing, with their tails all fluffed up.’

Merry closed her eyes and leant against her brother’s chest.

‘I’m not sure I can cope with much more of this.’

‘Let’s call the police.’

Merry sat up again.

‘No. Let’s not.’

‘But maybe you’re psychic. Witches are automatically psychic, right? Which means he was the one who’s been attacking people. It certainly looked like he was trying to kill you.’

‘He wasn’t trying to kill me. And I’m not psychic.’ She winced and rubbed her side where the knife had dug in.

‘But—’

‘Please, Leo? The police won’t be any use.’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘Because I’ve never seen the guy before, but somehow I’ve been dreaming about him. If I tell the police that, they’ll just think I’m mad. Or worse.’ She yawned, suddenly feeling utterly drained. ‘I think … I think he must be linked to that trinket box. Gran will know what to do.’

Leo groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

‘Well, if that’s true, you have to get hold of Gran tomorrow. This is all getting too dangerous.’ Merry could hear the anxiety in Leo’s voice. ‘And if he comes back, I am calling the police.’

‘I don’t think he will.’

‘Since you’ve just told me you can’t see into the future, you don’t know that. Come on.’ He gathered up her duvet and pillow. ‘You’d better sleep in my room until Mum gets back on Sunday.’

Leo insisted Merry went to school the next day; he said she would be safer there, and he told her to stay at school and study until he could come by and pick her up at six. When they got home he went straight upstairs and nailed her bedroom window shut. Merry, unconvinced that nails would help, went through her mother’s address book and found an old mobile number for Gran; the call went straight to voicemail, but she left another message.

Early the next morning, in the dim greyness just before dawn, Merry heard singing outside Leo’s window. Chanting, really; voices rising and falling along different harmonic lines that somehow combined into a single, sombre melody. She couldn’t make out the words. Pushing the curtain aside and peering through the glass, she saw a group of women standing with their arms raised. Some of them seemed to be holding things: bunches of twigs, stones, a metal bowl on a chain with smoke coming out of it. As Merry watched, one of the women knelt, pulled out a knife and started carving a shape in the lawn underneath the window.

‘Oh, my – Leo!’ She shook him awake.

‘Huh? What?’

‘There’re people downstairs in the garden – I think they might be witches. They’re singing. And one of them’s messing up Mum’s lawn.’

By the time they had got downstairs and unlocked the back door, the women had moved away from Leo’s window and were vandalising the grass at the front of the house. Leo ran towards them, waving his arms.

‘Stop! What the hell are you doing?’

The woman with the knife straightened up. Merry knew her: she lived in the old manor house a little further down the lane.

‘Mrs Knox?

‘A bad business this, Merry. Very bad. We came as soon as we got your grandmother’s message.’ She followed Merry’s gaze to the large carving knife in her hand. ‘Protective runes. If we’d known the counter-curse was going to break down …’ Mrs Knox shook her head, sighed. ‘Didn’t think it would happen in my lifetime. If it happened at all.’ There were murmurs of agreement from the other women. As Merry looked at their faces she found more of them that she recognised. One of the checkout ladies from the local Waitrose; the woman who owned the bookshop on the high street; a girl whose name she couldn’t remember, who was in the year above her at school and sometimes worked in Zara on Saturdays.

‘Are you, um, Gran’s coven?’

‘Some of it, yes.’

Well. This is weird.

Leo stepped forwards.

‘I don’t know what exactly Gran has asked you to do, but you cannot go around messing up people’s lawns and – and singing at them. Our mum’s going to go insane—’

‘No need to worry. The runes will have faded by the time she gets back.’

‘That’s not the point. You’re still trespassing.’ He blushed and tugged at the hem of his T-shirt; Merry saw the Zara girl staring at him, grinning. ‘What’s a counter-curse? And what does any of this have to do with us?’

‘Ah. Think your grandmother had better deal with that. She’s presenting at a conference in Whitby this week, but she’ll be back Saturday morning. You’re to visit her at one o’clock.’

‘But—’

‘No more questions.’ Mrs Knox nodded to the other women. ‘We’ve one more side to do, then we’ll be out of your way. I’d have some breakfast and get dressed, if I were you, young man. You shouldn’t be standing around in your underwear in this kind of weather.’ After gazing at Merry one last time – such a strange look, it made Merry shiver and pull her coat tighter – she turned away and started shepherding the rest of the coven round to the far side of the house. The conversation was clearly over.

For the next couple of days Merry avoided her brother as much as possible. She knew Leo wanted to talk about what had happened, about the boy in her room and the sudden arrival of the coven, but she didn’t. Instead, she spent Thursday evening in her room, trying to catch up on homework, and on Friday she persuaded Ruby to go with her to the gym at the local community centre. Ruby was happy enough for the first forty-five minutes (a drop-in yoga class) but was less keen when Merry suggested working out with some of the weights and exercise machines.

‘Can’t we go and get some dinner now? I’m knackered. We don’t all have your stamina.’

‘Just a bit longer, please? I’ve got a javelin competition on Saturday.’ A partial truth: Merry’s life seemed to be full of those at the moment. But the whole truth was far too complicated. ‘Sit and have a rest while I use the punchbag.’

Ruby groaned, but she sat on the floor and got out her phone while Merry searched for the least rank pair of gloves. She liked feeling that her body was strong, that it would do pretty much whatever she asked of it; she’d started doing more sport a few years back, encouraged by Gran, and kept it up even after she began to see less of her grandmother. Plus, the boxing was therapeutic. Taking out her frustration on the bag, she almost forgot she wasn’t alone until Ruby interrupted.

‘Merry? Is something up? You’re being even more weird than normal.’

Merry stopped and looked at her friend.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I get that you like to be busy. But at the moment – you never seem to stop. It’s either sport, parties or late-night studying. All the time. And you’re still not getting everything done. It’s like you’re …’ Ruby’s face scrunched up. ‘I dunno. I’m just worried about you.’

Merry pulled off the boxing gloves and started examining a cut on her knuckle.

Ruby knew, almost. So maybe Merry should actually talk to her. Tell her that she’d come to the gym this evening because she was hiding from her own brother, and because she was trying to forget that someone had threatened her with a knife three nights ago. That when she was exercising, or out with mates, or completely exhausted, she didn’t have to think about what she’d done last year, or about what she’d given up. That she had once been a witch, and now she wasn’t.

Tell her how hard it was to want something that she knew she shouldn’t want.

She might understand, if I explained.

What, like you tried to explain to Alex? And how did that work out for you?

The mixture of disbelief and fear on Alex’s face still haunted her. It was too much of a risk.

