Copyright

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017

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 2017

Cover design © Blacksheep-uk.com

Ice © Shutterstock

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

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

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: 9780008182991

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008188443

Version: 2016-12-07

Dedication

For our mum, who was beautiful both inside and out.

E.C.

In memory of Geoff, for his love and enthusiasm.

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

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Authors

Books by Katharine and Elizabeth Corr

About the Publisher

Jack was sprawled on the grass, gazing up at the blue sky. Merry was lying next to him, leaning on one elbow. She had a paperback open in front of her, but she wasn’t reading. Instead, she was studying Jack’s face: the line of his jaw, the shape of his eyes, the curve of his lips as he thought of something and grinned.

‘What’s funny?’ she asked.

‘Nothing, really. I’m just enjoying the sunshine. Enjoying the fact that you are here, and Gwydion is not.’

‘Gwydion?’ Merry searched her memory. ‘He was a wizard, wasn’t he?’ She glanced back at her book. The paperback had gone, replaced by pages of parchment bound together with a leather cord. That was weird. But she didn’t really want to read, anyway – she wanted to feel Jack’s lips against hers. Tossing the manuscript aside, she shifted so she was lying right next to him.

Jack smiled, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Eventually Merry drew away and rested her head on his shoulder.

‘I’ve missed that so much.’ She shivered a little; the warmth of the day was fading and there were dark clouds gathering in the north. ‘You know, I think it’s about to rain. Let’s go.’ She sat up and reached for her bag.

But Jack didn’t move.

‘Jack?’ She nudged him. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

He shook his head, not looking at her.

‘You know I can’t come with you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m dead, Merry. You killed me, remember? True love’s kiss?’

He pulled the front of his shirt open and Merry saw a gaping wound across the centre of his chest, dark with dried blood.

‘Oh God …’ She pressed her hand to her mouth.

‘There wasn’t a happy ever after, Merry. Not for us.’

And now she could see that Jack’s lips were pale and waxy, and his eyes were cloudy, unfocused …

Merry gasped and sat up.

It was a dream. Just a dream. Or at least –

She brushed her fingers against her lips. It had felt real. He had felt real.

Grief swelled painfully in her chest. She pulled the duvet back up and curled into a ball on her side, hugging her knees, waiting for the hurt to fade. It was nearly two weeks since she’d last dreamt about Jack, or had a nightmare about Gwydion. More than three months since she and Leo had escaped from the Black Lake. Sometimes – on days when she was busy, or surrounded by people – it seemed like longer. But then a fragment of memory would stab at her, make her catch her breath, and the whole thing could have happened yesterday.

There was a photo of Merry and her brother on her bedside table. In the photo, Leo was smiling. She tried – failed – to recall the last time she’d seen him look that happy. Today was the first morning of the summer holidays. But the brighter the sunshine, the more they both seemed to be lost in the shadow.

She wiped a tear away from her cheek. The day began.

MERRY WAS SITTING against the trunk of the oak tree in Gran’s back garden, eyes half closed against the mid-afternoon glare, the bare skin on her arms and legs prickling from the grass and the heat. Her fingernails still ached from the surge of magic she’d just unleashed, and the back of one hand stung. When the potion had exploded, it had sprayed across the kitchen, a few drops escaping Gran’s hastily conjured protective screen. Gran had been testing her, watching her make yet another healing salve. Twenty-plus herbs that all had to be correctly prepared and added in precisely the right order, supposedly. Merry had merely tried to … speed things up. It hadn’t exactly gone to plan.

But it might have worked. If Gran had just let me finish what I was trying to do.

And if Gran hadn’t suggested – for the second time in the last fortnight – that Merry needed to go back to the Black Lake. Right at the moment when she’d been trying to concentrate.

She ripped a tuft of grass out of the dry soil. Being a witch meant becoming familiar with hundreds of years’ worth of spells and techniques and history. Merry understood the necessity, sort of. She had to be able to cast spells with the other witches so that she could become a full member of the coven. Witchcraft was a team sport. Or at least it was supposed to be.

But the endless, picky details were driving her crazy: a spell must be cast, and the results recorded, and each member of the coven involved in exactly this way, and this way only. Merry had done stuff by herself in the spring that none of the other witches in the coven were capable of. Not even Gran. Yet even spells that she could do almost without thinking had to be relearnt ‘the proper way’, which usually meant – at the very least – some sort of chant in a language that Merry didn’t speak. Because that was how everyone else did it, and that was how it had always been done. No shortcuts allowed.

Even if you’re powerful enough to use them …

Her fingernails were tingling again. She took a few deep, slow breaths, letting the frustration ebb away.

A tuft of dandelion seeds floated past, and Merry reached up to catch it. ‘Wishes’ – that’s what Leo and she had called them when they were kids. They used to chase them around the garden. She examined the cluster of delicate filaments, remembering the sorts of things she used to wish for – more pocket money, blonde hair: all the really important things in life – and trying to decide what she would wish for now. Right this second.

Being allowed to concentrate on the types of witchcraft she was actually interested in – that would be her first wish. Healing was obviously important. Selfless, and all that. But it wasn’t the kind of magic that she wanted to spend her life doing. Flying, or becoming invisible: those were the kinds of spells that made her heart beat faster. Or the Cinderella potion, one drop of which would transform the user into an utterly gorgeous version of herself. Gran kept promising they’d get on to the exciting stuff, but it never seemed to happen.

Her phone buzzed: a calendar alert. Probably reminding her about a coven meeting, or a practice session …

Merry grimaced. Being left alone for a bit – that would be her second wish. Because almost as soon as she’d recovered from the ordeal of fighting Gwydion – physically recovered, at any rate – her proper witch training had started. And the testing. Gran wanted to know why Merry’s power was still unpredictable. That was why she kept trying to get her back to the lake: to see how Merry’s magic reacted near the place where she’d first learnt to harness it. And the whole coven seemed obsessed with figuring out exactly how powerful she was, and whether the power would start to wane as she got further from the events of the spring.

Further from Jack.

She closed her eyes, shivering, remembering Jack as she’d seen him this morning: dead and cold at the edge of the water.

Merry never wanted to go back to that place.

But … But if I could go back to that time …

If she had a second chance, she might be able to do things differently. Find a way to keep him alive.

That’s my third wish, then.

Perhaps there was a spell for time travel. Or perhaps she could invent one. Though Gran would be less than impressed. Time travel was almost definitely not on the approved syllabus. Maybe it would be better just to wish for Jack to come back from the dead—

A wave of emotions – not hers, but somebody else’s, someone nearby – crashed across her thoughts. Ever since her ancestor, Meredith, had left her that night beneath the lake, this kept happening. It was like … like there was some vacant space inside her head, just waiting to be filled up by other people’s feelings. It was bizarre. Annoying, sometimes. But it was also intriguing. Merry opened her eyes and sat up straighter. The woman who lived next door to Gran was playing with her toddler in the garden. Merry concentrated, allowing her mind to float, to expand into the space around her. The emotions stopped being a random buzz of background noise and smoothed out into distinct strands of boredom and guilt. Or rather, guilt about being bored.

Merry drew back, trying to close off her mind. Before she could, another swarm of emotions surrounded her, as sharply delineated as ice crystals. Gran’s emotions. Exasperation, a touch of disappointment and … nervousness? Gran hadn’t exactly made a huge effort to hide her frustration at Merry’s progress, or lack of it. But why should she be nervous?

Just as well Merry hadn’t said anything about her new talent. Using magic to see inside other people’s heads probably broke ALL the rules. Besides, if by some miracle mind-reading was allowed, the coven would definitely decide to test the extent of this power too. Or tell her to go away and learn how to do it using the official, ancestor-approved method.

It was too hot. She grabbed her phone and texted Ruby.

You around? Need to go out. Anywhere with air con.

She’d had enough witchcraft for one day.

By the time Merry left the cinema that evening the heat had faded, but the air was still sticky, clinging to her skin like damp washing. Ruby – because she was six months older, and because she had the type of gran who bought her grandchildren cars, rather than setting them magical homework – had dropped her home. Now Merry was sitting by the window in her bedroom, leftover popcorn bobbing in the air above her head like a flotilla of tiny spaceships.

The film had been all right. She’d let Ruby choose, so they’d gone to see a romantic comedy – definitely not what Merry would have picked. Fictional happy endings held zero appeal right now. But it wasn’t just the film: the cinema had been full of couples being … couple-y. At least her mental barriers had held. Merry closed her eyes and tried to replay the evening in her head, imagining that she’d been there with Jack instead of Ruby. Jack, the screen-light flickering across his face, sharing her bucket of popcorn and holding her hand in the dark …

Merry swallowed and shook herself out of the daydream. Sitting here, imagining what might have been –

Jack probably wouldn’t have understood the film in any case.

Sighing, she reached across to her desk, grabbed a chunky A5 notebook and flipped it open to where she’d jammed a pen between the pages. This was her first spell book – or rather, the first that she was constructing herself. Gran had given her copies of what she called ‘the beginner’s standard works’. Four printed spell collections (technically known as ‘knowledge books’). Six books of instruction, stories and traditions (‘wisdom books’). But apparently it was customary (read: obligatory) for every witch to keep her own set of notes on the spells she tried, the effects she observed, and any other magical occurrences. The official name for this was a ‘journey book’. Merry had seen Gran’s journey books: thirty volumes or more of closely-written text, plus sketches and bits cut out from other books. There were even little watercolours. Merry flicked back over the last few pages of her journey book. In contrast to Gran’s neatly presented pages, her efforts so far were a bit … slapdash. There was a lot more underlining, crossing-out and arrows to show where something had been missed. The only colour so far came from fluorescent highlighters.

She pinched a piece of popcorn out of the air and popped it into her mouth.

So, where was I? Oh yeah –

She picked up the pen and added: and apparently I should have stuck to the exact order and just been more patient. But there must be a way to speed the whole thing up. I mean, who has the time to spend THREE HOURS making ONE potion? She chewed on the end of the pen for a moment. In any case, why do these long recipes have to be learnt by heart? Why don’t witches just save all this stuff to the cloud? Then I could look spells up on my phone.

Merry sighed, snagged another piece of popcorn and threw the journey book back on her desk.

Being a full member of the coven should have been kind of cool. All the sisterhood, and that. But surely there were alternatives to everything that came with it? Better alternatives, perhaps. Maybe she could be a sort of … freelance witch? A witch with choices. Possibilities.

Jack would have understood. He would have had something useful to say, if only she could talk to him. He would have taken her mind off the future, at least. Her throat tightened with sadness, and the remaining popcorn dropped out of the air.

Merry swore, sang the beginning of a cleaning spell and sent the scattered popcorn zooming into the bin. Her biggest regret was that she’d never taken a photo of Jack. Right now she could still remember his face clearly, but would that still be true after a year had gone by? A decade? Merry knew she couldn’t have prevented Jack’s death, and she’d come to accept that. Most of the time. But it still hurt. And she still missed him.

