BRUISES

The more beautiful the rose, the sharper the thorns.

Binders’ Training, The Book of the Binders

Aunt had set the metronome ticking.

Anna tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the melody as she played, but couldn’t stop thinking about the ticker, ticker, ticker of the sewing machine, the feeling of magic in her body. The rose bush eyed her from the top of the piano.

‘You’re going too fast,’ Aunt chided. She was irritable – had been for several days. Anna was trying to convince herself it was just because she was busy at work but the more paranoid part of her worried that Aunt had sensed the lies. The study session was helpful … Yes, we practised French vocab … I’d really like to try it again next week …

‘Will you concentrate! You’re all over the place.’ Aunt raised her hand and the ticking of the metronome grew louder – so loud it sounded as if it was inside Anna’s own head. TICK, TICK, TICK. Anna’s fingers stumbled. She took her hands off the keys, exasperated, but the song did not stop.

Anna looked up. Aunt was moving her hands through the air, the keys responding, the melody moving in perfect time, not a note out of place. TICK. TICK. TICK. ‘Do you see how focus works? Purity of thought and purpose.’

Aunt’s satisfied sneer filled Anna’s vision. ‘You’re using magic, it’s hardly fair!’ she cried bitterly and then stopped herself. ‘Sorry, let me try again.’

The music stopped. The piano lid shut on her fingers, painfully.

‘Fair?’ said Aunt. ‘You think magic is easy for me? The sacrifice never ends, Anna.’

‘I didn’t mean that—’

But Aunt was not finished. She began to undo the buttons of her blouse. Anna’s stomach tightened. She knew what was coming. Aunt pulled her blouse open to reveal a thick cord necklace knotted nine times, and beneath – around her neck – blooms of bruises, some old and some new, some just beginning to blossom: a dark rainbow of green, black and violet.

Anna looked away. She had seen it before many times, but it never got easier.

Aunt tenderly ran her fingers over the bruises. ‘The melody might have been sweet but every time I use magic, my Binders’ necklace restricts and hurts me. It is a reminder, Anna, that magic is sinful, a heavy responsibility to bear. There can be no love in it – only pain, only fear. In sacrifice, may our hearts be pure.’

Anna nodded, wanting it to be over, feeling the weight of Aunt’s pain around her own neck. Aunt closed her blouse back up. ‘We’re done. I need to be up early. I have a Binders’ meeting.’

Tick, tick, boom.

‘What?’ Anna gasped. Another unplanned Binders’ meeting. Does she know about the coven? If the Binders knew they wouldn’t wait until summer for her Knotting. Anna’s hands trembled on the keys. Had Aunt uncovered her lies? Or was it something else? ‘Why?’

‘What is tenet five?’

‘Ask no questions; seek no answers.’

‘Then why are you asking them?’

But the questions kept Anna up all night. The next morning she rose exhausted and early to catch Aunt before the meeting and asked if she could borrow her laptop for an English essay. Aunt relented begrudgingly and left. Anna would have stolen it anyway but this way she didn’t feel too guilty. She took it upstairs and opened up a new browser page. She typed ‘Faceless Women’ into it. Several new stories popped up.

Mysterious mark revealed on Big Ben’s Six Faceless Women

Autopsy findings show no evidence of struggle or attack, although police have now revealed a new detail about the women in question. An unusual mark was uncovered on the back of each of their necks: seven concentric circles. While the deaths have now been classified as suicides, police are hoping this mark might open up new lines of inquiry in determining the identities of the women.

Anna stared at the picture of the mark. It was blacker and more concise than any tattoo she’d ever seen: seven small, tight circles, encasing one another, descending to a dark circle in the centre like a pupil – an abyss – a deep emptiness around which the other circles revolved. There was something about it that pulled at her, disturbed her. She had the strangest feeling she’d seen it before. She tore her eyes away, feeling as though, if she stared at it too long, she might fall into its centre herself. Another version of the story on the ever-sensationalist Mail Today had a fresh quote from a source that Anna didn’t recognize:

Although police remain tight-lipped, Halden Kramer, Head of Communications for the Institute for Research into Organized and Ritual Violence, has spoken out to highlight the suspicious aspects of the deaths: ‘The grey robes, the significance of the location, the potential familial ties of the women, lead us to believe this has ritualistic links. The discovery of this mark, an ancient, occult symbol known as “The Eye”, only adds more weight to this theory and opens up dark and unsettling questions about what the women were doing there before they died.’