‘I’m fine, Ruby. Just, you know, stuff. School, mostly. I’m not sure I can be bothered to resit chemistry. I know I’m going to fail again, and I’ve got so much else to do …’

‘Then just drop it. You need to stop trying to please everybody, Merry.’ Ruby grinned. ‘Who wants to be good the whole time anyway, eh?’

Well, I need to be, Merry thought. Because the alternative to me being good, is me being bad. And me being bad will be terrifying.

She shrugged.

‘Yeah, maybe. Come on.’ She held out her hand to Ruby. ‘Let’s go late-night shopping and try on expensive clothes that we’re never gonna buy.’

‘Oh, yes – and hats. And shoes.’

‘Yeah. Those really hideous high heels with the spikes all over them. And I saw this pair of purple, thigh-high, lace-up boots the other day …’

Ruby giggled.

‘That’s your birthday pressie sorted then.’

Merry smiled. Tonight, at least, she was going to be a completely normal teenager.

Sadly, pretending everything was normal wasn’t really a long-term plan. Because the trinket box – along with most of its contents, and the key – appeared to be growing.

By the time she got home on Friday evening, the scrap of stiff paper, which Merry now realised must be parchment, had become a couple of blank pages tied together with a strip of leather. The braid of hair had grown longer and thicker, almost long enough to wrap around Merry’s wrist. Only the sword hilt was unchanged.

It was all very stressful.

When Leo sauntered into the kitchen on Saturday morning Merry was sitting at the table, a chemistry revision book propped up against the apple juice carton and the trinket box in front of her, next to a ruler.

‘Thought you had some athletics event?’

‘Cancelled.’ Merry waved a hand towards the window, indicating the rain that was gradually transforming the flower beds into mud soup.

‘So what are you doing?’

‘I’m trying to catch it growing,’ she replied, still staring at the box. ‘But it only seems to happen when I’m not watching.’

‘Growing? Merry, it’s a box. You must be imagining it.’

Merry rolled her eyes at him.

‘If you say so.’

‘Well, I wish you’d put it away. It’s really starting to creep me out. Do you want some toast?’

‘Yes, please. And I’ve tried putting it away.’ She sighed and straightened up, shoving the box away from her. ‘The damn thing is following me around.’

‘Once again—’ Leo opened his hands wide, ‘—it’s a box. Not possible.’

‘Really? I put it up in the attic last night, back in the blanket box. This morning, when I woke up, it was on my dressing table. Yesterday I locked it in the garage before I went to school. But when I got home last night, I found it in my underwear drawer.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah. Oh.’

Leo plonked himself down on the chair next to Merry and poured himself a coffee. He opened the lid of the box and poked a finger at the contents.

‘Is it me, or is that – hair extension – longer?’

‘Exactly. See?’ Merry snapped the lid shut and turned towards her brother. ‘And don’t ask, ’cos I don’t know. I thought you had to work this weekend?’

‘I called in and told them I had a family emergency. I’ll lose two days’ pay, but …’ He shrugged. ‘I just don’t think you should be in the house on your own at the moment.’

‘Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry about the money.’ Merry closed the chemistry book; she wasn’t taking any of it in, anyway.

‘It’s OK.’ Leo was fiddling with a ten-pence piece one of them had left on the table, spinning it round and round between his thumb and forefinger. ‘The witchcraft – you are being careful, aren’t you, Merry? I mean, you’re not actually summoning psychotic blond boys from the nether world?’ He didn’t look at her, just kept spinning the coin.

‘Of course not, Leo. Honestly, I haven’t done any magic recently.’ Not intentionally, at any rate. ‘I kind of decided to take a break. It’s dangerous, especially if you’re not properly trained. Gran and the rest of the coven can do some pretty impressive things, from what I’ve heard, but you know I had to pick up stuff for myself.’

Yeah, picked stuff up and ran with it. It might have been OK, if you’d stuck to the spell books, hadn’t started experimenting …

Merry tried to remember what magic Leo might have seen her using.

‘What do you think I can do, apart from giving cold sores to unfaithful boyfriends? You knew about that, right?’

‘I did. Though I thought you were only supposed to use the craft to help people. Didn’t Gran make a big thing a few years back about—’

‘Yeah, well,’ Merry interrupted, ‘there’s no need for Gran to know about the cold sores. Besides, since I’m not officially a witch, I haven’t actually had to sign up to the whole good behaviour thing. But you mustn’t tell Mum I used to, well, dabble. She’d go psycho. Probably lock me up in a tower for the rest of my life. So … promise?’

‘Promise.’ He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

Merry smiled too. She and Leo were a team. Over the years they’d learnt to look out for one another, especially as their mother spent more and more time away at work, and became more and more distant. Things might have been different once, before their father left, but Merry had only been four when he took off. As far back as she could remember it had been her brother who watched her back and took care of her, despite his occasional grumbling. She knew Leo would love her no matter what she did. No matter what she’d done.

He will, won’t he?

Course he will.

Course.

She dropped her gaze as she squeezed his hand back.

Leo tapped the trinket box with one finger.

‘So … ready for our visit to Grandma’s house?’

‘Oh yeah. Got my red riding hood and everything. Let’s hope we don’t meet a wolf on the way.’

Leo laughed.

‘A wolf messing with Gran? I’d like to see one try.’

Gran used to live in the house in which Leo and Merry lived now. She had been born there, grew up there, and stayed there on her own after Bronwen (her only child) moved out and after Grandpa died. But when Merry was born, Gran decided her daughter and son-in-law needed the space more than she did. She sold (or possibly gave – Merry wasn’t quite clear) the old house to the young family, and moved nearer to the town centre. The house Gran lived in now was deeply ordinary: a 1930s semi-detached house pretty much identical to a million other 1930s semi-detached houses across the country. Mock Tudor, bay-windowed, laurel-hedged suburban.

Merry stared up at the house.

‘Do you remember when we used to love coming here? All those weekends we stayed over? The stories she used to tell us, and the games we played?’

Leo nodded.

‘I remember: it was magical. I mean, literally magical. Like all those times we’d sit around the fire with hot chocolate and marshmallows, and she’d make the flames take on the shapes of the characters in the story she was telling us?’

‘Or the time she made it snow for us in the garden in July, so we could build snowmen? But none of the neighbours could see it. We must’ve looked off our heads, prancing around in her back garden, wearing winter coats in the middle of summer.’ Merry smiled. ‘That was a great day.’

‘Yeah, it was.’ Leo sighed. ‘Not so much fun after Mum found out what was going on, and she and Gran had that argument though, was it.’