Then again, a photo might just have made things worse.

She got up and stretched. Maybe she could talk to Leo instead – if she had any idea where he was. He’d told her that morning that he was going to the cinema tonight, but Merry hadn’t seen his car in the car park. And he wasn’t replying to any of her texts. Still, for a witch, there was always another way.

Merry jumped up, grabbed the drawstring bag that was hanging from the front of her wardrobe, went into the bathroom and started filling the basin with water. Ever since what had happened at the Black Lake, she’d found spells using water – hydromancy – particularly easy. What she was about to do was, theoretically, supposed to be used for talking to another witch when no ordinary method of communication was available. She was just going to tweak it a little. If Leo ever found out, he’d be furious. But …

It’s his own fault for acting so weird, making me worried about him.

Merry had promised, after what they’d been through together at the lake, that she would always be completely honest with Leo. But now she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping stuff from her. Sure, she hadn’t exactly told him how much she was missing Jack. But he hadn’t exactly asked her. And she didn’t want him worrying about her when he seemed to be going through so much pain. Leo still couldn’t bring himself to even mention Dan by name. She’d begged him over and over to let her help him. But he just brushed her off. Every time.

The basin was full. Merry opened the bag; a small selection of stones – some cut and polished, some rounded like sea-washed pebbles – spilt out on to the bath mat. At least she’d remembered to cleanse and recharge the stones after she used them last. Merry selected a chunk of amethyst and a piece of tumbled aquamarine – both good for scrying – and placed them in the bottom of the basin together with her silver bracelet. She spread her hands wide above the water and sang part of the incantation Gran had taught her.

‘The Moon I invoke, a light in the darkness; the Pole Star, eternally present; enable my vision, show what I seek, but shield the seer from all who would harm her …’

The surface of the water became mirror-like, reflecting her own features, before fading to black. Merry closed her eyes and pictured Leo’s face.

Show me my brother …

And there was Leo, sitting in his car, hands on the steering wheel. But he clearly wasn’t driving. Behind him, through the car window, she could just make out what looked like trees.

Oh no. He’s at the lake. Again.

Merry stretched out her fingers, almost touching the surface of the water.

Poor Leo …

* * *

Leo gripped the steering wheel tighter and stared at the dark trees ahead of him. He knew he ought to leave. He knew he shouldn’t be here. Perhaps it would have been better if he had gone travelling with Sam and the others, but then he was convinced that Sam had been … reluctant, when he’d invited him. Whatever. He didn’t need friends like that. The result was that he’d stayed in Tillingham, and over the last few weeks he’d been coming to the Black Lake more and more frequently. It was like a scab that he couldn’t leave alone. To be sitting in his car in the car park, rather than down at the edge of the lake, was better than he’d managed before. But still, he knew that none of this was healthy. And it wasn’t going to bring Dan back.

The funeral had been difficult. He hadn’t dared show too much emotion, hadn’t dared risk revealing his true feelings in front of so many of his other friends. He’d gone home, tried to put it behind him, to carry on as if nothing had changed.

When in fact everything was different. He was different.

The future Leo had been planning in his head for so long now belonged to somebody else. He wasn’t sure that he even wanted any of it.

Leo turned the key in the ignition and reversed the car out on to the road. Maybe university would still be the best thing for him. It would get him away from Tillingham, away from what had happened here. And it wasn’t like Merry needed him any more.

He changed gear and accelerated, wondering whether Merry would ever learn a spell to see into the future, wondering what it would show. Him as a doctor, an overworked GP in some suburban practice? Merry still in Tillingham, running the coven? And would either of them be happy?

Leo pulled up in front of the house. The lights were on in Merry’s bedroom, which meant she was still awake, probably waiting up for him. Thankfully, Mum was on a yoga retreat with a work friend until Friday, so at least there wouldn’t be any awkward questions. But lately, Merry had been watching him closely, badgering him to ‘open up’ to her. Which wasn’t going to happen. A tiny part of him had somehow become convinced that, eventually, Dan would have loved him back. But there was no way he could admit that. Not even to his sister. So instead he’d made even more of an effort to try to act normal. But tonight …

Tonight, he’d messed up. Even if he’d stayed out for a couple of drinks after the cinema, he should have been home ages ago.

The moon emerged briefly from behind the clouds, and silver light flooded the landscape. Leo got out of the car, locked it and stood for a moment, gazing through the branches of the willow that grew next to the garage, out across the lawn.

Somebody was there. Someone was standing right at the edge of the garden, just beyond the overgrown rockery, looking up at the house.

FOR A FRACTION of a second Leo was paralysed, staring at the figure on the other side of the lawn. Then the clouds came over, the figure disappeared and, just as though a spell had been lifted, Leo was running: tearing round the back of the car, sprinting across the garden until he got to the rockery and found –

No one.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket – noticing that his hands were trembling, that all of him was trembling – switched on the torch and shone it around. There was the hedge that separated the garden from the road and the neighbouring houses. There was the unused, partly boarded-up greenhouse that Mum could never afford to get repaired. There was the back of the house, all in darkness apart from a faint glimmer coming from the bathroom. The whole garden was still, not even the whisper of a breeze to break the tranquillity.

Perhaps it had been Merry. What he’d taken for short, darkish hair could have been a hat. Or …

Leo reached the edge of the patio and the security lights snapped on, their yellow beams illuminating the entire garden.

He was being ridiculous. If there had been someone in the garden, the lights would already have been on. And why on earth would his sister be wandering around outside at this time of night? A car sped along the road in front of the house. After it had passed, the silence rolled back again. Leo yawned and squeezed his eyes shut. He never seemed to get enough sleep these days – maybe it was all messing with his head.

Just to be sure, Leo did a complete circuit of the house before going back to the car to get his bag. He walked up the path to the front door – ran a hand through his hair, trying to dispel the fog clouding his brain – and fumbled in his bag for his house keys. He was just about to fit the key into the lock when the front door swung open. Merry was standing there in her pyjamas, frowning.

* * *

Leo didn’t look especially pleased to see her. ‘Oh. I mean, hey. Were you waiting up for me?’ He shut the door behind him, locked and bolted it, put the chain on. ‘You didn’t need to.’

He sounded really tired. And tense. He didn’t look good, either. There were dark circles under his eyes.

‘I wasn’t waiting up for you,’ Merry lied, trying to make her voice light and casual. ‘It’s just that … I heard your car pull up, about ten minutes ago. I was wondering what was taking you so long. That’s all.’

Leo picked up the post from the hall table and flicked through it, but he didn’t respond.

Merry knew she should probably go to bed and leave him alone. But, after what she’d seen earlier, in the scrying water …

She tried again.

‘Leo, is everything OK? I mean … was the film good?’

He turned and looked at her. For a split second he seemed to waver, an expression Merry couldn’t quite identify flitting across his face. Then he shrugged.

‘It was OK. Probably not something I’d bother to see again. But the others enjoyed it.’ He brushed past her and walked into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to fill the kettle. ‘You want some tea?’

Merry’s insides began to knot up as she followed Leo into the kitchen. She knew where her brother had been this evening. But how was she supposed to bring it up without accusing him of lying, or without admitting that she’d been using her powers to spy on him?

‘No, thanks. If you’re hungry, there’s some leftover lasagne in the fridge. I could heat it up for you, if you like?’

Leo shook his head.

‘I ate already. Went for a kebab after the film.’ He smiled at her, but the anxiety didn’t leave his eyes. ‘Sorry I’m back so late, by the way. Lost track of time.’

‘No worries.’ Merry sat down and watched her brother as he made tea. He was fidgety, tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter, glancing out of the window every few seconds.

‘So, why were you outside the house for so long?’

‘Geez, Merry. Why don’t you just get me microchipped and then you can track my every movement.’ He opened one of the drawers, took out a teaspoon and slammed it shut.

‘Calm down – I’m only making conversation. You’re always out, I’m always training; I – I miss talking to you. Remember us talking? Remember when we used to tell each other stuff? It wasn’t that long ago.’

‘Fine,’ Leo muttered eventually, turning round to face her. ‘If you really must know, I thought – I thought I saw …’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Forget it. It doesn’t matter.’

Merry looked at him steadily.

‘Leo – it’s me, Merry. You can tell me anything. Right? Because after everything we’ve been through these past few months, I wouldn’t be fazed if you told me you’d found a secret way into Narnia through the bottom of your underwear drawer. Trust me.’

That brought a genuine smile to Leo’s face.

‘OK. Well, it was probably nothing. But when I got home I thought I saw someone outside the house.’

‘Oh.’ That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. ‘You mean, a prowler?’

‘Yeah, exactly. It was only for a second, but I could have sworn I saw … someone, standing in the garden. So I went after him. But there wasn’t anyone there.’ Leo went to the cupboard and got out a packet of biscuits. ‘There’s nothing else to tell. I must have imagined it.’

Merry shivered. The last time there had been an intruder in the house, it had been Jack. That night he’d crept into her room and threatened her with a knife – it was one of the times she’d spent in Jack’s company that she really wouldn’t mind forgetting. ‘I dunno, Leo. Maybe … it was an animal that you saw? Like, a really big fox?’

Leo raised his eyebrows.

‘Seriously? A really big fox. A giant mutant fox, in fact, stalking round the garden on its hind legs …’ He shook his head and sat back down.

‘Well, I don’t see how it could have been a person. Mum put extra protection spells on the house and the garden. She even got the coven to strengthen the runes they carved last time.’

Her brother looked surprised.

‘Really? I thought Mum was keeping a safe distance from the coven.’

‘She is. But they still came here after school one day when you were at work. Gran said it was unnecessary, cos it’s not like any more cursed Anglo-Saxon princes are going to show up. But you know Mum.’ Merry shrugged. ‘Anyone with “evil intent” couldn’t have got anywhere near the house. They wouldn’t get past the garden boundary.’

Leo just stared down at his tea, frowning. Merry nudged him.

‘Perhaps it was one of your mates. Come to drop something off? Or – I know: I bet it was Simon. He probably came to apologise, then chickened out when he saw you.’

‘No way, Merry. Simon hasn’t forgiven me for punching him and hasn’t suddenly become less of a jerk. He hates me. He made that abundantly clear when I bumped into him in town last week.’ Leo downed the rest of his tea, dumped the mug in the sink and stood there, head down, hands gripping the edge of the countertop.

‘Honestly,’ Merry began, ‘there has to be some other explanation. I’m sure if—’

Leo swung round.

‘What if … what if it was his ghost? What if he’s come back to haunt me?’

Merry’s stomach flipped.

She opened her mouth to say that there were no such things as ghosts, but thought better of it.

