LITMIR.BIZ

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… Well, do you remember whether anything like that has happened before? Have you – I mean, has the thing possessing you ever tried to kill someone, but not been able to?’

      The sky had clouded over again, and in the darkness Merry could no longer see Jack’s face clearly. He was silent for so long she wondered whether he was slipping back into some kind of magical trance; at her side, Leo shifted and raised his knife again. Eventually, Jack lifted a hand and brushed something away from his cheek. ‘The King of Hearts is without mercy. I remember clearly the first evening Gwydion sent him – me – out to kill, to collect hearts; from then on, I believed none would escape him. But I am certain, one night, some mishap sent the wizard’s plans awry.’

      ‘What happened? What was different?’

      ‘I cannot recall … I see myself holding the sword, plunging it downwards, but then – the blade – I—’ He slammed his palm against the ground. ‘Why can I not remember?’

      Merry leant closer to him. ‘Hopefully it will come back to you, like you said. Maybe next time.’

      Jack gasped and cried out. Leo swore.

      ‘Quick – get back. He’s losing control.’

      They backed away from Jack as he fought to stop his hand moving towards the broken blade. Merry pulled the manuscript out of her pocket. There was the line of words that would force Jack – or the monster now inhabiting his body – back into the lake. But underneath was a fresh instruction.

      Jack finally pulled the broken sword from its scabbard and stood up. He weighed it in his hand a moment, looked at them and smiled.

      ‘Merry?’ Leo murmured, ‘Say the words.’

      ‘But Leo, the manuscript, it—’

      Jack – but not Jack – started walking slowly towards them, the blade weaving back and forth as though he was trying to choose who to attack first. Leo spread his arms wide in front of Merry.

      ‘Say the damn words!’

      Merry shouted the unfamiliar syllables as quickly as she could. Jack’s face became expressionless and she shuddered, even though she had seen this transformation several times now. He sheathed the sword, turned away from them and walked back towards the lake.

      ‘What the hell happened?’ Leo was at her side now, breathing hard, his knife still gripped tight in his fist.

      ‘Look.’ Merry held the manuscript out to him, pointing to the new line of instruction. It was just two words.

       Follow him.

      Leo stared at the manuscript, glanced up at Merry and shook his head.

      ‘No. No, we can’t just…’

      ‘But Leo, I have to try.

       I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about getting into that lake.

       Oh, God.

      Leo shook his head again, but he grabbed Merry’s hand and they both threw themselves after Jack.

      Within a few moments they were approaching the water’s edge. But Jack was too far ahead of them. He veered off, began running up the slope where the land rose to form a cliff, leapt – and for a second they saw him outlined against the stars, before he dropped feet-first into the seething waters and disappeared. Leo hesitated, turned away from the hill and plunged down towards the lower edge of the lake, tugging Merry with him.

      ‘Kick off your shoes. We’ll have to swim.’

      They waded out deeper, the lake bed fell away from beneath their feet and Leo let go of Merry’s hand. She tried to push herself forwards, to make her arms and legs move together, to regulate her breathing as she’d been taught, but already the frigid water was in her eyes and soaking through her clothes, taking her breath away –

      – cold, that’s what she remembered, the river was so cold and black, the weight of it crushing her, dragging her downwards as she tried to pull him back to the bank, the water getting into her throat, choking her –

      Merry sank.

      ‘I’m sorry, Leo.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You could have drowned. You nearly did.’

      They were sitting in Leo’s car. Flo’s mum, Denise, had been the witch on duty at the little car park. She’d called Gran and then asked Merry if she wanted to have a go at drying their clothes, managing to look simultaneously amazed and unsurprised when Merry declined. The spell Denise used seemed to suck the moisture out of the fabric: Merry had watched, trembling with cold, too numb to be envious, as streamers of water vapour spiralled away into the night air. When Gran arrived she brought a large flask of a fiery liquid that tasted strangely of thyme. Metheglin, she’d called it. While Merry was sipping it, her insides thawing, Leo shared what they’d learnt from Jack. Gran was particularly interested in the idea of a word that would open the passageway under the lake. Now, she’d gone off to do some research – Gran didn’t seem to keep normal hours – and Leo was waiting for his hands to warm up so he could drive Merry home. At least there was no urgency: at Gran’s (magical) prompting, a work colleague had invited Mum to see a musical in London. The coast was clear for once.

      ‘But I am sorry,’ Merry said again. ‘We – we might have been under the lake by now …’

      ‘No. We’d be dead. I was stupid, to think—’ Leo took his hands away from the hot air vent, flexed his fingers. ‘I don’t understand it. There’s no way he should be able to swim down through all that water. Though even if the lake was shallower, even if we’d been better prepared, I’m not sure you …’ He glanced at Merry, shrugged. ‘I thought you loved swimming … but … you didn’t seem to be dealing with the water that well.’

      Merry rubbed the tears away from her face. Her chest ached, partly from choking and coughing up water, partly from the effort of not weeping uncontrollably. All the emotions she hadn’t been feeling for the last week – all the shock and terror and disbelief – were beating down on her like hammers on an anvil.

      ‘I can’t do it, Leo. I don’t think it would make any difference if the weather wasn’t so cold, or if I had a wetsuit on – I can’t do what Jack did. We’re going to run out of time. Gwydion has already won.’

      ‘No, he hasn’t. There must be another way under the lake. Or maybe we can get Jack to bring the hearts to us. We’ll figure it out.’

      Merry wasn’t so sure.

      Not for the first time, Merry wished that Bronwen was the kind of mother who kept stashes of prescription drugs in the house rather than relying on herbs, yoga and willpower. Then, she might have been able to swallow a sleeping pill, instead of lying in bed, wide awake, nearly two hours after they’d got back from the lake. Every time she dozed off, some night-time noise in the house jerked her awake, setting her heart thumping, forcing her to switch on the lamp to make sure no one else was in the room with her. Every time she switched the lamp off again she saw faces in the darkness: Jack; Meredith; Alex, his skin blue with cold as she dragged him out of the water. All the people she had failed. Eventually she gave up, and left the light on. The parchment and the sword hilt were in the top drawer of her bedside table, but the plait of hair was still tied around her wrist; she hadn’t taken it off since that first night, when Jack – the King of Hearts, rather – had almost got close enough to kill her. She examined it now – a light nut-brown, with a few strands of grey – and wondered what it was that Jack had been trying to remember.

      The recollection of the conversation they’d had with him, the agony in his voice as he told them what he’d done – Merry pulled her knees up to her chest, wanting to shut out the sudden stab of compassion and remorse. It would have been so much easier if he had just kept glowering at them.

      She looked at the braid again, trying to think dispassionately

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