That argument. It really deserved capital letters: That Argument. In the whole of Leo and Merry’s childhood, Mum had never practised the craft in front of them. She wouldn’t even talk about it; she got cross once just because Merry wanted to dress as a witch for a fancy dress party. Halloween was a no-go area. So when, on Merry’s twelfth birthday, Gran had asked if she wanted to be tested, to see if she was a witch, Merry had hesitated. But only for about two minutes. Sure, Mum would disapprove – if she found out – but to have the chance to learn some of the stuff she’d seen Gran doing … there wasn’t really any question about it.

Merry knew she would remember the night of the test her whole life. Since she couldn’t yet cast any spells, her ability had to be evaluated by seeing how well she could resist spells cast by other witches. Taken to a hidden spot up on the downs, blindfolded and left in the darkness, she had only heard the voices of the witches who were testing her. They didn’t speak to her directly, and half the time they were using a language she didn’t understand; it had taken every ounce of her courage not to tear off the blindfold and run, especially once the spells began to hurt. She emerged from the experience with a broken arm and what looked like sunburn all down one side of her body. But apparently that was an excellent result: most of those tested didn’t get off half as lightly. So Merry was delighted, even though she was stepping into the unknown, even though she knew nothing would ever be the same –

Too delighted: she forgot the secrecy Gran insisted on, and let something slip to her mother. Mum wasn’t just disapproving. She went ballistic. The sleepovers at Gran’s were banned, the proposed magical training was banned, and Merry was forced to promise that she would never, ever do magic. Gran was forced to promise that she wouldn’t teach her anything, at the risk of all contact being severed. Even then, Mum started to limit the amount of time they spent with Gran. She said she wanted them to be normal children – which was totally hypocritical, since Merry was certain that Mum still did some spells herself – but four years on, Merry could sort of see her point. Messing about with a little bit of magic – casting spells so boys would like you, or so you’d get picked for the netball team – it was all well and good when it was just fun, when you were just using it to make life a little bit easier. But it could go bad so quickly. And bad, where magic was concerned, was really bad …

‘Hey, Merry?’ Leo was waving his hand in front of her face. ‘Shall we?’

‘Oh – sure. Let’s get it over with.’

They got out of the car and walked up to the front door. As they stepped on to the porch, Merry glanced up, and raised her eyebrows: three horseshoes nailed up now, instead of just one. They had three at home too, though she had never thought to ask Mum why. Leo raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but the door swung open of its own accord. He shot Merry a look of exasperation as they trudged forwards into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind them.

They found Gran in the kitchen. She was smartly dressed as always: grey tailored trousers and a pale blue cashmere sweater, silver drop earrings, her grey hair cut into a fashionable, spiky bob. Not a wart in sight.

‘Come here, the pair of you. Give me a kiss.’

Merry dropped a kiss on Gran’s cheek and stepped back, but Gran took hold of her shoulders.

‘I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since Christmas. Let me look at you …’ She scanned Merry’s face for a few seconds before pulling her into a tight hug. ‘Well, you’ll be fine. I’m certain of it.’

‘What do you mean, Gran? Why wouldn’t I be fine?’

Gran released Merry and shooed her towards the kitchen table.

‘Sit down. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

Once the kettle had boiled, Gran put three mugs and a teapot on the table. Merry poured out some tea and took a sip. It had the same strange taste she remembered; slightly bitter and grassy, though Gran had always sworn it was just regular PG Tips. True or not, somehow the tea was comforting.

‘So. You found the trinket box?’

‘Yes.’ Merry glanced at Leo. ‘It woke us up on Monday night. When I touched it I had a sort of … vision. A boy, on a throne. I’ve been having nightmares about him. And then on Tuesday night—’

‘He broke into the house, Gran,’ Leo interrupted. ‘He was in Merry’s bedroom. And the box is growing. What’s going on?’

For a moment Gran covered her eyes with one blue-veined hand. Sometimes, Merry reflected, it was easy to forget how old her grandmother actually was.

‘I didn’t know this was going to happen, Leo. It was all so long ago, I had hoped …’ She picked up her mug, staring into its depths as though she was trying to read the future. ‘I begged your mother to talk to Merry about it. But, over the last couple of years, I almost convinced myself that Bronwen was right: the evil would never awaken, and Merry would never need to be involved.’ She sighed. ‘I was wrong.’

Merry’s breath caught in her throat.

‘What – what evil? Mum knows? What does she know?’

‘And what about the box?’ Leo added. ‘How do we get rid of it? It’s following Merry around.’

‘Do you have it here?’ Gran asked.

Leo nodded and pulled the trinket box out of his bag. Gran touched it gently, running her fingers over the patterned lid in the same way Merry had done the night they found it.

‘Fifteen centuries have been and gone since this box was created. Just like the key you used to open it.’ There was a low whistle from Leo. ‘It’s made of willow wood and set with flint, for protection.’

‘Protection from that boy, Gran? Or from something else?’ Merry wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. There was something in Gran’s blue eyes that made the skin between her shoulder blades tingle. Someone walking over my grave.

‘The box itself does not offer protection. It is merely the canary in the mine.’

Merry and Leo stared at each other blankly. Gran groaned.

‘This is what comes of a modern education. It’s like a – an air raid signal, or the countdown to a bomb going off.’

‘You mean it’s a warning?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, you could have just said so,’ muttered Leo. ‘What’s it supposed to be warning us about?’

‘It is warning us that time is running out.’

Geez. Merry knew there was a time and a place for being cryptic and mysterious, probably, but this was definitely not it.

‘Please, Gran, can you just, like, lay it out for us?’

Gran raised an eyebrow.

‘Very well.’ She sat up straighter in her chair. ‘There is a powerful wizard, a master of dark magic, sleeping under the Black Lake. His servant – that boy – is already awake: he is responsible for the recent attacks. If the wizard himself awakes and escapes the lake, he will create an army of such servants: humans, possessed and controlled by dark magic drawn by him from the shadow realm. An army whose purpose is to destroy all love in the world.’

Merry swallowed.

‘Controlled by dark magic from the shadow realm? What does that even mean?’

‘The … things of the shadow realm are, as I understand it, more like … evil forces, powerless in themselves, until they are given a human body. Then they will obey the one who gives them human form, the one who gives them the chance to live out their desire to hurt, to destroy. No one will be safe. Your life, Merry …’ Gran faltered. ‘Your life is linked to an oath made by one of our ancestors. As a witch, you have already come of age, and you are currently the last of your bloodline. You will have to stop the wizard’s servant. And … destroy the wizard.’ She plucked a tissue from a nearby box and blew her nose. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling. I know this must be terribly frightening, but we’re all going to try to help you.’

