LITMIR.BIZ

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on magic. She managed to ignore the fluttering, fizzing feeling in her stomach, and got about halfway through a chapter on the European Reformation before the water formed a vortex and Jack stepped out on to the grass.

      Merry spoke the words of command: he crumpled to the floor. She carried on reading – glancing at him occasionally, studying the length of his eyelashes and the curve of his lips – until he woke up.

      ‘Hey.’ She shut the book. ‘How are you feeling tonight?’

      ‘Well, I thank you.’

      ‘Good.’ Merry noticed Jack looking around. ‘Oh, it’s just me tonight. Leo – he’s going to a birthday party.’ Jack still looked blank. Merry had been speed-reading articles on Anglo-Saxon England, but trying to bridge a fifteen-hundred-year time difference was still almost impossible. ‘It’s like … a special feast, to celebrate someone being a year older. Do you understand?’

      ‘I think so.’ Jack sat down next to Merry and studied her face. ‘I am glad. I have been waiting for this: the chance to be alone with you again.’

      Merry felt her face flush.

      ‘Me too.’

      Jack lifted Merry’s arm and slowly kissed the inside of her wrist. His skin felt hot against hers; almost feverish. He reached forwards to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and Merry noticed his hand was trembling a little.

      ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

      ‘Yes. Of course.’

      Merry raised her eyebrows. Still, if Jack said he was OK … she leant in to kiss him.

      But Jack pulled back. ‘Not yet … I have something to tell you first.’

      Merry groaned.

      ‘What? Can’t it wait?’

      ‘I believe you would find the knowledge … useful.’

      Jack was definitely different this evening. Perhaps he was nervous. After all, he hadn’t been on anything approaching a date in a really, really long time. And they hadn’t really spoken since the last time they’d been alone together.

      ‘Fine. You can tell me the story. But let’s be comfortable.’

      Merry lay down and patted the rug. Jack lay down next to her, leaning on one elbow.

      ‘You understand, do you not, what it is that the wizard sends me out to collect?’

      ‘Yes. People’s hearts. The hearts of people who are in love. In the story Gran told us, she said you had to put them in jars.’ Merry wrinkled her nose.

      ‘It is true. Row upon row of them.’

      ‘That’s disgusting.’

      ‘And do you know how I … obtained the hearts?’

      Merry swallowed. This wasn’t exactly how she’d hoped the evening was going to go.

      ‘Um, to be honest, I’ve tried to avoid thinking about it. I suppose you used the …’ she waved a hand towards the broken sword. As usual, Jack had unbuckled the scabbard and left it on the grass nearby. ‘What happened to the rest of the blade, by the way?’

      ‘It was damaged, when Gwydion fought the witches. He has not yet the power to create a completely new one. But you’re right: I had to use the sword. Only the sorcery within its blade allows me to cut out a heart and keep it alive, so Gwydion can use it in his dark magic. The sword is precious to him, and he will not allow it to be used for any other purpose.’

      Was that why the King of Hearts hadn’t killed yet – did he need a new sword? Merry glanced at the scabbard again.

       Still. A magic blade. I wonder whether it would work on the puppet hearts, if we ever get hold of them. I wonder if I need to steal it …

      Jack touched her face gently, drawing her attention back to him.

      ‘But it’s hard, to cut out someone’s heart with such a blade. The skin and the muscle are breached easily enough. But the bone—’ He moved his hand, to touch Merry’s breastbone, ‘—it does not break cleanly. It shatters.’

      ‘That’s, um …’

      ‘My task began the first time Gwydion allowed me to leave the tower, about three months after he captured me, once the curse was strong enough to hold for a few hours. I was sent to take the heart of a thatcher. The man was about twenty-five, strong and healthy. But no one has ever been able to withstand the power I have. No one apart from you, and one other.’ Merry glanced at the braid around her wrist; when she looked back at Jack, he was staring at it too. ‘Well … I killed him easily, but loosening his heart from his chest, that was difficult. I had not the skill of it yet. I had to wash myself in the river afterwards.’

      ‘Jack, I don’t understand. Why do we have to talk about this now?’ Merry put her hand on Jack’s face, but still he continued.

      ‘When I brought his betrothed to the same place, and showed her the ruin of his body, she fainted. But I waited. I waited for her to wake up before I killed her.’ Jack ran his fingers through Merry’s hair. ‘Long, red hair, she had. And the blood bloomed like a scarlet flower against the green of her gown.’

      Merry sat up. ‘Stop, please. I don’t want to hear any more. This is probably the only evening we’ll have alone together and—’ She took a deep breath: she was supposed to be kissing Jack, not fighting with him. ‘Why did you tell me that story? It’s horrible. How is it meant to help me?’

      Jack swept the back of his hand across her cheek, brushing away the tears she hadn’t even realised were there. ‘You mourn for them? Even though you did not know them? Even though they have been dead so many years?’

      ‘I’m not mourning. But I feel sorry for them. It must have been terrifying, to die like that. And I wish you hadn’t had to … go through it. I hate the thought of you suffering.’

      Jack put his arms around her and kissed her, finally, drawing her back down on to the rug. For a long while, she forgot about the dead people and the jars of hearts. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of Jack’s lips on her mouth, his hands on her waist, his body next to hers. Until he murmured in her ear: ‘I would have killed that witch in the same way, if I’d been given the chance.’

      Startled, Merry pulled away. ‘You mean, that’s what Gwydion would have made the King of Hearts do, if Meredith hadn’t put you into the enchanted sleep?’

      But Jack didn’t answer. He kissed her harder and slipped his hand up under her jumper, making her gasp. ‘Your heart is beating so fast. I can feel it, just beneath my fingers. Such a fragile thing.’

      Merry tried to push his hand away. ‘Hey, slow down.’

      ‘What should I wait for? We are here together, all alone.’ With one quick movement Jack was no longer next to her but on top of her, carefully pinning her to the ground, caging her there. He kissed her again and smiled.

      ‘Jack, stop it! I don’t want to—’

      But at that moment Merry looked into his eyes and realised – it wasn’t Jack at all. It was the boy she’d dreamt about all those weeks ago, the boy walking through her nightmares with cold, dead eyes, his grin that of a wolf about to make an easy kill. She tried to scream, but terror had snatched away her voice.

      The King of Hearts, laughed. ‘The braid tied around your wrist, the one you looked at earlier: that must be the source of your power. So why should I wait? I will take the braid, take what I desire, and then – I will kill you.’

      He clamped one hand over her mouth, preventing her from speaking the words that would dismiss him, while tugging with his other hand at the braid, trying to break it.

      She tried to remember the words of the stinging hex, or to summon up the power she’d been using on the lake water. Her fingernails began to ache and for

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