The Institute for Research into Organized and Ritual Violence – who the hell were they? Anna quickly deleted the history and continued with her essay, but the words – ritualistic … occult … dark and unsettling questions – spun round in her head. No wonder the Binders were shaken; those words were a hair’s breadth, a single tick, away from magic. Surely it was the reason behind their meeting rather than anything to do with herself. The thought was reassuring. And yet Anna couldn’t get the image of the seven circles from her mind, as if it had always been there, waiting.

By Monday morning Anna had made her decision. She would not, could not join the coven. She had to stay away from them. Whether or not the Binders were entirely insane, something was happening in the magical world that had them rattled and Aunt had returned from the meeting in a foul and dangerous mood. Though it appeared Anna wasn’t due for her Knotting – yet – it was still too risky.

‘Hungry?’

She turned around in the lunch queue to find Attis.

‘Starving. Always.’ She spun back to the counter, heart beating.

‘I like a woman with an appetite.’

‘I think you like any woman with a pulse,’ she pointed out.

‘A pulse certainly helps.’

She moved her tray along. ‘Could I get the pasta please?’

‘Dennis, how’s Mary?’ said Attis.

The man serving lunch broke into a wide smile. ‘She’s a lot better, the infection has passed, thanks for asking, mate.’

‘Glad to hear it, my man.’

‘Now what can I get you?’

‘The pasta too.’

‘Extra helpings of pudding?’

‘I won’t complain.’ Attis smiled and moved along.

Anna looked up at him, incredulous. He had everyone in his pocket.

‘His daughter had a tooth infection last week,’ he explained. ‘What?’

‘I’ve been in this school for six years and I don’t know that man’s name. You’ve been here for less than two months and you’re days away from being invited around for dinner.’

Attis laughed. ‘Well, that’s because I speak to people.’

‘I speak to people,’ said Anna defensively, making her way towards a table in the corner. Attis followed and sat down opposite. ‘Oh – you’re going to sit here.’

‘No, you’re right, you are a paradigm of friendliness.’

‘OK,’ she conceded. ‘I don’t speak to people, but you swan into this school with your – your tallness and your smile and you get in the rugby team and everyone likes you. It’s not the same place for those of us who aren’t …’

‘Tall and smiley?’

Anna made a face at him.

‘Anyway, I got kicked out of the rugby team. Apparently you aren’t allowed to jump on the referee’s back, even if it’s a friendly gesture.’

Anna couldn’t help smiling.

‘So why is it you don’t have any friends?’ he asked through a mouthful of pasta. ‘You seem an occasionally nice person.’

Anna shrugged.

‘Don’t want to be noticed?’

‘I can’t be noticed.’

‘Seems lonely.’

‘I’m not lonely,’ she said, indignant. ‘It’s just easier that way.’

‘You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who chooses the easy option.’

‘Well, no offence, but you don’t know me at all.’

‘We’re not going to be friends, are we?’ His smile was not limited to his mouth, it seemed to hide all around the features of his face, lighting up the rippling puddles of his eyes.

‘You’ve got Dennis.’

‘I love Dennis. He gives me pudding. I give him undying devotion.’

‘What are you guys talking about?’ Effie appeared, making Anna jump. ‘Yum.’ Effie sat down, taking a spoonful of chocolate pudding from Attis’s plate and then tapping his nose with it, leaving a mark. He shook his head at her. Anna felt uncomfortable, realizing she was wedged on a table in the common room next to Attis and Effie – the two people she was trying to avoid. She glanced around and saw that her presence had already been noted, heads were turning their way. This is why I can’t join the coven …

‘We were talking about Attis’s friend, the lunch man,’ she said, pushing her tray away.