Oaths – wizards – dark magic – Merry shook her head, trying to clear away the haze from her brain, the shreds of sleep. Because surely this was a dream? Surely her grandmother wasn’t actually sitting there and telling her that she had somehow ended up being responsible for – for what? Stopping the attacks in Tillingham? Fighting a wizard? Killing him?

‘But Gran, this is impossible. I’m not a witch, not a proper one. You know I’m untrained.’ Another thought occurred. ‘I can’t afford to mess up my exams this year either. I haven’t got time for this. I just—’

Leo stood, pulling Merry up with him.

‘I’m sorry, Gran, but this is crazy. If this situation needs to be dealt with by a witch, then you can sort it out. Or one of your friends. We’re leaving.’

‘Will the two of you please sit down. Right now.’ Gran didn’t shout. She didn’t raise her voice at all. But for some reason, both of them felt compelled to obey. Merry peeked at Leo’s face – he was just as surprised as she was.

‘I don’t blame you for being angry, Leo, but anger isn’t going to help your sister.’ Gran paused for a moment, staring at the two of them. ‘I think this would be easier if I told you a story. You’ve heard it before, though you probably won’t remember. It’s about the King of Hearts.’

Merry did remember, vaguely. It was a scary story: dark and sad. It had given her nightmares. She remembered Mum yelling at Gran about it. One of the many, many minor explosions in her mother’s relationship with her grandmother even before they had That Argument.

‘I remember a little bit – it was horrible. Wasn’t there something about a wizard, and a prince? Or was it a princess? And—’

‘And jars. Jars with hearts inside them,’ Leo interjected. ‘I remember it too. Mum got cross with you.’

‘Your mother is always cross about something. The point is, it’s not a made-up fairy story. It’s part of our family history. The most important part. The boy in your room …’ She paused to take a sip of tea. ‘The boy is the prince. His name is Jack. In many ways, he is the victim of the story. He is also the monster.’ Gran frowned. ‘Stupid of me. I knew something was happening when the attacks started – you know we like to make sure Tillingham stays mostly free of violence. But I just didn’t make the connection. You see, in the story, Jack didn’t merely attack people. He killed them. He cut out their hearts.’

‘Blimey.’

‘Quite. Leo, be a dear and turn on all the lights. There’s no sun today, and some things are better not talked about in the dark.’

Leo did as he was told and sat back down.

‘Right. Are you sitting comfortably?’

‘Not really,’ Merry murmured, but Gran ignored her.

‘Then I’ll begin.’ She cleared her throat.

‘Once upon a time …’

Once upon a time – because that’s how all the best stories start, even the ones that lead to death and darkness and unhappy ever after – there was a kingdom. For the most part it was a soft, green country, of rolling downs and rich fields and fine orchards. To the south, where the land fell into the sea, the kingdom ended in tall white cliffs, with golden beaches at their feet. And the people of the land loved the sea, and built sturdy boats to fish and sail. But to the north lay steep, razor-backed hills, their lower slopes shrouded in sombre forests. Even in the springtime, none of the people went further into the forests than they had to.

All the land south of the forests was ruled from Helmswick, where the king lived in a great wooden hall built from mighty oak trees. King Wulfric was strong and ambitious, and kept the kingdom safe. He was wise too. Though not quite as wise as he might have been, if his queen had not died so young. But the king’s law did not extend into the forests. And because this was the Dark Ages, before men had learnt to believe that magic does not exist, a sorceress lived in the dark heart of the wood. She was just as strong as the king, and just as ambitious, and no one had ever been able to defeat her.

At least, no one up until now …

THE KINGDOM OF THE SOUTH SAXONS, 498 AD

Gwydion ran his finger under the collar of his tunic, and wished he could stop sweating. He could see the servants and guards looking at him sideways, smirking. He caught the subtle tone of mockery: ‘A flagon of ale, my lord? Or perhaps some sweetmeats, my lord?’ It was because he had grown up here. Many of the servants remembered him, and they knew him only as the son of the king’s falconer, little more than a boy. To them, he was nobody.

Of course, he had almost been less than nobody. A slave passed nearby, carrying a load of firewood for the kitchens, the permanent iron collar round his neck advertising his status. If King Wulfric had not freed Gwydion’s father, that would have been his fate: a piece of property to be bought and sold, to live and die at the will of Wulfric and the rest of these filthy Saxon usurpers –

Gwydion mastered his anger and forced a smile at the woman who had approached to offer him some bread. After all, his fortunes were about to change.

In the meantime, however, he was sitting in the outer hall, kicking his heels while the king dealt with other matters. The son of an Irish chieftain had arrived earlier. Gwydion had caught a glimpse of him and his companions, sweeping into the palace courtyard: laughing carelessly, sunlight glinting off golden torcs and polished armour, their horses splashed with mud. The Celt was just as tall as Gwydion, strongly built, as blond as Gwydion was dark. Gwydion had disliked him the moment he had laid eyes on him. But he had been waiting so long now; waiting for the day when his worth would finally be acknowledged, when his life would really start. Waiting, and planning, and giving up so much. He could wait a little longer.

Finally, the door to the great hall opened.

Gwydion stood up, adjusted his sword belt and straightened his shoulders. He walked through the long, vaulted room, past the assembled ranks of knights and captains, up to the dais where the king sat. There he stood stiffly, pulling his cloak forwards to hide the worn patches on his tunic.

The king cleared his throat.

‘Gwydion, welcome. And forgive me for the delay in receiving you. But now the court is assembled, to do you honour for the great quest which you undertook and accomplished.’ The King looked around at his courtiers, and gestured to a crystal jar that was displayed next to his chair. Inside the jar was a dark, shrivelled mass. ‘Behold, my lords, the heart of the Sorceress, cut from her corrupt carcass by the hand of this young man. Truly, Gwydion, I know not how to reward you.’

Murmurs of surprise and disbelief ran around the room.

Gwydion bowed. ‘Thank you, Sire. There is only one reward I desire: the hand of the princess I rescued. The reward promised to whomsoever should return her alive to Helmswick.’ Gwydion heard the courtiers behind him muttering. He ignored them.

The king picked up the crystal jar, as though to examine its grisly contents more closely. ‘To marry the heir to the kingdom – that was the stated reward, was it not?’ Wulfric replaced the jar and stood, wincing as he straightened up. ‘Come, walk with me a little.’ The king, leaning on Gwydion’s arm, passed out of the great hall into a smaller private room beyond. The room was dark apart from the bright squares of sunlight on the rush-covered floor, falling from the windows high up in one wall. ‘Help me to that chair, Gwydion. Then sit.’