Because, honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t believe in magic swords and cursed princes this time last year. And those visions of Meredith I had were kind of ghostlike …

‘But why would Dan come back to haunt you?’ she asked gently.

‘Because it’s my fault that he’s dead. I should never have gone to Northumberland with you and Mum. I should have stayed here, warned people. Maybe if I’d said the words from the manuscript, I could have stopped Jack from … from killing …’

Merry got up.

‘Don’t you dare blame yourself for anything that happened in the spring, Leo. Don’t you dare! We did what we could. We both almost died.’ She put her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. ‘Dan was murdered when we were under the lake, remember? And if you hadn’t been there with me, Gwydion would have won. And lots more people would have died. What happened to Dan – that was Gwydion’s fault. Not Jack’s, not mine, and definitely not yours.’

She tried to put her arms around Leo, to hug him, but he pulled away.

‘But I could have warned him!’

‘He would never have believed you!’

‘I – we could have made him. We could have shown him your powers. He would have had to believe us.’

‘You’re wrong. People don’t want to believe in things that are scary or dangerous, not really. And even if Dan had believed us, who else would we have had to tell? The whole town? Let them see what me and Gran and the rest of the coven really are?’

Leo stepped back.

‘Is that all you witches care about? Protecting your damn secrets?’

‘Protecting you. That’s what I care about!’ Merry grabbed her brother by his arm. ‘You need to stop this. I know you miss Dan. But this isn’t healthy. And –’ the words came out before she could stop them – ‘and neither is sitting by the Black Lake obsessing about what happened. You have to move on.’

Leo shook her hand away.

‘What? How did you know?’

‘I’m worried about you. Really worried. So I … I cast a spell that would allow me to see where you were tonight.’

Leo shot her a furious look, the colour draining from his face.

‘You’ve been spying on me? I can’t believe you, Merry. Why didn’t you just talk to me, if you were that worried?’

‘But I’ve tried to! You know I have. I’ve kept asking—’

Leo interrupted her.

‘And as for me “moving on”, I’ll do that when I’m damn well ready to!’ He turned and strode out of the kitchen before she could say anything else.

Merry smacked her palm against her forehead.

Way to go, Merry.

She sighed, put the biscuits away in the cupboard and unlocked the back door. Switching out the lights in the kitchen she stood on the threshold, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The night air was heavy with the heat and the scent of roses blooming somewhere nearby, so still that every sound seemed muffled. There was nothing amiss as far as she could see. And yet …

She closed her eyes.

And there it was, like a single wrong note in the middle of a symphony, or a dab of jarring colour at the edge of a painting. Something barely discernible, but just not quite … right. So faint as to be almost not there at all.

There was something in one of the wisdom books Gran had given her. Something about certain times and places being … points of intersection. Points at which the boundaries between different realms of existence stopped being like solid walls and became more like Swiss cheese.

Merry locked the back door again and went up to her room. The summer solstice had been more than three weeks ago, and if there was something odd about their garden, surely she – and for that matter, Mum and Gran – would have noticed it before now? And even if they’d all missed something, the protection put in place by the coven had been enough to keep Jack out. The runes would hold against anything.

She was certain of it.

Besides, Gwydion and Jack were both dead. There was nothing left to be frightened of.

The next day Leo was out of the house before Merry was up, giving her no chance to apologise. In the daylight, she couldn’t pick up any hint of the strangeness she’d noticed last night. The garden seemed to be exactly the same as normal: suburban, ordinary, extremely non-magical.

At least she had plans for the day: a trip into London with Ruby and Flo, which would give her something else to do other than obsess about Jack or how much she’d messed up with Leo. She’d been hanging out a lot with Flo over the last three months; it was kind of relaxing, having a mate who knew the truth about her secret life, who understood it. And they had more than witchcraft in common. Merry couldn’t help wondering whether the last few years would have been easier if she’d been allowed to train, and if she’d had a friend who was going through that training at the same time. She really wanted Flo and Ruby to get along, and so far they seemed to be hitting it off pretty well. Her own relationship with Ruby was better, but it wasn’t quite back to normal yet. Merry hoped that shopping, eating and sightseeing – with a third person to smooth over any awkward silences – might push things in the right direction.

They caught the train from Tillingham station, and an hour and twenty minutes later got off the tube at Oxford Street. After spending the rest of the morning trying on clothes and shoes they really, really couldn’t afford, they bought some sandwiches and headed into Green Park. It was another beautiful day, sunny and cloudless. Ruby flopped down on the blanket she’d brought and stretched her legs out in front of her, face turned towards the sun. Flo arranged herself cross-legged on the grass, adjusting her huge floppy sunhat so that most of her was in the shade. Merry sat down in between the two of them and immediately rifled through her bag for her sunscreen. She squirted a big dollop of it on to her hand and began covering her arms and legs.

‘Blimey, Cooper!’ Ruby exclaimed. ‘Why don’t you live dangerously for once, let yourself develop a light tan? It’s the middle of July and you’re still Snow White’s even pastier sister.’

Flo giggled.

‘Gee, thanks,’ said Merry, pulling a face. ‘Flo’s wearing a sunhat.’

‘Yeah, but she’s already a nice golden colour –’

‘Thanks,’ Flo beamed.

– ‘whereas you …’ Ruby shook her head sadly.

‘Huh. You’re just lucky, inheriting your mum’s skin colour.’ Merry grinned, ‘Not to mention her dress sense …’

‘Take that back,’ Ruby scowled. ‘Right now.’

‘Yeah, yeah, all right.’ Merry pulled her sandwich out of her bag. ‘But while we’re on the subject, why don’t you tell Flo about your plans to take over the fashion world?’

‘Oooh, yes, please!’ Flo clapped her hands together and sat forward.

‘OK.’ Ruby put on her newly acquired, almost-designer sunglasses. ‘Well, people are always telling me I look good. Always asking me what I’m wearing. Aren’t they, Merry?’

Merry nodded.

‘So, I’ve been thinking I could become one of those online fashion/make-up/hair-care gurus. Only, like, much better than the other girls who are already doing it. So I started a fashion vlog. Last weekend.’

‘Fab, I’ll google you. Sounds like it’s going to be epic!’

Ruby laughed, and she and Flo began discussing the various crimes against fashion that were currently being committed around them in the park.

Merry took a bite out of her sandwich. It was such a long time since she’d had a day like this. Looking around, she could see dozens of other people hanging out among the trees, sunbathing or chatting or listening to music. And apart from Flo, none of them knew she was a witch. It almost made her feel normal.

Almost.

‘Hey! Are you still with us?’ Ruby was waving a hand in front of Merry’s face. ‘I said, do you know yet what you want to do next year? After we leave?’

Merry shrugged.

‘Dunno. Something to do with sports, maybe.’ Perhaps she could really work on her fencing, even take it up professionally. Jack would have approved of that.

‘PE lessons –’ Flo interjected, ‘one thing I’m definitely not going to miss.’

‘Me neither,’ Ruby replied. ‘Can’t wait for the day I no longer have to waste an hour a week being bored on a netball court. But seriously, Merry, what are you going to do?’ She sat forward, closer to Merry, pushing her sunglasses back on her head. ‘I know the spring term was hard for you.’ Ruby glanced at Flo. ‘Has she told you about what happened?’ Flo nodded, her face carefully neutral, and Ruby continued. ‘But you seem better now. Right?’

‘Better?’ Merry wasn’t sure what to say. Ruby was still smiling, but there was something in the way she was looking at her – searching her face – that made Merry want to look away. She’d so wanted to tell Ruby the real reason for her weird behaviour the previous few months, for missing classes and messing up at school, for never being around when Ruby needed her. She wanted to tell her the truth about Jack and Gwydion and the curse, about being a witch and all that it meant. Apart from Leo, Ruby was her best friend in the entire world: it would be amazing to let Ruby see her for what she really was. But Merry didn’t know how to begin. Perhaps she and Flo should just … show Ruby their powers. Turn the parched turf in front of them into a bed of multicoloured daisies.

Ruby tugged at the shrivelled blades of grass.

‘I just mean, that since that guy left, you seem more yourself again.’

Jack. Even here, Merry couldn’t get away from him. Not that she wanted to. Thinking about him, talking about him – even if she never used his name out loud – it kept a little bit of him alive. Somehow.

‘Um …’ Merry’s throat was dry; she took a sip from her bottle of water. Ruby tilted her head, her curiosity nudging at Merry insistently. ‘Well … Yeah. I guess. I mean, it would never have worked.’ She knew Ruby was about to ask why, so she rushed the words out. ‘I think he was still in love with someone else. Someone from his past.’ With Meredith. My ancestor from fifteen hundred years before I was born. Two witches from the same family, in love with the same boy.

‘Really? What a loser,’ Ruby commented, satisfied. ‘I’d want to seriously injure anyone who messed me about like that. Hope you dumped him from a great height.’

Merry stared at her friend.

You have no idea what he meant to me. And no idea what we had to do to him—

She caught her breath and shrugged, trying to look unconcerned even as her heart ached. ‘It was months ago. I’m fine with it now.’

There was a surge of sympathy from Flo; she knew a little of the truth about Jack, about how Merry had felt about him. But Merry could tell Ruby didn’t believe her. Not one little bit. A hint of panic began to swirl in the pit of her stomach.

Ruby nodded.

‘Good. So you can begin dating again. Prove to him that you’ve moved on. And I know exactly the guy for you – he’s completely lush.’

Ruby started swiping through the photos on her phone, looking for a shot of Mr Lush, talking about how amazing he was. But Merry couldn’t take any of it in. How could she move on from a boy she’d been so desperate to save that she’d been willing to let him die? It felt impossible.

Guilt mingled with the panic.

I really wish I hadn’t told Leo last night that he needed to move on.

It was time to change the subject. But her mind was blank.

Luckily, Flo came to the rescue.

‘Ooh – speaking of lush, I spent most of last weekend binge-watching Poldark. Have you seen it, Ruby? Aidan Turner is so hot.’

Merry’s hands unclenched as Ruby and Flo began a long discussion on whether people really used to work down mines with no shirts on. For now, at least, she was off the hook.

A few hours later they were on the train back home. Flo started texting a guy she’d met at a party a couple of weeks ago, while Ruby put her headphones on and seemed to fall asleep. Merry’s phone had died, so she looked around for something to read and located a discarded newspaper a few seats down.