‘The lunch man; the sexy young art teacher; Darcey. Flirting is his only talent.’ Effie ruffled his hair. ‘I’m sure he’s flirted with you already.’

‘No,’ said Anna, flustered. ‘Anyway – why would you flirt with Darcey? She’s horrendous to Effie.’

‘Because,’ Attis said with a smile, ‘you keep your friends close and your enemies close enough to sleep with.’

Effie cackled, licking the chocolate from her lips.

Anna didn’t understand them and she couldn’t be seen with them. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she stood up, her lunch half-eaten, ‘library calls …’

Effie’s chocolatey smile deepened. ‘What if I told you there were magical libraries all around London? Libraries of the like you’ve never seen. A library made out of books, a library hidden in a forest, a library containing all the books that were ever lost. I’ll take you to them if you join the coven.’

‘A cat has nine lives and curiosity still managed to kill it,’ Anna replied, but she couldn’t hide the interest from her eyes. Magical libraries. Even Selene had never mentioned anything so wonderful.

Effie jumped up. ‘Let’s go out.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You can, we’re sixth formers, it’s lunchtime, we’re allowed. Come on.’

Anna wanted to resist it, she wanted to, but she found herself throwing her bag over her shoulder, waving goodbye to Attis and following Effie. Within minutes they were in the fresh air, cold and brisk against her face. It shook the trees with vigour.

‘Feels good to get out of that place,’ said Effie. ‘I need coffee. Let’s swing by the café next to the Boys’ School.’

The café was where everyone hung out – everyone popular. ‘Maybe somewhere quieter?’ Anna suggested.

‘Why would we want somewhere quiet?’

The Boys’ School appeared ahead, rising above high walls in the same red brick as their school. The small, fittingly named Red Brick Café was nestled into a corner near one of the entrances. Anna followed Effie inside. It was more spacious than it had appeared, with lots of tables and hidden nooks, a scattering of mismatched armchairs and the reassuring smell of roasting coffee.

Effie walked up to the counter. ‘I’ll have a coffee – black – and we’ll get two of those.’ She pointed at a basket of croissants. Anna ordered a tea and they waited at the counter. A group of nearby boys had turned in their direction. Effie waved her fingers at them, stroking the air.

‘Why are they looking over here?’ said Anna, alarmed.

‘Because we’re girls.’

‘That’s never had any effect for me before.’

‘That’s because your head is permanently attached to the floor – or a book. If you just looked up, put some make-up on, wheeled yourself out in the sun once in a while, it might make a difference.’

‘Thanks,’ said Anna dryly, unsure if she was being insulted or complimented.

‘I like that one,’ said Effie, perusing the group.

Anna glanced over. ‘Which one?’

‘Dark curly hair.’

‘The large one?’

‘Yes. I like bear men, but I like the lean ones too. Sometimes I like girls. Depends on my mood.’ She took the coffee off the barista and inhaled it deeply. ‘Saying that, I like coffee more than all lovers put together.’ When it became apparent she wasn’t going to pay, Anna handed the barista money to cover the both of them.

Effie’s attention shifted to the door of the café. Peter had just come through it, followed by a string of the school’s most admired men: Hutton, Digby, Andrew and Tom – who last year had been given the title of the school’s most perfect hair – possibly by himself.

The others sat down while Peter and Tom made their way to the counter. Anna took a sip of tea, trying to hide behind the cup, but managed to spill some down herself. Way to play it cool.

‘Hi, boys,’ said Effie.

Tom looked her up and down with relish. ‘Need some sugar with that coffee?’ He was shorter and stockier than Peter. With his black, sculpted hair, square jaw and row of even white teeth, he was considered good-looking by many of the girls in the school but Anna disliked his bullish air of entitlement, the arrogance of his expression.