Gwydion fetched a stool from the side of the room and sat near the king, who beckoned to a servant hovering nearby.

‘Here.’ King Wulfric said, as the servant handed Gwydion a small, cloth-bound package. ‘I have been waiting to give this to you.’

The package was surprisingly heavy. Gwydion balanced it on his knees and carefully opened the wrapping. A large gold brooch, fashioned in the shape of a wolf with garnets for eyes, glittered against the dark cloth.

Gwydion smiled. The wolf was the symbol of the royal house.

‘Thank you, Sire.’ He pinned the brooch to his cloak. ‘May I see Edith now? I did not speak to her about our marriage on the journey back to Helmswick, but—’

‘Gwydion,’ Wulfric raised his hand, interrupting, ‘I am afraid the matter is more … complicated than I anticipated.’

Gwydion frowned.

‘I see no complication, Sire. I have completed the quest.’

‘Yes, yes.’ The king paused again. ‘But you see, when I offered the reward, I did not expect …’ He straightened up. ‘The truth is, Gwydion, I did not expect the quest to be completed by one such as you.’

Gwydion felt the blood flame into his cheeks.

‘The princes and lords you sent out failed, Sire. Most of them didn’t even return.’

‘I know. And I would give much to know the details of how you succeeded where they failed.’ King Wulfric glanced up at Gwydion from under his brow: – a glance full of speculation – but Gwydion remained silent. ‘Still, the ancient law is clear, as is the mood of the council. The heir to the throne must marry one of noble blood. Of noble, Saxon blood.’ The King leant forwards awkwardly patted Gwydion on the hand. ‘But you can still be a prince, Gwydion. You may marry Audrey. She is only fourteen, but in a year’s time—’

‘Audrey?’ Gwydion clenched his fists. He could barely even remember Audrey. She had only ever been Edith’s cousin, an annoying child Gwydion had always done his best to ignore. In Gwydion’s universe Audrey was an insignificant, barely visible star. Edith was the sun. He had adored her since they were both children, and she had stopped the steward from beating him, had allowed him to join in her games on the lawns outside the great hall. By the time he was sixteen and Edith was fourteen, he knew he was in love with her. Since then, he had never thought about anyone else. And at some point, he did not remember when, he realised that loving Edith, gaining Edith, would bring him everything else he desired as well.

‘I did not kill the Sorceress in order to become a prince. You and the council think me too lowly to take the throne. But I love Edith. I always have done. And she loves me.’ He went down on one knee before the king. Wulfric, sick and weak as he was, would not willingly disinherit his only child. Councils could be dealt with. Laws could be amended. Gwydion took a deep breath, tried to steady the quickening of his pulse. Once he and Edith were actually married, everything else could be managed. ‘I saved her life, Sire. I risked my own life to bring her back to you. Surely, if she wants to be with me, to give up her claim to the throne, you will not prevent it?’

Wulfric gazed down at him, and Gwydion wondered why the king’s eyes were filled with pity.

‘I think you had better talk to Edith,’ Wulfric said. ‘Let her be summoned.’ A guard, who had been standing unobtrusively in the shadows, bowed and ran from the room. Gwydion saw two more guards, heavily armed, still waiting by the doorway. Did the king … fear him?

Edith soon appeared. She was pale and thin from her captivity, and Gwydion knew the long sleeves of her gown concealed scars that would never truly fade. The Sorceress had been bleeding her, stealing her life force to work dark magic. But she was still his Edith: her wavy chestnut hair was loose about her shoulders, and the copper colour of her gown brought out the golden flecks in her dark brown eyes. She smiled at him.

‘Gwydion, I am so happy to see you.’ She went up on tiptoes to throw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly before stepping back. ‘The healers would not let me out of bed until three days ago, and I was not allowed visitors.’

‘I know. But now we can be together. And we won’t ever be parted again.’ Gwydion lifted Edith’s hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘You need only tell your father what you want.’

Edith’s smile faded a little. ‘What I want? What I want is for you to be honoured in this country, as you should be, and for you to live in Helmswick, and to be happy. And maybe in time, when Audrey is older …’

Gwydion shook his head, as the first cold tendrils of doubt crept into the dark corners of his mind.

‘What does Audrey have to do with anything? You know how to make me happy, Edith. Tell the king you love me. Tell him you renounce the throne so we can be married.’

Edith stepped back, what little colour she had draining from her cheeks. ‘But Gwydion, I don’t understand. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember; more than friends. I don’t want to be parted from you. But I cannot – I cannot marry you.’

Friends?

‘What did you say?’

‘I said, I cannot marry you, Gwydion.’

Gwydion bit his tongue until he tasted blood in his mouth. This was supposed to be his moment of triumph – was the woman he loved about to snatch it away from him?

‘Edith, if you still wish to be queen, I will try to understand. But I’m begging you, tell me we can at least still be to each other what we used to be. Tell me that I can live here with you, and we can walk together in the grounds each day, and I can teach you about the flight of birds and the uses of herbs and the movement of the stars. Tell me that you love me.’

Tears started into Edith’s eyes.

King Wulfric stepped forwards. ‘Gwydion, while you were—’

‘No, father – I must tell him.’ Edith took Gwydion’s hands. ‘Before you came to find me, you were away for three years, Gwydion. I was only fifteen when you left. Three years is a long time.’

‘I went to seek my fortune. You were never going to marry me as I was.’ Gwydion closed his eyes briefly. ‘My father died while I was away. Did you know that?’

‘I did; he was a good man. Gwydion, I understand why you left. But you did leave. And then, before the Sorceress—’ She stopped, shuddering. ‘Before I was taken, an Irish prince came to stay here. His name is Aidan. I love you Gwydion; I love you like a brother. But I am in love with him.’

Aidan. The image of the tall Celt Gwydion had seen that morning flashed into his mind.

‘But I am in love with you, Edith. Did you never realise?’

‘No. Because you never told me so, Gwydion.’

‘How could I, until I had bettered myself?’ Gwydion knew he was shouting, but he didn’t care. ‘And how did this Aidan have time to come here and – and make love to you, yet not have time to rescue you from the Sorceress?’

‘He tried to. He nearly died.’

‘I wish with all my heart he had.’

Edith snatched her hands away.

‘If I could spare you this pain I would, Gwydion. You have to believe me. I would do almost anything. But I will not marry you.’

