LITMIR.BIZ

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

      ‘I’m fine, Leo. Just give it to me.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Leo groaned. ‘What, now?’

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

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

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

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

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

      Merry took a deep breath.

       Here we go.

      ‘Get lost, Esther.’

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

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

       Stay calm, Merry. Keep control …

      Another deep breath.

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

       I could just put a memory charm on you.

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

       Just one little spell …

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

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

      ‘I know what you are, Meredith Cooper …’

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

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

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

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

      ‘Oh my God, really?’ exclaimed Lucy.

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

      ‘That’s horrible.’ Lucy grimaced.

      Eloise leant in closer.

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

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

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

      ‘Merry?’

       Oh my God, I’m going to be sick.

      There were a couple of Year 11 girls hanging out in the toilets, but after one surprised glance at Merry’s face they both left rapidly. Merry held on until the door swung shut behind them then sank to her knees, gripping the edge of the basin in front of her, jamming her fingernails hard against the cold porcelain. Long, slow

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