‘Apparently you’ve already given me some of your sweet sugar or so the rumour around school has been,’ Effie replied.

Tom tensed slightly and then shrugged. ‘I’m not responsible for rumours.’

‘Oh, you’re not?’ Effie took a vicious bite of croissant. ‘I don’t mind a good rumour, I just wish you hadn’t been the man in it. You, however …’ She turned and inspected Peter, who had just finished ordering. ‘We could have hooked up by now, couldn’t we?’

Peter frowned, taking Effie in. ‘I’m sorry, have we met?’

‘Not yet, but you can get to know me.’

Peter looked momentarily lost for words.

‘Peter and every other boy at this school …’ Tom muttered.

‘Except you.’ She smiled and it was so cold Anna swore it could have frozen the tea in her cup.

‘Come on, Tom,’ said Peter, handing him his drink and scowling at Effie. ‘I think we’re better off away from here.’ Neither of them appeared to have registered Anna at all.

‘It does smell like trash round here.’ Tom gave Effie’s breasts a peek and followed Peter.

Effie picked up the spoon on her plate and dipped it into her coffee. She pulled it out, held it balanced, and then tipped the liquid onto the floor.

‘Oh shit!’ Tom yelled. His cup had fallen to the floor, hot milk spilling everywhere. The boys started roaring with laughter. The liquid had spilt down the front of his trousers, looking distinctly like he’d wet himself. Anna turned to Effie in shock.

‘What? Just a little cantrip. A girl’s got to have her fun. Come on, let’s go.’ She grabbed Anna’s arm and pulled her towards the door, giving Tom a wave goodbye.

Anna couldn’t help laughing as they burst through the door. ‘You’re so bad.’

‘You think that was bad? We have so much work to do on you.’ Effie hooked her arm.

‘I don’t think the men in this school know what to do with you.’

‘Men can’t handle me because I play by the same rules as them.’ Effie stopped to look in one of the shop windows.

‘So, you – er – like the blond guy then?’ Anna pretended to look as well.

‘Yeah, he’s hot if you like that fresh-faced, strait-laced sort of thing. I just wanted to shake him up a bit.’

‘He’s not strait-laced, he’s just not like the other guys in this school. He’s decent.’

‘How long have you been in loooove with him?’

Anna gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I saw how you looked at him – or how you looked at anything except him, I should say.’

‘I’m not in love with him! I think he’s—’

‘An honourable man? No men are honourable.’

‘Not Attis?’

Effie laughed. ‘He’s the most honourable man I know and that’s not saying much.’

‘Are you two …?’ Anna asked slowly, unsure if she was overstepping the mark.

‘He’s like a brother to me,’ Effie replied with an unreadable smile. ‘You know I can help you with Peter, if you let me.’

‘I don’t want to be with Peter and I certainly don’t want to use magic to get him to like me.’

‘Why not? Magic and love go hand in hand. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. Come on.’ Effie pulled at her.

‘Where are we going?’

‘There’s only one magical shop I know of in Dulwich.’

Anna stopped. ‘There’s a magical shop in Dulwich?’ She couldn’t imagine it, not on the streets she’d walked so many times before, among the ordinary people who filled them. ‘You know, I think I’m just going to head back to school.’

Effie rolled her eyes and continued to pull her along. ‘I’ve managed to get you this far, don’t back down now. We’ll just pop our heads in, I promise.’

Anna was quickly learning that Effie’s promises were extremely flexible and yet she could feel the temptation of it beckon her. What on earth would a magic shop in Dulwich look like? ‘I have to be back in half an hour for class. Really.’

Effie made a bored noise. ‘Fiiiiine.’

They made their way towards the high street, feasting on the croissants.

‘So,’ Effie said, swallowing a mouthful. ‘What’s the deal with your parents then? Do you ever think about them?’

Anna was not expecting the question – most people tiptoed around the subject – but Effie spoke with startling directness. Anna looked away, wondering what she could possibly say – how much she should give to this girl she hardly knew. ‘I wonder about my mother sometimes. Selene probably told you, she was murdered by my father.’ She said it matter-of-factly, as if it was nothing, taking a quick sip of tea to clear her throat.