‘But your father promised—’

‘I should not have done so,’ Wulfric interrupted. ‘Aside from Edith’s feelings, it is a good match. Edith has a responsibility to our people. We need allies, especially given the constant attacks of those Kentish thugs—’

‘Father!’ Edith shook her head, waving a hand to silence him. ‘Gwydion, I will always be in your debt. You saved my life. But that does not give you the right to decide how the rest of my life should be lived, or to tell me who to love. I am going to marry Aidan.’

Gwydion stared at Edith; the sunlight from the high windows faded. The floor beneath him seemed to tilt, sending him sprawling against the wall. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand as his stomach churned.

‘Gwydion!’ Edith took a step towards him, but the king seized her wrist, holding her back.

Years passed in a matter of seconds. Gwydion realised he was shivering; he was cold to the very core of his body. Slowly, he dragged himself to his feet. Something inside him was changed, suddenly and forever.

‘The Sorceress warned me, before I slit her throat. She told me you would betray me.’ Gwydion saw the guards draw their swords, but he ignored them. ‘I vowed to love you, Edith, to protect you forever. I swore it over my mother’s grave, sealed it by writing the runes in my blood, and the vow binds me. I cannot physically harm you. But your father, your—’ Gwydion’s mouth twisted as he spat out the word, ‘—lover, they are a different matter.’

‘Guards, seize him!’ Wulfric drew his own sword, but Gwydion waved a hand, drawing a complicated symbol, forming air into bright lines of fire that hung there for a moment before fading. The guards collapsed and the key turned in the door behind them.

Gwydion advanced on the king. ‘Did you think I had merely been wandering the kingdom these past three years, wasting my time learning how to wield a sword or make songs about courtship? Did you think I could have defeated the Sorceress with nothing more than armour and courage?’ Gwydion drew another symbol in the air, and the king bellowed and threw his sword away as the metal glowed red-hot. ‘Fool. I have been using my time much more productively.’

‘Gwydion,’ began Wulfric, ‘you must—’

‘No. I don’t want to hear the word “must” from you. I don’t want to hear any more words from you.’ Another symbol: the king dropped to his knees, clawing at his throat, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

Edith backed into the corner of the room, her eyes wide.

‘Gwydion, what have you done to yourself?’

Gwydion didn’t answer, but moved forwards until he was only separated from Edith by a hairsbreadth. He tilted her chin upwards.

‘So beautiful. How was I to know that such a face could conceal such a heart? A heart just as black as the one now sealed in a jar next to your father’s throne.’

‘Are you—’ Gwydion saw Edith’s throat convulse as she swallowed hard, ‘are you going to kill me?’

‘I cannot. But I swear, that as you have snatched away everything I love, everything I hoped for, so I will take away what you love most.’ Gwydion drew out the small dagger he carried at his waist and slashed down across the palm of his hand. He pressed his hand to Edith’s chest, smearing the blood across her skin. ‘You will not know the form of your punishment, you will not know the day or the hour, but eventually my retribution will find you, Edith. And then you will suffer, just as I am suffering now. You will taste the bitterness of despair.’

He ran to a smaller door that let out into the courtyard behind the hall. There were horses stabled there, as he remembered. The guards and stable hands presented no difficulties, and soon he was outside the walls of the keep.

Gwydion rode without direction or thought for hours, without resting or trying to find food, hoping that bodily exhaustion would counteract the agony of his mind. When he finally realised that he needed some sort of plan, his initial instinct was to head south, to one of the coastal villages. From there he could make his way across the sea to the Kingdom of the Franks, or maybe to the Celtic tribal lands farther west. But as he rode away from the downs, the folds of the hills forced him east. A little before sunset he came to the marshes that formed the eastern border of the kingdom: a flat, treacherous landscape, carved by criss-crossing streams and dotted with stagnant swamps. On the edge of the marshes he dismounted. If he went any further this way, it would be easier to travel on foot.

Gwydion tied his horse to a tree and sat on the ground, trying to force himself to make a decision. The whole plan of his life, for as long as he’d had a plan, had been built around the idea that Edith loved him, and that she would be his if only he could find a way to show he was more than just the son of a servant. And with Edith would come status, wealth, power. Now his plans had proved no more than a fantasy, what was he to do with himself? He could still turn south and try to reach to the coast. Or he could go on into the marshes, and return to the only possible home that now remained to him: the hidden hall of his master, Ranulf, an old and powerful wizard who had taught him his magic. Gwydion had left with Ranulf’s predictions of failure ringing in his ears, and without permission. It was possible Ranulf would try to kill him on sight.

The last shreds of Gwydion’s pride pushed him to turn away and head for the sea. But the oath he had sworn to take vengeance on Edith – to fulfil that oath, he needed to complete his training.

He let the horse go free, and stumbled forwards into the marshes.

Gwydion reached the house just before dusk. It was a long, low building, built on stilts hammered into the boggy ground; Ranulf had placed a charm upon the wood to stop it rotting. Gwydion hesitated as he approached the door, but not for long; he had not eaten or drunk for nearly two days, and thirst drove him forwards. The door opened at his touch. He fell upon his knees.

‘Well, boy?’ Ranulf was standing in front of him, wheezing, even wider and more misshapen than Gwydion remembered. ‘So you have returned to me, like the filthy dog you are?’

Gwydion risked looking up; if Ranulf had decided to kill him, he would not be bothering with questions. But there might be punishment. And that Gwydion would have to endure, if he wanted to learn the darkest of Ranulf’s arts. He braced himself, expecting pain.

But to his surprise, Ranulf laughed.

‘That princess of yours did indeed treat you like a dog, did she not? A fitting punishment for a disobedient apprentice. You look like you have suffered enough; for now, at least. Come.’

Ranulf led Gwydion into the house, set some wine and bread on the table and waved him to a chair.

‘So, boy, it is eight months since you left me, so full of your own plans and abilities. What do you have to say for yourself?’

Gwydion looked down at his hands. ‘You were right, Master. You were right about everything.’

‘Tell us then. Tell us what happened.’

Gwydion cleared his throat, and began describing the weeks he had spent searching for the Sorceress in the great northern forest. Eventually he had found her, living in an ancient stone tower surrounded by a huge hedge of black holly trees: black bark, black berries, dark green leaves with thick, sharp, spines. He’d also found the bodies of some of the men who had already tried to break through the hedge. The branches had blunted their swords, and the spines scratched them and plunged them into a poisoned sleep, a perpetual night from which they never awoke. Inside the hedge, the tower was guarded by three enormous ravens, with beaks sharp enough to pierce chainmail and rend flesh. Gwydion had spent another two months practising the runes that would allow him to bend the holly trees and the ravens to his will, before he attempted the tower.