The headlines seemed to be the usual mix of regular news, human-interest items and celebrity gossip. A politician had been caught doing something dodgy, some poor guy had been murdered for his collection of antique knives, and yet another Hollywood couple had split up. Nothing interesting enough to make her read the rest of the article. Until a picture of a woman caught her eye. The woman looked like she was in her early thirties, and she was going for a seventies hippy vibe: multicoloured peasant blouse, flared jeans, fringed suede bag. She was smiling flirtatiously over her shoulder. For some reason, her face seemed familiar, though Merry was certain that she didn’t know her. She looked at the headline next to the photo:

Birchover death: police believe Ellie Mills’s body lay undetected for days

Merry read a bit more of the story and grimaced. Ellie Mills. The name didn’t ring any bells. And where could she possibly have seen her before? After a while she gave up trying to figure it out and stared through the window instead. She watched the landscape streaking past, until her eyelids grew heavy.

MERRY WASN’T SURPRISED to be back at the lake again. Somehow, it seemed … inevitable. Whatever path she chose, she kept ending up in the same place. But today it looked different. The water wasn’t sparkling, or reflecting the cloudless sky above. Instead, the lake lurked within its hollow: shrunken, dark, stinking of rotten vegetation. As she got closer to the edge, she saw that it was choked with algae, and she thought, This place is dying …

Finding a clear spot, she knelt on the bank, staring down into the water. She could see him there, gazing up at her, his blond hair floating about his head.

‘Jack?’

He stretched out his arms towards her, struggling to reach her. Instinctively she leant forward – forward – until her face was almost touching the surface of the lake, until—

Terror suffocated her. Scrambling backwards, she froze the surface of the lake, trapping Jack underneath. But she could still hear him, beating on the underside of the ice, screaming her name over and over …

‘Hey, Merry?’ She sat up with a jerk. Ruby was shaking her shoulder; the train was just pulling into Tillingham. ‘You OK? You were muttering something in your sleep.’

‘Uh … no, I’m fine. Just tired.’

Flo was staring at her, frowning. Merry shook her head fractionally; she didn’t want to start discussing her strange dreams in front of Ruby.

Merry stumbled off the train after the others. Flo said goodbye to them there as she lived on the other side of town and was getting a bus home. Merry got into Ruby’s car and turned the air conditioning on to full, trying to blow away the cobwebs of sleep still clinging to her brain.

Thankfully, Ruby seemed happy enough listening to the radio as she drove.

Merry was supposed to meet Leo at Gran’s house for dinner, so Ruby dropped her off there. Gran was in the kitchen, and despite the heat outside, the house was pleasantly cool.

‘Hey, Gran.’ Merry kissed her grandmother on the cheek. ‘That smells good. Where’s Leo?’

‘I made a chicken pie. And he’s not coming. He called and said he’s not feeling well.’ Gran gave Merry a searching glance, but Merry didn’t offer any explanation. She was hardly going to tell Gran that she’d been misusing her magic to spy on her brother.

‘Can I do anything?’

‘No. Go and relax.’

Merry wandered into the living room, spent a few minutes playing with Tybalt – Gran’s tortoiseshell moggie – then began browsing her grandmother’s bulging bookshelves: fiction, political memoirs, history, lots of knowledge books and wisdom books. And in a separate bookcase, Gran’s journey books. Merry opened the doors and ran her fingers along the spines. Gran favoured brightly-coloured, cloth-bound notebooks, though the bindings of the earliest books were faded now. As her nails bumped across the rainbow fabric, Merry remembered the photo of Ellie Mills, and that strange feeling of familiarity. And then she remembered an evening at Gran’s house a couple of months ago when Gran had asked her to copy out a spell from one of the journey books.

Ten minutes later Merry was sitting on the floor, a jumbled pile of discarded notebooks by her feet, one open upon her knees. Here was the spell: a charm Gran had developed for getting rid of acne. And on the opposite page was a photograph. Gran, with a group of six or seven other women of different ages, all standing a little awkwardly among four large, irregular-shaped rocks. A younger Gran – it had obviously been taken quite a few years ago. The camerawork was a bit wonky, but Gran had helpfully written the names of the women underneath the picture. And at the edge of the group – her hair bright pink in this photo – stood Ellie Mills.

Merry took the journey book into the kitchen. Gran was laying the table.

‘Gran, who’s this?’

Gran glanced at the photo.

‘Oh, it was taken at a convention in Derbyshire, held by a local coven. We went on a day trip to visit a nearby stone circle. About ten years ago, I think.’

‘But why is she there?’ Merry tapped the photo. ‘Ellie Mills.’

‘She’s one of the local witches. I don’t know her that well. Powerful, but rather … scatty, as far as I remember. Of course, she was only young when that was taken. She might be more disciplined by now. Why?’

Merry hesitated. Gran didn’t seem to know Ellie Mills that well, but still …

Her grandmother was peering at her over the top of her spectacles.

‘Merry?’

‘Er, the thing is … I think she’s dead. There was a photo of her in the paper today, and it said …’ Gran had gone sort of rigid, staring at the knife still in her hand. ‘I’m really sorry, Gran. I s’pose it was an accident. I didn’t read the whole article, but—’

‘No. It can’t have been. At least, not the kind of accident you mean.’

‘But – you don’t know that. Even witches have accidents. Mum told me about your sister and the car crash. So maybe Ellie Mills fell, or—’

‘No!’ Gran slapped the knife down on the table. ‘You think you know everything, Merry, when you’ve barely scratched the surface of what it means to be a witch! I won’t …’ Gran clamped her lips together. Merry could almost taste her gran’s agitation: an acidic fog filling her throat and her lungs.

‘What’s happening, Gran?’

‘I don’t know.’ Gran sank into a chair. ‘There are no more family curses. But—’ The oven timer went off and Gran flinched. But she made no move to get up.

They sat for what felt like ages, listening as the beep beep beep split the silence of the kitchen.

The meal that followed didn’t take long; neither of them had much of an appetite. Merry started the dishwasher then sat down opposite her grandmother.

‘Well?’

Gran sighed and pulled the journey book – still open at the page with the photograph – towards her.

‘Witches are … hard to kill. We can use magic to protect ourselves from ordinary people and to avoid accidents. We can heal ourselves. Usually, we prefer to expire in our beds: all our affairs in order, friends and family notified, and so on. Witches can’t hold back time, and eventually we’re usually ready to move on. But our deaths are expected. Organised.’

But Ellie Mills hadn’t died of old age. Merry glanced up at the ceiling; it was getting dark outside and even with the lights on the kitchen felt gloomy.

‘Unexpected deaths have three causes,’ Gran continued. ‘Usually, the dead witch has been experimenting with a dangerous or prohibited form of magic – that’s why it’s rarely discussed. Covens are embarrassed and try to cover it up. Or sometimes the witch has been killed in a fight with another witch. Or a wizard.’

Merry swallowed, remembering Gwydion: how he had controlled her and attacked her with fire runes. How he’d tried to kill Leo.

Gran brushed a fingertip across the image of the pink-haired girl in the photograph. ‘Ellie isn’t the first. There’ve been at least five unexplained deaths in the last year in the UK and Ireland. More abroad, before then. I’m just not sure …’ She lapsed into silence, fiddling with the journey book, folding and unfolding the corner of one page.

‘What about the third thing, Gran? You said there were three causes of unexpected deaths.’

‘Well … There are stories. Myths, some would say. Or at least exaggerations. Very old stories. The sort that nobody wants to believe could be true.’ Her grandmother’s anxiety was palpable now, surrounding Merry like a winter mist, seeping into her pores and her bones. A thought flashed into her mind: Maybe I don’t want to hear about these stories. These deaths are not my problem. Not this time … She picked up her phone and pushed her chair back from the table.

‘Sorry, Gran – I’ve just realised how late it is. Can we talk more tomorrow?’

‘Oh …’ Gran blinked and rubbed her eyes. ‘Of course. I can lend you a couple of books, just in case.’

In case of what? Merry wondered. But Gran didn’t say. Instead, she picked up the journey book and opened the elderly microwave that was sitting on the counter nearby. Inside – bizarrely – was a cardboard folder. Gran put the book on top of the folder, fiddled with the knobs and shut the microwave again. It pinged into life.

‘What the hell?’ Merry leapt up, hoping to stop the program before the book ignited. But there were no flames. In fact, when she opened the door, the microwave was empty. ‘Where did it go?’

‘It’s a concealment charm. I use this microwave to store things. Come on, let’s get you home.’ Gran paused with her hand on the light switch. ‘Honestly, sweetheart, prohibited magic is certainly the most likely cause of those deaths. I’m almost certain.’

Merry stared into her grandmother’s blue eyes. And she knew she was being lied to.

Merry was back home now, sitting in the kitchen, drinking iced water and stroking one of the cats. In front of her were the two books Gran had lent her. One of them, it turned out, Gran had actually written. She ran her fingers over the words embossed on its front cover:

Wizards: Their History and Customs

A Witch’s Perspective

by

Elinor Foley

Merry flicked through the first chapter, about how differently magic was practised by witches and by wizards. It was pretty dry and densely written, another big wodge of stuff to learn, by the looks of it. She pushed Gran’s book to one side and turned to the other book. The title had worn off the old leather cover, but there were still traces of some sort of design that looked like lots of strangely drawn animals swirling around and intersecting one another. She glanced through the opening pages, then turned to a bookmarked section and started reading.

Once upon a time –

Just for a change, Merry thought.

– a young witch, living in a remote village in the north, boasted of her skill at spinning and weaving. She claimed to be so magically gifted that she could spin ordinary flax into the finest cloth of gold, fine enough to be worn by the king himself. The earl in whose lands she lived heard of her boast and, pretending that he hated witchcraft, had her locked inside a cell. The floor and the ceiling and the walls of the cell were lined with mirrors, so the witch could not use her magic to escape. Then the earl revealed his true purpose: using only the flax that grew on his estate, he wanted her to weave a cloth-of-gold cloak that he could present to the king. If she succeeded in her task, he would give her a dowry and set her free. But if she failed, he would coat her in tar and burn her alive in front of the castle walls, as a warning to other witches and liars. The earl told the witch she had three days, then left her.

Of course, the witch knew no spell that would allow her to create cloth of gold from nothing more than flax. The best she could do was spin the flax into linen, which she could enchant to appear golden. But such an enchantment would only last a few days, and who knew how long the earl would keep her imprisoned?

The witch wept bitterly at her boastfulness. Then, on the third night, a man appeared in her cell. The witch was scared, because although the stranger was clearly magical, he seemed unaffected by the cage of mirrors. The visitor offered to help her by turning the flax she had been given into gold thread, which she would then be able to weave into a cloak. In return, he asked that she should give him the life of her firstborn child. The witch hesitated and begged the visitor to choose another reward, offering him all she possessed. But he still demanded her child, although he relented a little, telling the witch that if she found out his name before he returned, he would consider her debt cancelled.

‘It’s Rumpelstiltskin,’ Merry said out loud, and the cat blinked in agreement. In the version Merry had read as a child, the girl wasn’t a witch. And she ended up married to the greedy king. But presumably the ending would be the same: someone would figure out Rumpelstiltskin’s name just in time, and the bad fairy – or whatever he was – would disappear in a puff of frustrated rage. She turned the page to read on.

So, in fear of her life, and thinking that she may never be a mother, the witch finally agreed. The visitor burnt an invisible rune into the witch’s skin, just above her breastbone, and settled himself at the spinning wheel to begin his task …

The next morning, the earl was delighted with the shimmering cloak. And, much to the witch’s surprise, he kept his word, releasing her from the castle and presenting her with a large bag of gold.

Now wealthy, the witch was soon married to a young man she had long loved from a distance, the son of a local merchant. She forgot all about her promise to the mysterious stranger, until she fell pregnant with her first child. The witch began asking all the travellers she encountered for news of a man who could spin flax into gold, hoping to learn her visitor’s name. But no one had heard of such a man. So instead she sought to protect her family from the stranger, seeking help from many other witches and wizards. And it seemed to work: no one appeared to claim the baby, and the little girl grew in wisdom and in power. Until, nearly twenty years later, the witch, now a widow, heard a commotion outside her house. Thinking it was her daughter returned from gathering herbs, the witch hurried to open the door.

It was the stranger, looking exactly the way he had all those years ago. And in his arms, he held her unconscious daughter.

‘I have come to collect my debt,’ the man said. ‘Have you discovered my name?’

The witch, overcome with terror, could only shake her head.

The stranger smiled. ‘Then I shall take what I am owed.’ He laid her daughter on the floor and sank his fingernails into her face and began to draw out her power, while the witch, pinned in place by the rune on her chest, looked on helplessly …

Merry shuddered and pushed the book away from her, not wanting to read the last few lines.

That’s not a fairy tale. It’s a horror story.

There was a bad taste in her mouth. She drained her glass of water and stood up. At the same time a crash came from somewhere outside; fear bolted down her spine like an electric shock. She turned the light out and hurried to the window, peering into the darkness.

The lawn, the flower beds, the outline of next-door’s house: as far as she could see, everything was as it should be.

Merry started breathing again, picked up her books and ran upstairs. Apart from the thumping of the blood pounding through her chest, the house was silent; there were no sounds from Leo’s room.

And now she thought about it, there had been no sign in the kitchen that Leo – not usually the best at clearing up after himself – had cooked any dinner. She’d never known her brother to be too ill to eat. He was either seriously unwell, or lying his backside off. Walking to the other end of the corridor, where her bedroom faced his, she knocked on Leo’s door.

‘Leo?’

No answer. She turned the handle carefully, peeped inside.

The bed was empty.

Anxiety chilled her skin, making her shiver. She went into her own room and texted him.

Where are you? Thought you were home sick???

She waited, then sent the same text again. And again.

After the fourth text, Leo replied.

I’m out. Don’t wait up. If you’re worried just use your magic to spy on me again.

Merry sighed. Leo was right: it was spying. She couldn’t forget the angry, disappointed look on his face. So instead she got ready for bed, slipping into her pyjamas and under the covers quickly. She texted for the next hour with Ruby, then picked up a new book she’d just got from the library and tried to read. But she couldn’t concentrate. Something kept niggling at her. Her gaze wandered over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room.

Merry, get a grip.

Don’t even think about it.

She returned to her book, but found herself rereading the same paragraph. She glanced at the wardrobe again.

Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.

But there was no resisting it. She jumped out of bed, went to her dressing table and fished the large key out of her jewellery box. Then she marched over to the wardrobe and opened the doors. At the bottom, pushed right to the back, was an old cardboard box. Inside that was the trinket box, the contents of which Merry had used to defeat Gwydion only three months ago.

She unlocked it. The braid of Edith’s hair and the manuscript still lay inside. Mum had suggested burning them, to celebrate the fulfilment of Meredith’s oath symbolically. But Merry couldn’t bear the thought of destroying the only things that linked her, however tenuously, to Jack.

She hesitated, then picked up the manuscript and took a deep breath. Heart pounding, she opened it …

The pages were completely blank. Just as they had been ever since the day the manuscript had last been used. Ever since the day Jack died.

See? Nothing’s wrong. No magical activity going on whatsoever. You can stop being an idiot now.

Her hands were shaking. She carefully replaced the manuscript in the trinket box and hid it in the wardrobe again.

It was really late now. She got back into bed and had just reached over to switch off the bedside lamp when she heard the sound of voices. There was somebody downstairs.

THE FIRST THING Merry noticed was blood. Deep red blood glistening on Leo’s face, matted in his hair, staining his blue shirt a dirty brown. Blood all over the hands of the guy who was helping him. Holding him upright.

‘Oh my God – what happened? You need an ambulance! Why isn’t he at hospital?’

‘No –’ Leo shook his head, wincing as the stranger helped him into the living room and lowered him on to the sofa. ‘I’ll … I’ll be OK. ’S just … bruising.’ He sank back against the cushions and closed his eyes.

‘But what if you need stitches? What if you have internal bleeding?’ Merry heard the hysteria sharpening her voice. ‘There’s so much blood!’

‘Not all of it’s his.’ The stranger spoke for the first time, his voice bearing the trace of an Irish accent. ‘He gave as good as he got, didn’t you, mate?’

‘He got into a fight? I thought – I thought there’d been a car crash.’

‘No. He was jumped. Couple of guys right on the edge of town. There’s an alleyway that leads down to the river?’

Merry knew the place he meant. It was an unlit, unpaved passageway between a car park on one side and the blank wall of a shopping centre on the other.

‘What the hell were you doing there, Leo?’ Her brother didn’t answer. Merry picked up the cordless phone from the coffee table. ‘I’m calling the police.’

Leo opened one eye. The other was swollen almost shut.

‘No. No police.’

‘But, Leo!’

‘Don’t. Please …’ He started trying to get up off the sofa.

The stranger reached over and pressed him gently back down again.

‘It’s OK, Leo.’ He looked up at Merry. ‘Maybe wait? Until he’s less distressed.’

Merry gritted her teeth.

‘Look, I appreciate your help, but this really isn’t any of your concern. I need to find out who did this to my brother. And when I do I’m going to bloody kill them. I’m going to – to—’ The ceiling lights flared brighter as pain lanced from her fingertips up the length of her arms. The phone slipped from her hands on to the rug. ‘Damn it!’

The stranger was watching her, eyebrows raised.

‘Sorry. I’m going to get some brandy.’ Racing into the kitchen, Merry grabbed a cushion off the sofa and squeezed it as hard as she could between her hands.

I have to get a grip. I have to take care of Leo. Everything else can wait.

Gradually, the ache in her fingers faded. But when she let go of the cushion it was covered in burn marks: five on each side. Merry stuffed it into one of the kitchen cupboards, found the brandy and poured some into a glass. She returned to the living room just in time to hear Leo groan.

‘Oh, Leo …’ Thrusting the glass into the hands of the stranger she leant over her brother, pushing his matted blond hair back from his forehead, blinking away tears as she studied the mess that had been made of his face. ‘I can’t believe someone would do this to you.’ Leo looked up at her with his one good eye, questioning. Merry understood what he meant: he wanted her to heal him. ‘I’ll try my best, OK? But it’s not my strong point.’ She glanced at the stranger, feeling some explanation was due. ‘I, er … I did a first-aid course recently.’

The stranger nodded his acknowledgement and held up the brandy glass.

‘Is he to drink this?’

‘Yes. Please.’

‘OK. I’m Ronan, by the way.’

‘Merry. Back in a sec.’

In the kitchen, she pulled the old first-aid kit out from under the sink. It had bandages and plasters in it, not much else. But at least it would provide camouflage for the real medical supplies. In the cupboard above the fridge Mum kept various potions and salves made by Gran. One in case of poisoning, one for burns (the same lotion Merry had managed to explode the other day), one for cuts. Merry grabbed the latter – and a small glass vial of green liquid, labelled ‘For Rest’ – and put them into the first-aid kit. Then she found a clean cloth, ran some hot water into a bowl and carried the whole lot back into the living room.

Ronan was sitting on the edge of the sofa, watching Leo. He stood up as Merry came into the room.

‘He drank a little. What else can I do? Or would you rather I just got out of your way?’

Merry hesitated. It was inconvenient having a complete stranger in their house, now of all times. But, on the other hand, if he had information about who had done this to her brother …

‘Maybe you could make some tea?’ Merry nodded her head towards the hall. ‘The kitchen’s that way.’ She waited until Ronan had left before turning back to Leo.

She started by washing the blood off his face and hands, trying to be gentle. But some of the wounds were still oozing. Leo flinched as she touched him, and Merry had to bite her lip to stop the tears that threatened to blind her vision. As well as a black eye, Leo’s mouth and nose had been bleeding, and he had ugly grazes across one cheekbone and over his knuckles. Removing the bloodstained shirt revealed bruises already discolouring his abdomen and ribs. She spread some of Gran’s lotion on the cuts.

‘That stings,’ Leo murmured.

‘Sorry. It’ll wear off soon.’

On top of each blob of lotion she taped a gauze pad; the grazes would heal and fade as the ointment sank into them, but she couldn’t let Ronan see that happening. Then she turned her attention to Leo’s black eye.

It made her stomach churn. The skin had been battered into a pulpy, discoloured mess, while the tiny slit of eyeball still visible was red with blood. There was a spell to deal with this kind of injury, but she’d never managed to get it to work properly. Gritting her teeth, she began to dab the lotion over the damaged skin. Leo moaned with pain and knocked her hand away.

Merry frowned, peering at his eye. Where she’d applied the lotion, the skin was reforming – but not in the right way. It was all puckered and lumpy. She swore and put the lid back on.

‘This stuff isn’t going to work on your eye, so you’ll have to visit Gran tomorrow. Understand? You can’t leave that untreated. And if Mum sees you like this, she’ll have a fit.’ She dabbed at a bloodstain on the sofa with the damp cloth. ‘Several fits, probably.’

Leo nodded and gave her a wobbly smile. Merry swallowed the anguish in her throat and forced herself to smile back. At least she could help him get some sleep.

‘Open your mouth.’ She let three drops of the green liquid fall on to his tongue, repacked everything into the first-aid box, then leant over him again, studying her handiwork. Leo’s good eye was still open, but he was gazing into the distance.

‘Hey, big brother.’ Merry ruffled his hair a little. ‘Do you know who did this to you?’

Leo focused on her, his face flushing. Then he shook his head and turned away.

Merry knew he was lying. Just like she’d known with Gran, earlier.

‘I promise I won’t … do anything. Please tell me.’

‘Not now.’ He closed his good eye. ‘Tired.’

Ronan walked back into the sitting room carrying a tray.

‘Sorry, I needed to clean myself up. Bloody handprints all over the teapot might be a bit … off-putting. And then I burnt myself on the kettle.’ He held up one hand, and Merry could see his fingertips were slightly red. ‘But don’t worry, I found ice cubes.’