‘I caused the hedge to open before me, and the ravens to become docile. After that, the Sorceress presented no difficulty: she was old and weak and had no other defence in place. Her magic was mostly that of potions and curses. She was attempting to work blood magic, to link the power of the shadow realm to a human body and thus create a dark servant, but she had not the skill.’

Ranulf grunted. ‘The magic and entities of that realm are evil and full of cunning. To summon such a one, and keep it housed within another’s form, that requires more than blood magic. Great mastery and great sacrifice are needed. How did you kill her?’

‘I cut out her heart, since I needed evidence of my deed. Then I searched for the princess. Edith was very…’ Gwydion faltered for a moment. ‘Very ill. We had to journey slowly on our return to Helmswick.’

‘Hmm. Go on.’

‘I don’t wish to—’

‘I told you to continue.’ Ranulf lifted a hand, threatening.

‘The king promised Edith’s hand in marriage to whomever rescued her. But he is a cheat and a liar. And so is she. During our childhood, before I left to come here – she made me think she loved me. But it was all mockery. She is to marry another.’

Ranulf laughed, the same unpleasant cackle Gwydion remembered.

‘What did I tell you, boy? Women are all the same: false and cunning. Their—’ a fit of coughing shook him, forcing him to break off. Gwydion refilled Ranulf’s ale mug and pushed it towards him. ‘Their love is like a shallow pond, liable to dry up if they are not constantly showered with compliments and gifts.’ He spat a gobbet of blood on to the floor. ‘All love is but love of self, a woman’s love doubly so. You should be thankful this Edith has found another fool to make miserable.’

Gwydion sat in silence. He didn’t feel thankful.

Ranulf watched him for a while.

‘And what would you now, boy?’

‘I wish to complete my training. If you are willing, Master.’

‘For what purpose? And do not tell me it is for love of me, or for the love of learning.’ He sat back in his chair, waiting.

Gwydion thought a long time before he answered.

‘I wish to complete my training not for love, but for hatred. I want to become powerful enough to take revenge upon the woman who spurned me. A revenge so complete that she will curse the day she was born. I want to make her suffer.’

‘Very well.’ Ranulf held out his hand, waiting for Gwydion to kiss the ornate gold and sapphire ring he wore on his middle finger. ‘I will continue your training, boy. I will teach you the only true way to take and keep a woman’s heart, or a man’s: through blood and fire and dark magic. But there will be a price to pay.’

‘Of course, Master.’

‘Another six years, maybe five if you pay attention and work hard, and then, when the opportunity arises, you will be ready.’

‘Ready for what?’

‘Ready to create a monster that will serve your purpose. Ready to create a King of Hearts …’

For five years Gwydion studied with Ranulf. Every day he gained in knowledge; every day, lost something of that which had made him human.

King Wulfric, sick and frail as he was, did not long survive Edith’s return, and she became queen.

Edith grieved for her father, and wondered often what had become of Gwydion. And yet, Aidan filled her heart with joy, and the kingdom prospered, and in the fullness of time the young king and queen were blessed with a child. A baby prince, who might one day become a king …

Edith slid away from the warmth of her still-sleeping husband, threw a fur-lined mantle around her shoulders and crept into the room next door. It was not yet dawn; the sky outside was black. But by the firelight she could see the nurse, rocking the baby’s cradle and singing softly. The woman jumped up as Edith entered.

‘Your Highness. Did I wake you?’

‘No. Is he asleep?’

‘Just settled again, my lady.’

Edith leant over the cradle and gazed down at her son. Jack already seemed to have changed so much from the tiny baby she had held in her arms only six weeks ago. Edith loved to watch him while he slept, his mouth open in a tiny ‘o’, as if he were surprised, his little fingers clenching and unclenching as he dreamt. She had been so afraid throughout her pregnancy, so terrified that Gwydion would appear at any moment and do something to harm the baby. But Jack had arrived in the world unscathed and perfect. Edith’s happiness would have been complete, if only her father were still alive.

Jack stirred, and the nurse went to pick him up.

‘No,’ Edith waved her away. ‘I’ll take him.’ She wrapped a fold of her mantle around the baby and carried him back into her chamber. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. She settled herself and Jack on one of the wide windowsills, opened the shutter a little, and waited for the sun to rise.

A while later, after the darkness of the eastern sky had faded to grey, Edith felt Aidan’s hands on her shoulders. He wrapped another fur around her. ‘You’re going to catch cold.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Edith glanced up at her husband. She could see the concern in his dark-grey eyes: he always looked at her as though she was somehow ethereal, something fragile and precious that might be snatched away from him at any moment. Sometimes Edith found it suffocating. But it was also one of the reasons she loved him. She put her hand on top of his and looked back out of the window. The land outside was swathed in mist. Helmswick felt shut in, sitting on its hill above the woodland and farmland of the Weald like an island cut off from the wider world.

‘I don’t like this weather.’ She hugged Jack tighter.

‘Sea mist, that’s all. It will burn off soon enough.’ Aidan dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I must speak with the steward before our guests arrive. Don’t forget to eat something.’ He paused. ‘And do not sit there worrying. Today will be a good day, I’m sure of it.’

Edith nodded. But she could not escape the sensation that something was waiting for her, out there in the mist. As she watched from her window she could see the torches being lit on her father’s burial mound, pale smudges of light flaring through the fog. And then she heard the summoning bell, muffled, calling all to the ceremony. Her servants came in to help her dress. It was time.

Hours later, the great hall was filled with noise and light, heat and colour. The rulers of the neighbouring kingdoms, as well as all the nobles of the land, had gathered to celebrate the naming of the Prince of the South Saxons. All were dressed in their finest costumes, vying to outdo one another in splendour. All except one woman, simply clothed yet sitting in a place of honour, three small children clustered around her. Mistress Anwen was a witch, and had been a devoted friend of Edith’s mother. Until five years ago Anwen had lived at Helmswick, watching over Edith, guiding her as she grew. Aidan – whose people had embraced the new faith of the Christians – had not wanted to invite her. Edith had listened to all his arguments against witchcraft, and then invited her anyway.

Now, Edith caught the older woman’s eye and smiled, but it was an effort; she felt herself flagging. The woollen overdress she wore was beautiful: elaborately embroidered with intricate designs in gold thread. But it was heavy, and her tightly-pinned hair was giving her a headache. She could not wait for the day to be over. Still, the christening ceremony had passed successfully. Jack had hardly cried at all, and now there was only the gift-giving to endure. As a new mother, she had decided she could leave presiding over the feast to Aidan. She glanced up at him and found he was watching her.