‘Oh. Right.’ She spread a blanket over Leo, grateful to see he was already drifting off to sleep.

Ronan set the tray down on the coffee table and began to pour the tea.

‘How is he?’

‘Asleep, I think.’ Leo was breathing more evenly now. She picked up a mug of tea. ‘So, did you see who it was? Can you describe them? He said he didn’t know them, but—’

‘Hold on …’ Ronan pulled a phone out of his jeans pocket. Merry recognised it as Leo’s, though the screen had a crack across it. ‘It was lying next to him. I took a photo as they were running away, in case he wanted to call the police.’ Merry thought for a moment, then entered the day and month of Dan’s birthday to unlock the phone. The fact that it worked made her want to cry. She went to Leo’s photos and looked at the most recent image. It was hard to tell – the shot was blurry – but she was pretty certain she recognised one of the men. Simon.

That emotionally stunted, homophobic bastard. I don’t care what I promised Leo. He’s not going to get away with this. I won’t let him.

She scowled at the photo, trying to identify the second figure. One way or another, she was going to find out who it was. And then she was going to make both of them pay. Leo had been Simon’s friend since they were small: how could he, of all people, do this to her brother? It made her want to be sick, to scream, to smash things—

Fault lines shot across the phone’s screen, and as it crazed and fractured there was the sound of shattering glass. The lamp on the side table next to her went out.

Merry froze, glancing at Ronan; she’d almost forgotten he was there. ‘Guess the bulb blew. I’ll fix it later.’ She slid Leo’s phone face down on to the side table, trying to breath slowly, hoping their visitor didn’t notice her shaking hands or the cracked brandy glass that was now leaking amber liquid. ‘Um, Leo was lucky you came along. God knows what they’d have done otherwise.’

‘It was nothing, honestly.’

‘No, it wasn’t. Lots of people would have been too scared to get involved.’

Ronan shrugged. ‘I can take care of myself.’ From the breadth of his shoulders and the well-defined muscles in his arms, Merry could see that was probably true. His build reminded her of Jack; he had that same look of being physically self-assured, capable. For a moment, she let herself imagine it was Jack sitting opposite her.

I wish he was here.

And I wish – I wish the King of Hearts had killed Simon instead of Dan …

The thought shocked her even as it entered her head. But it was the truth. There was no point pretending.

‘Don’t worry about Leo,’ Ronan was saying. ‘I know that eye looks bad, but I’ve had worse myself. It’ll be better before you know it.’

‘I hope so.’ Merry fiddled with the edge of the blanket, staring at her brother’s profile. Magic could help with Leo’s physical injuries, but she didn’t know of any spell that could help him deal with whatever was going on in his head. Let alone what was going on in his heart.

Ronan was still sipping his tea. She thought about asking him to leave, but this guy might have saved her brother’s life; throwing him out seemed a bit harsh. ‘Well, thanks for helping him. I’m glad you were in the right place at the right time. Do you live in Tillingham?’

‘Just visiting. I’m kind of –’ He pulled a face, like he was hunting for the right word – ‘itinerant. A wanderer. I’m camping out in the woods, not far from the lake. Do you know it?’

Merry tensed up.

‘Yeah. I’ve been there. Will you stay for long?’

‘I might do.’ He glanced over at Leo again. ‘Tillingham is growing on me, aside from the brawling in the streets, obviously. I’m from Ireland originally; my mam and I left when I was nine and I’ve been back a couple of times, but I couldn’t live there. As you might have heard, it’s a bit on the rainy side. Not great for camping.’ He smiled at her suddenly. It was a nice smile, Merry thought. Slightly lopsided. Cute, especially taken with his tanned face, curly black hair and dark brown eyes.

Ronan drained his tea and stood up. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way. D’you mind if I come by tomorrow afternoon, to see how he’s doing?’

‘Um, sure. If you like.’ Merry stood up too, making a mental note that she’d have to tell Leo to keep the dressings over his already healed wounds. She led Ronan through to the hallway and opened the front door. ‘Well, thanks again.’

‘No worries. Did you recognise them, by the way? The blokes in the photo?’

‘One of them, I think. He and Leo … they used to be friends. But then—’ She stopped, uncertain how much Leo would want her to share. ‘Then he turned out to be a jerk.’

‘Poor Leo. I heard the names they were calling him. And I know what that’s like – to be attacked for being different.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, goodnight then, Merry.’

‘Night.’

Merry watched Ronan climb into a rather ropy-looking transit van and drive away. Once he was out of sight she locked the door and ran upstairs; it made more sense to sleep on the floor next to Leo rather than wake him up again. She grabbed her duvet and pillow and was about to leave the room when she noticed her wardrobe was open. Frowning, she twisted the key back and forth in the lock a couple of times. She could have sworn she’d locked it earlier. But of course the trinket box was still there, hidden at the back under a couple of bags. Locking the wardrobe door, she leant against it for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut, yawning.

She’d been meaning to put a warding spell on the wardrobe. It was definitely on her to-do list. But it could wait until morning. Proper morning, not middle-of-the night morning.

After all, the job the box was created for was finished. No one would be interested in it now.

Merry woke about three hours later with an aching back and cramp in one foot. Leo was still fast asleep on the sofa. Carefully she peeled back one of the gauze pads; underneath was fresh, unbroken skin, only slightly pink. His eye still looked terrible, though. Worse, if anything, than last night. Bile rose in Merry’s throat.

That Simon is such a horrible, vicious, evil …

There weren’t any adjectives bad enough. She went upstairs to get dressed.

Merry ran the whole way to Simon’s parents’ house, and with each step she planned her revenge, each scenario darker than the last: baldness – skin disease – crippling, incurable pain. Horns growing out of his head; horns and a long, forked tail, so everyone would know exactly what he was. By now it was a little past five, and she was standing on the driveway next to Simon’s car – much newer and shinier than Leo’s crappy black Peugeot. The sun had only just risen and no one was around. Simon’s bedroom was the front right window. She could put a curse on him easily. As easy as breathing.

I haven’t taken the coven’s oath yet.

I can do exactly what I like.

Merry raised her hands. She felt the power building at her fingertips, pulsing underneath her skin. The air around her began to shimmer slightly in the pale grey light.

And yet …

And yet she hadn’t ever actually cursed anyone. She’d defended herself against Gwydion, but that wasn’t the same as deliberately choosing to hurt someone. Someone who had no chance of fighting back.

She gritted her teeth in frustration, nails aching with the build-up of magic. What was the point in being a witch, of having all this power, if she couldn’t take revenge on the guy who’d beaten up her brother?

Get on with it, Merry. Do it. Punish him …

The pain got worse. Any minute now she was going to lose control. She wanted to lose control …

‘Hell—’ Merry jerked her hands downwards just as the power exploded silently out of her fingers, sending it across Simon’s car, gouging deep grooves into the paintwork and the glass, warping the metal, taking chunks out of the hubcaps.

The pain faded to a tingling, fizzing sensation. When that had faded too, Merry lowered her hands.

The car was a wreck. As she watched, one of the hubcaps fell off and rolled away into the street. Better than nothing. But she didn’t smile as she turned away.

Leo was in the kitchen when she got home.

‘Where have you been?’ His one good eye peered at her suspiciously.

‘Er … out for a run.’ There had been running involved, after all. ‘I woke up early.’

‘Want some coffee?’

Merry nodded and leant against the counter next to her brother.

‘How are you feeling?’ She studied his face. ‘Everything looks normal again. Apart from your eye. Your eye is hideous.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ Leo put two mugs of coffee on the table and sat down. ‘Hope I don’t put you off your breakfast.’

‘Don’t be mean. I’m worried about you. Are you going to visit Gran?’

‘Obviously.’

It was hardly obvious, given how argumentative her brother was being. But Merry let it slide.

‘Want some toast?’

He nodded, so she went to get the bread out, wondering whether she should mention that she knew about Simon. Leo was just sitting there, slouched over his coffee cup. She watched him for a few moments. Maybe she should keep her mouth shut and let him bring it up when he was ready. Besides, if he found out what happened to Simon’s car, and he knew that she knew …

Stick to casual conversation. That was a good idea. She put their breakfast on the table and sat down again.

‘So … that was lucky. That guy coming along last night. Ronan.’

No reply.

‘He said he was a wanderer. He’s living in a tent in the woods. Near the lake.’

‘I know. He told me about it while he was driving me home.’

‘Oh.’ Merry took a bite of toast. ‘Not sure I’d fancy it, though, even if he’d chosen a different location: all the creepy-crawlies. Plus, not having a shower, or a washing machine.’

Leo pushed his plate away.

‘You’re so … judge-y. There’s nothing wrong with not having much. I bet he’s a nicer person than lots of the people round here with loads of money.’

Merry rolled her eyes.

‘Give me a break, Leo. I didn’t mean—’

‘They were beating the crap out of me, Merry. I might have ended up in hospital if it hadn’t been for Ronan. It was … terrible.’

‘I know. I’m really sorry.’

Leo bit his lip, pressing the heel of one hand against his uninjured eye.

‘I just …’

‘What?’

He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

Merry could almost hear her brother’s agony, like he was screaming inside his head, reliving the betrayal and the pain. She wanted to hug him and shake him at the same time, to tell him that she knew the truth and that he didn’t have to suffer on his own.

‘Leo—’

‘Don’t, Merry.’ He stood up. ‘I know what you’re going to ask. But I didn’t see them properly. And even if I had recognised them –’ He seemed to catch his breath, a quick, shuddering gasp that he turned into a cough – ‘even if I had, I can fight my own battles. I don’t need you to – to run around after me like I’m a child, like you’re trying to fix my life.’ He turned to leave the room, but stopped to add: ‘Even a witch can’t just wave a magic wand and make everything better. You should know that by now.’

He left the kitchen and stomped up the stairs. A few moments later, Merry heard the bathroom door slam.

She sighed and started clearing the table. So much for casual conversation.

They had to get a bus to Gran’s house. Leo didn’t feel comfortable driving with one eye out of use. The journey – luckily – wasn’t long. They sat on the top deck, Leo wearing his sunglasses, staring out of the window and drumming his fingers on his knees. Merry tried to talk to him about Ellie Mills and the other dead witches, and the story she’d read, but his replies were monosyllabic. Eventually she gave up and started looking at some new photos Ruby had posted on Instagram: her dad’s parents on their farm, windswept on the north Norfolk coast, interspersed with pictures of her cousins in St Lucia, smiling and squinting in the sunshine. She scrolled up and down through the photos hungrily.

Must be nice, having a normal family. Without quite so much drama.

Fifteen minutes later they were on Gran’s doorstep. As usual, the door opened as they approached. Gran was on the phone when they walked in, but she waved them through to the kitchen, finished her call and gave Leo a hug.

‘My poor darling. Let me have a look.’

Leo took off his sunglasses and Gran tilted his head towards the light.

‘Nasty. But easily dealt with. I’m surprised you couldn’t take care of it, Merry.’

‘Well, the lotion didn’t work. And I have been practising that spell you showed me, but I’m still not confident about actually using it.’ She dropped her gaze. ‘I fixed everything else, though.’

‘Hmm.’ Gran pursed her lips. ‘Well, it won’t take long.’

Merry and Leo sat down at the kitchen table. Gran got a tall green bottle out of one of the cupboards and poured a little of the liquid – violently pink and viscous – on to a cloth. Merry caught the scent of lavender, masking something else: something darker and more pungent.

‘OK, Leo. I need you to hold the cloth over your eye. The spell is effective but rather painful, unfortunately. The liquid on the cloth will take the edge off.’

Leo blanched. ‘Actually, maybe I should wait for it to get better on its own.’

‘Don’t be a baby. Sit still.’

Leo glanced at his sister apprehensively. Merry shrugged and tried to look sympathetic – There’s no point arguing, this is Gran we’re dealing with – and took hold of his free hand. As he pressed the damp cloth to his swollen eye, Gran placed her hands over his and began to sing.

Merry recognised the words. She’d sung them herself often enough, though with no discernible effect. The charm was in Latin, the rough sense of it being an order to the skin to knit back together, repair and renew itself. And it seemed to be working: Leo was gritting his teeth, holding her hand so tightly her fingers hurt. Finally, the last note of the last phrase died away. Leo slumped forward, gasping for breath.

‘Well done, darling.’ Gran pulled his hand and the cloth away from his eye: the skin round his eye was slightly pink, like underneath a scab, but the cuts and the bruising had all but disappeared. As Merry watched, even the pinkness faded, until it was impossible to tell that he’d ever been injured. Leo blinked, opening one eye then the other.

‘My vision’s a bit blurry.’

‘It will settle down soon.’ Gran turned to Merry. ‘That’s what you need to aim for.’

‘Fine, I understand.’ Merry tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. ‘But what about the guys who attacked him? Leo’s refusing to go to the police.’ She waved at Leo’s face. ‘And you just got rid of the evidence.’

‘Merry—’ Leo began, but Gran cut across him.

‘Leo should have gone to the police last night. You should have called them when he got home.’

Merry huffed. So somehow this was her fault too?

‘But,’ Gran continued, ‘since he didn’t want to, the best we can do is put some charms on your brother, protect him from any further physical attacks. I’m sure you can manage it.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! He could have been killed. Even with the oath, there must be something you could do to – to find out who it was.’ She felt her face flush. ‘To punish them.’

Gran put her hands on her hips.

‘What are you expecting, Merry? That we should choose which laws to enforce, decide who’s guilty and hand out sentences? Those things can’t be up to us. It would be too dangerous. Can you imagine a world where people with our kind of power set themselves up in judgement?’

Merry didn’t reply. She understood what Gran was saying. But for Simon to escape scot-free after what he’d done to Leo – it was just wrong.

Gran was checking Leo’s eye again.

‘Vision better?’

Leo nodded. ‘Thanks, Gran.’

‘OK. Now, you can stay if you like, but I have a lot of work to get on with. I’ve had a visitor already this morning and he’s put me terribly behind.’ She turned away and started gathering up some papers that were spread out across the countertop.

‘Anyone we know?’

Gran shook her head.

‘A wizard.’

Merry’s hands gripped the edge of her seat.

‘A wizard? But why did he come here? And why did you let him in?’

Her grandmother finished putting the papers in order – murmuring something to herself as she did so – before turning back to them.

‘It’s customary, if a new witch or wizard moves into the area of an established coven, to visit the head of that coven. Out of courtesy.’ Gran sighed, clearly exasperated. ‘Honestly, Merry, there’s no need for you to be quite so anxious. There are no wizards I trust, only a handful I can tolerate and perhaps two that I count as friends. And I certainly wouldn’t be happy about you spending any more time with a wizard than was strictly necessary. But they are not all deliberately obnoxious. And I know no actual harm of the one who visited me this morning. He’s young, and he obviously has only a slight idea of correct etiquette, but I suppose I shouldn’t hold that against him.’

Merry loosened her grip on the chair fractionally. Obviously, not all wizards were going to be psychopathic crazy guys like Gwydion. Even so. She glanced at her brother, but he was yawning and looking deeply uninterested in the whole conversation.

‘Fine.’ She stood up. ‘We may as well go – we have to catch the bus back. Bye, Gran.’

‘Don’t forget our training session.’

‘I won’t forget.’

Much as I’d like to.

But that never seemed to be an option.

THE BUS TURNED up, eventually. As they queued to get on, Merry spotted one of Leo’s old school friends already on the bus, but her brother didn’t seem to notice him. He went upstairs to the stiflingly hot top deck, dropped into a seat at the back, pulled an ancient iPod out of his pocket and put his headphones on.

Merry did the same for a while, sinking into the music, singing along inside her head, tapping out the rhythms on her knee. The muggy air and the glare of the sun through the window was making her eyelids heavy. But she suddenly realised that having Leo next to her was too good an opportunity to waste: the way he’d been recently, she didn’t know when she’d next get to talk to him alone. She paused her playlist and nudged him with her elbow.

‘What?’ He pulled one earbud out.

‘I was wondering, when do you want me to put the protective charms on you? I need to look some stuff up, and I’m going to be working at the cafe this afternoon, but I could have a go this evening if you like.’

‘Don’t bother. I’ll be fine.’ He pushed the earbud back in.

Merry yanked it out again.

‘Hey!’ Leo glared at her.

‘What do you mean, “I’ll be fine”? You don’t know that. I have to keep you safe, and witchcraft is the only way I can do it.’

‘Witchcraft?’ He groaned, running one hand through his hair. ‘You all act like it’s so great, but it isn’t. Charms and spells and curses … It was magic that got you involved with Gwydion. It was magic that killed Jack.’ He shifted in his seat, turning away from her.

Merry stared at the back of his head for a few moments. He was sort of right, but …

‘What about your eye, though? And all the other injuries you had?’ She poked him in the back. ‘Magic fixed you. Otherwise you’d still be lying in bed bleeding.’

Leo swung round.

‘Well, that’s another problem, isn’t it? I’m going to medical school in September, supposedly. I’m going to have to study for five years and train for even longer so I can be a doctor. But what’s the point?’ He flung his hands up in a shrug. ‘Why should I bother when Gran can throw some pink liquid around, sing a few bars of terrible music and heal me, just like that?’

Merry opened her mouth to reply, but Leo wasn’t done.

‘You lot have all this power, but who benefits? Your families, maybe. And a handful of locals who still believe the legends and stories, and aren’t too proud to go to the resident wise woman when they need some help. Nobody else. Oh, you go on about protecting your identities like you’re so many superheroes. But you’re selfish, basically. You just want to keep the power to yourselves.’

‘That’s not true! You know it’s not true. People would be terrified of us if we didn’t keep it secret.’ Merry looked around at the empty seats as if they might give her some inspiration. ‘Helping people without them knowing that we’re helping them is really hard. And the coven aren’t perfect. But they try. You know they try.’

Her brother shrugged, crossed his arms and sank lower in his seat.

‘They helped me, back in April.’ She paused. ‘Or would you rather they hadn’t bothered?’

‘Course not.’ Leo was flicking the on-off switch of the iPod back and forth with his thumbnail. ‘Of course I’m glad they helped you. And I’m glad you could stop Gwydion.’ He stared at her, searching her face. ‘You know that, right?’

Merry nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘But I …’ he sighed. ‘I dunno. I’m tired, I guess. I need …’

‘What?’

Leo twitched one eyebrow upwards.

‘To get away from here, maybe. Lately, I feel like something about this place is sort of … sucking at me. Sucking away my energy.’ He yawned and rubbed his eyes. ‘Ignore me. Like I said, I’m tired.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘It’s nearly our stop. Come on.’

They walked in silence back to the house, Merry trailing a few steps behind her brother, watching his hunched shoulders. It was hardly surprising he was in a bad mood, given what he’d just been through. She could still feel the pain she’d sensed earlier, like a long, continuous howl of anguish. Was it new, this agony? Or had it been there all the while and she’d just been too wrapped up in witchcraft and in her own loss to notice it?

I wish I could make him better. I wish, I wish.

Not paying attention, she turned off the road and bumped straight into Leo, standing motionless in middle of the driveway.

A transit van was parked in front of the house. And there, sitting on the front step, was Ronan.

He glanced up from his phone and smiled at them.

Leo turned and looked at her, his eyes wide, and Merry knew her brother was thinking the same thing: how on earth were they going to explain Leo’s miraculous recovery?

Ronan was walking towards them. There were spells to alter perception and memory, but Merry didn’t know them off by heart. Meanwhile Leo was fumbling in his bag for his sunglasses, but it was definitely going to be too late.

‘Leo!’ Ronan clapped one hand on Leo’s shoulder. ‘You look great. So much better than yesterday.’ He scanned Leo’s face. ‘So much better than I expected, to be honest.’

For a moment nobody spoke. Merry could feel the blood rushing up to crimson her face. Leo, also scarlet, was staring at the tarmacked ground. She had to think of something. She had at least to say something.

‘Um …’

‘Are you a witch?’ Ronan suddenly asked. ‘Or do you just happen to know one?’

Leo’s head snapped up. He took a step sideways to stand in front of Merry.

‘What do you want?’

Ronan laughed.

‘Relax. I’m not about to reach for my pitchfork and start trying to burn people at the stake. Not my style.’

Leo didn’t move.

‘I said, what do you want?’

Ronan backed away a little, holding his hands up, palms out.

‘Really, I just came to see how you were doing. And I know about witches because I’m one too. Well –’ he shrugged – ‘a wizard. So can I put my hands down now? Please?’

A wizard?

Merry didn’t know how to react. Sure, she was relieved that she didn’t have to come up with some plausible explanation for Leo’s unbruised features. But her brain was simultaneously sending a massive, flashing ‘DANGER!’ alert to the rest of her body. Her fingernails started to tingle.

Get a grip, Merry. Get a grip.

‘A wizard?’ Leo exhaled loudly, shaking his head. ‘Sure, you can put your hands down. Why didn’t you say something last night?’

‘Generally, I don’t go around advertising the fact to folks I don’t know. They tend not to react so well. Besides, my healing spells aren’t all that great, to be honest. I didn’t think I could do anything to help.’

‘Are you kidding? You saved my life.’ Leo stuck his hand out. ‘I owe you one.’

‘It was my pleasure.’ Ronan took Leo’s hand. But instead of shaking it, he pulled Leo into a brief hug. ‘Honestly, any time. So,’ he glanced at Merry, ‘are we good?’