‘You’re pale, Edith,’ he murmured. ‘Do you feel unwell?’

‘No. Only a little tired.’

He squeezed her hand. The steward continued with the presentation of gifts; already a table to one side was almost engulfed in a pile of gold jewellery, silver cups and bowls, fine cloths and barrels of Frankish wine.

‘From the King of Northumbria: a gold torc in a casket of silver. From the Kingdom of Gwynedd: two drinking horns with silver rims.’ And on, and on. Until, just when Edith thought she could not stand for another moment, the list ended. Aidan stepped forwards.

‘We thank you all, friends and neighbours, for your generous gifts to our son. And now, as is customary, we hope you will honour our hall by joining us for—’

But the end of Aidan’s sentence was drowned in an enormous crash that reverberated through the room. For a second Edith thought a thunderstorm had started, but then she looked at the opposite end of the hall: the huge, carved doors had been thrown open so violently they had broken from their hinges. A number of those standing nearest the doors had been struck down; there were screams and cries as people tried to free themselves from the wreckage. And standing there, in the middle of the devastation, was Gwydion.

‘Edith, get behind me!’ Aidan had jumped up and drawn his sword. ‘Defend the queen! Now!’ The elite royal guards started to force a passage through the milling guests, forming a shield-wall in front of the dais where Aidan and Edith were standing. Edith snatched Jack from the nurse and clutched him to her tightly.

Silence fell as Gwydion walked through the hall.

For Edith, it was like looking at a ghost. He was in many ways the same young man she remembered; less gaunt, less wooden in his movements, but still with the same shock of thick, dark hair, the same slightly uneven gait. But he was not the same. For a start, he was dressed entirely in black. Edith remembered Gwydion as something of a peacock, taking a childlike delight in brightly-coloured dyes. The only ornament Edith could see now was a large gold ring, set with a sapphire, glinting on Gwydion’s left hand. His mouth and eyes were marked with such lines of suffering and cruelty as to make his features almost unrecognisable to her.

‘I pray forgiveness for my late arrival, your majesties. I had hoped to be here in time for the naming of the young prince.’ Gwydion halted in front of the guards and held out his hands, palm up. ‘Surely, you cannot think I mean to harm the child? See: I am unarmed.’

‘What do you want, wizard’s pupil?’ Aidan shouted. ‘Edith has told me what you are, what you threatened. You need no weapon to work evil upon us.’

‘You know me, do you? That is good. For I know you too, Aidan Whiteblade, Aidan of the flashing sword. Who has not heard of your exploits? A prince of Ireland. And now king over the South Saxons, since you took from me the woman who was promised me, the woman who owes me her very life.’

‘I do not choose to trade words with you. Leave my hall now, or die.’

Gwydion laughed. ‘Oh, I think not. I am a pupil no longer.’ He leapt back and with his hands made a complex movement in the air: sinuous arcs of ruby light. Everyone – apart from Edith, who had already seen his skill with fire runes – gasped in surprise; some screamed, and started to run from the hall. The royal guards collapsed, unconscious.

Edith saw Aidan raise his sword and begin to run at Gwydion, and she grabbed at his arm. ‘No, Aidan. Stay away from him. You must look after Jack, keep him safe.’ She kissed Jack, passed him to Aidan, and turned to face Gwydion.

‘Here I am, Gwydion. Punish me. Kill me, if you wish. But I beg you, for the sake of the love we once bore each other, do not hurt my family.’

‘Edith, do not be afraid.’ Gwydion smiled at her, but Edith thought the smile a mockery of how he had once looked. ‘I am not here to hurt your son. I am here to give him a gift.’

Edith stepped back, placing herself directly between Gwydion and Aidan.

‘I want nothing from you, Gwydion. My only desire is that you should be whole again, free of this madness that has seized you.’

‘But I have not told you what my gift is yet. And it is a great gift. When your son reaches his eighteenth year, I am going to take him for my apprentice.’

Edith’s heart was hammering in her chest, so hard she thought it must surely smash through her ribcage. ‘Gwydion, no. Please don’t—’

‘And that is not all.’ He wrote another fire rune in the air, but this one was sharp and spiky and glowed white. It did not fade as the other runes had done, but hung like frozen lightening in the darkness of the hall. Gwydion stretched out his arm towards the baby. ‘He will be an instrument of mercy. He will free your people from the pain and madness of love. He will be the King of Hearts, and all who love shall fear him.’ The fire rune shone with blinding light then exploded into a hundred glowing embers that fell on to Jack’s skin before melting away.

Edith screamed.

Gwydion disappeared.

Three hours later, the uproar had subsided a little. Many of the guests had fled as soon as their servants could be roused, anxious to escape a kingdom that had clearly fallen under a terrible curse. Some had stayed, either from friendship or because they thought it might be easier to negotiate some advantageous treaty while the South Saxons were under attack from within. Aidan had ordered the household knights to assemble their companies, but as yet no target had been found for them to attack. No one had seen Gwydion since he had laid the curse on Jack, and no one knew where he lived.

There was a knock at the door of Edith’s chamber.

‘May I come in, my lady?’

It was Mistress Anwen and her three daughters. Anwen put down the youngest, a pretty, green-eyed girl of about two, and pulled the queen into her arms.

‘My unhappy Edith. To think that Gwydion should have become such a fiend.’

‘Can you help me, Anwen?’

The older woman shook her head.

‘I cannot break a curse such as this. My magic is protective, and Gwydion … It is many years since I have seen such power.’

Edith dashed a tear away from her cheek, as her last hope faded.

‘Jack is lost then.’

Anwen guided Edith to the bed and made her sit down.

‘Do not give up all hope. Three things I can offer you. First, advice. Send the child away somewhere secret, somewhere he can grow up hidden from Gwydion, and without fear of what is to come. Second, a blessing. Where is the baby?’

The nurse passed Jack to Anwen.

‘Poor little one, to have such trouble thrust upon you.’ Jack blinked up at her and smiled. ‘I foresee suffering in your life, Jack. But there will also be love, and those who love you will never abandon you.’ She traced her fingers across the baby’s forehead and chest – as though marking him with invisible symbols – before putting him back into Edith’s arms. ‘The third thing I can offer, Edith, is a promise. If in time I see a way to help you, to break the curse or to defeat Gwydion, I swear that you will have my aid. I will bind my daughters to this promise also.’

Edith glanced at the three girls. They were sitting in the corner of the room; the eldest – a blonde child Edith judged to be no more than five – seemed to be telling a story to the other two.

‘But they are so young, Anwen. It doesn’t seem fair …’

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