Were they? Merry hesitated. Gran had told her – less than two hours ago – that wizards were untrustworthy. But this one had actually rescued her brother. Had turned up again today to visit him. And there was Leo looking all … smiley.

What wouldn’t I put up with to have Leo happy again?

‘Of course.’ She nodded. ‘We’re good.’

‘Grand.’ He smiled. ‘So, listen, I have to take off, but I wonder if you fancy watching the footy tomorrow? We could go to one of the pubs in town, have a couple of drinks …’ He trailed off, looking enquiringly at Leo. Obviously, the invitation wasn’t meant for both of them. Leo was already nodding enthusiastically.

‘Definitely, sounds great.’

‘Excellent. Here’s my number.’ Ronan pulled a pen out of his pocket, took Leo’s hand in his and wrote on the back of it. ‘Text me later and I’ll tell you which pub I’m going to.’ He waved at Merry and climbed into the van. She watched as he reversed out of the driveway and took off in the direction of the Black Lake.

‘Huh.’ Ronan was not what she’d expected, when Gran talked about a visiting wizard. Because it had to be him; how many wizards could there be, wandering around an average market town at the edge of Surrey? Clearly, not all wizards were going to be like Gwydion. But she’d still expected someone … weirder. She turned to say as much to Leo, but he was gazing at the mobile phone number Ronan had scrawled across the back of his hand. Now that was weird – too familiar, almost, from someone he hardly knew.

‘I wonder why he didn’t just get his phone out and text you.’

Leo pulled a face. ‘Why? This was just as quick.’

‘I s’pose.’ Merry turned towards the house, but her brother put out a hand to stop her.

‘Hey – don’t tell Gran that I’m going to the pub with Ronan. You heard what she said this morning, about wizards.’

He was right; Gran was unlikely to be thrilled.

‘Sure. I won’t say anything.’

‘Thanks.’

A car turned into the driveway: their mother, back home from her yoga retreat. Merry waved at her and went to open the front door. ‘And just remember,’ Leo called out behind her, ‘I’m allowed to have my own life. OK?’

No more spying on him, in other words.

OK, Leo. I’ll remember.

‘Mum, I’m going up.’ Merry yawned and rubbed the muscles in the back of her neck. It was Friday evening – only 10.30, but she was definitely feeling a bit … bleugh. Lack of sleep combined with working all afternoon at Mrs Galantini’s cafe in town (her new summer job) and all the drama with Leo. ‘I think the cats are still outside.’

Her mother didn’t reply; she just kept scrolling up and down through a document that was open on her laptop. It didn’t look like she was actually reading any of it.

‘Mum? You OK?’

‘Huh?’

‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Oh, all right. Do you know where the cats are?’

Merry frowned. ‘Outside, I think.’

Merry thought yoga was meant to relax you, but Mum had been restless all evening, fidgeting with stuff in the kitchen during dinner, rearranging cushions on the sofa while they were trying to watch TV. Leo had taken himself off upstairs at that point, having barely spoken two words to Merry since their conversation on the driveway earlier.

‘Is anything wrong?’

‘No, not really. I just feel a bit …’ Mum scrunched her face up. ‘You know that sensation of chalk squeaking against a blackboard?’ She laughed a little. ‘Probably not. Do they even have blackboards at school these days?’

‘No,’ Merry shook her head, ‘but I remember from nursery.’ And she remembered the feeling she’d had the other evening, that odd sensation of things being out of kilter.

‘Ignore me.’ Mum shut her laptop and got up. ‘There’s too much magic in the house at the moment, what with the cooling spells you’re using and the extra protection runes I asked the coven to apply. It gets to you sometimes. Gets to me, at any rate. Makes my skin crawl.’

Too much magic? Merry wasn’t really sure what her mother meant. She glanced out of the window, but all she could see was her and Mum, their reflections broken into a mosaic by the leaded glass.

‘Do you want me to lift the cooling spells?’

‘Course not. Not until this heatwave breaks.’ Mum reached for the light switch. ‘Bedtime. Night, sweetheart.’

Merry got into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. However tired her body was, her mind refused to switch off. After a couple of hours she got bored with lying in the dark, turned on the lamp and picked up her journey book from the bedside table. In the back she had tucked the list of spells that she was supposed to be practising before her next training session with Gran.

She glanced over the list and tried to pick the most straightforward: a shifting spell, which enabled the caster to make an object disappear from one place and reappear in another. Eventually, some witches got so good at this type of magic that they could transport themselves instantly – a charm known unofficially as the ‘broomstick spell’ – which sounded really handy. She leant on her elbow for a moment, imagining herself zipping around magically: no need for buses or a car, or plane tickets … Unfortunately, getting a broomstick spell wrong tended to have terminal consequences – Gran had made her swear not even to attempt it. Not yet, anyway. All she was supposed to do at the moment was to pick an object and move it a short distance by singing the charm and visualising the spot where she wanted the object to materialise.

How hard could it be?

Merry scanned her room and spotted – forgotten and dusty on top of her wardrobe – a unicorn snowglobe that she’d been given one Christmas several years ago by a would-be boyfriend of her mum’s. The unicorn inside was pale pink, with a dark pink bushy mane and tail and an oversized gold horn. It looked a bit grumpy, unsurprisingly.

She placed the globe on the floor in the middle of the room, sat down cross-legged in front of it and began to chant the short phrase over and over. While she was chanting, she pictured the exact spot on the dressing table where she wanted it to appear. Gradually, the globe started to fade, until she could see the carpet through it. She closed her eyes, trying to get inside the spell, to feel the magic rippling through her, the power of the words …

Something skittered across the background of her mind, and as she winced and screwed her eyes tighter shut, trying to identify the distraction, her magic tumbled out of control. There was a loud thump and the brittle clink of shattering glass.

The snowglobe was embedded in the wall above the dressing table.

‘Oh, for …’ The glass orb had smashed and glittery water was soaking into the carpet. Half of the base and about two-thirds of the unicorn were protruding from the wall, as if the bedroom had been built and plastered around them. She tugged at the unicorn’s head, but it wouldn’t budge.

This wasn’t a healing spell, or something with five hundred different components that she had to remember in the right order. It should have been easy. But she’d lost focus and her magic had gone wild. Again. She could imagine a couple of the less friendly members of the coven shaking their heads and tutting. That Meredith Cooper. Calls herself a witch, but she still can’t master her power. Can’t be in the coven if she can’t be trusted.

Well. Maybe she didn’t want to be in the damn coven. Gritting her teeth, she glared at the sparkling shards of glass scattered across the carpet, ordering them to get into the bin! A tiny whirlwind swept up the fragments and deposited them in the wastepaper basket.

So was it just that sudden distraction that had messed up the shifting spell? Such a strange sensation, like a spider running across the inside of her brain. Merry paused by the window. Something on the other side of the glass caught her attention; some fluctuation of patterns or textures, out there in the darkness. Peering into the shadows, she picked up a hint of that same discord she’d felt two nights ago, standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

And there it was, at the edge of the laurel tree next to the gate: an indistinct shape that could almost, if she squinted at it, be the outline of a man. A patch of light that could just possibly be the moonlight reflecting off blond hair.

Merry unlatched the window so she could lean out, half opened her lips to call Jack’s name …

But then clouds scudded across the moon, and her eyes watered a little from staring so hard, and the laurel tree was just a tree, after all.

She took a deep, jagged breath. Jack was dead. Dead and buried underneath the Black Lake. It had been too much, the last couple of days: the unexplained witch deaths and Leo seeing ghosts and being beaten up by Simon and—

She didn’t want to do this again. To be the person who couldn’t sleep because of strange dreams, the weirdo who saw visions in broad daylight.

Whatever was trying to happen – if anything was trying to happen – she wasn’t going to allow it.

Merry went to her desk, opened one of the drawers and pulled out a knife. Her new silver-bladed knife, with an ash handle. Obsidian knives, like Gran had, were the best, but silver was still good for conducting magic and warding off evil. Returning to the window, she reassured herself that Mum wouldn’t care, and carved a mark deeply into the sill: Algiz, the rune for protection and defence.

The fragrance of roses wafted through the open window, so cloying it made her feel slightly sick. She slammed the window shut, slipped into bed and turned out the light.

* * *

Leo was at the Black Lake again. It was late; the faint pearl sheen of moonlight slanted through the clouds. He could make out the shape of a tent a few metres away. As he watched, a figure emerged from the tent and walked towards him. He couldn’t tell who it was. Until an orb of purple light appeared in the hand of the stranger, illuminating his face: Ronan.

‘I’m glad you’re here, Leo. He’s been waiting such a long time for you to come back. To finally set him free.’ Ronan raised an arm and pointed towards the lake. Another shadowy outline had appeared at the edge of it.

Leo gasped.

Dan.

Leo ran towards his friend, shouting his name. Dan took a few paces in Leo’s direction before stumbling, falling forward into Leo’s arms.

‘Dan!’

But there was no answer, no heartbeat.

He lowered Dan’s body softly on to the grass. Moonlight struck the sword hilt protruding from his chest, silvering the gold.

Dan was already dead. Once again, he was too late.

Leo woke with a jolt, his heart pounding. He collapsed back on the pillow and looked around his room. He reached over, squinted at his alarm clock and groaned. Time to get up for work already. He was almost tempted to turn over and go back to sleep, maybe call in sick. Prising himself out of bed just seemed like far too much effort. But then he remembered: that afternoon, after work, he was meeting Ronan. He lifted his hand, glanced at the faint trace of biro still left on his skin and smiled. For the first time in what felt like ages, he was almost excited about something.

Six hours at the farm dragged by, but eventually Leo was back home, taking a shower and having a bite to eat. Mum was around but Merry had gone out and, for some reason, Leo was relieved that his little sister wasn’t there.

Ronan had suggested they meet at the Albany, a pub on the outskirts of Tillingham that Leo was able to walk to in twenty minutes. It was a Saturday afternoon and unsurprisingly the pub was heaving, people spilling out along the pavement in front. Leo went in and stood on tiptoe to scan the bar area, but he couldn’t see Ronan anywhere. He pushed his way through to the back of the pub and the deck that overlooked the river: there was still no sign of him. Leo checked his phone, but there were no messages. Perhaps he had misunderstood the plan? Or … or what if Ronan just wasn’t coming? What if he’d only invited Leo out of pity, and had now found something else to do, or someone better to hang out with?

Leo took a deep breath. He ordered a drink and found a spot where he could lean against the bar and wait.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still standing there on his own. His face began to burn: he’d been stood up. He looked around at the other people in the pub, laughing and chatting to each other, and sighed. This used to be one of his favourite hangouts, but he didn’t seem to fit in any more. Not here. Not with his old friends. Not even at home.

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