‘I know. So messed up that he killed her. Selene said they had a fight – must have been one hell of an argument.’

Anna nodded.

‘You don’t wonder about him? Why he freaked out?’

Anna shrugged, glad she was outside. The subject was so claustrophobic, like a room that grew smaller the more you thought about it. She pulled at her Knotted Cord. ‘I guess love can be messed up sometimes,’ she said, knowing it sounded like a vast understatement. In what world does love end up in strangling someone and then stabbing yourself in the heart? In Aunt’s world, where love was deranged and destructive.

‘I’m guessing they weren’t arguing over who’d taken out the rubbish last. You must want to know more.’

Anna stiffened. It was easy for Effie to say; she hadn’t had to grow up under the dark gloom of it, the buried pain of it. ‘I don’t.’

‘I would.’

‘Well, your parents aren’t the dead ones,’ Anna replied curtly. ‘You grew up with a mum.’

Effie laughed scathingly. ‘Did I? Where is she then? Russia supposedly, but who knows with my darling mother.’ The word mother was tinged with contempt. ‘Claims she’s on magical business but she’s probably off with some man.’

Selene had regaled Anna with tales of various lovers, making her laugh with the salacious details, but it had never occurred to her to ask who was responsible for the creation of Effie or if there’d ever been someone special. ‘Did you – do you – er – know your father?’

‘No,’ said Effie, as if it was of no consequence. ‘So I guess he could be dead too.’ Anna turned to her but Effie’s look was teasing. ‘Unlikely. Probably just a fling who doesn’t even know I exist. Who knows, maybe that’s him.’ Effie pointed at a man hurrying up the street opposite. ‘Or him.’ She nodded towards an elderly man bent over a Zimmer frame, making Anna laugh. ‘Anyway. We’re here!’

It was a street Anna had walked down before but she’d never noticed the small shop with the green front and wooden door and the sign in the window advertising ‘Vintage Finds and Memories’. From the outside it didn’t look particularly magical at all. Inside it was tiny and very full – a jumble of paraphernalia lining the shelves, covering the tables, hanging from the ceiling, spilling out of chests and onto the floor; the clothing rails were stuffed to bursting. Anna searched for anything strange, but could only see the typical objects you’d expect to find in a vintage shop: clothes, hats, boots, bags, pottery, old cameras, mirrors, clocks, odds and ends.

The only thing that jarred was the smell – it didn’t have the usual antique-shop scent of mildew and old perfumes and wood polish, of human memories collected and piled up. Instead, it smelt … delightful, wonderful. What’s that smell? Anna tried to place it. She knew it so well, right at the centre of her heart …

It was the garden.

Cressey Square garden at the start of spring when the gardener has just been and the grass is freshly cut, the jasmine bush has opened and it’s recently rained – the soil and trees waxy with new life.

Anna breathed deeper and could even make out the earthy tang of moss on the stone fountain and the warm complexity of the bark of the oak tree she leant against. It was those exact scents, as if she was there – right there – breathing it in as she had so many times before.

‘Can you smell that?’ she whispered to Effie.

‘I can smell New York at night.’ Effie grinned. ‘Hot-dog fat and pretzels, sweat and smoke, marijuana, exhaust fumes and exhaustion and the cloying whiff of garbage. Heaven.’

‘You’ll find it’s this candle,’ a voice said. Anna spun around. A woman appeared from a back room wearing an outfit that was impossible to take in all at once: what appeared to be a vintage army uniform covered by an Aztec print shawl, delicate lace gloves, several layers of necklaces and auburn hair tucked under an orange top hat. She looked to be in her sixties with a face that reminded Anna of a bird – a beaky nose and small, perceptive lips; an outfit like a nest she’d constructed from the parts of other outfits. She pointed to a white candle burning on the counter. ‘The aromas in here can be rather overwhelming, so many old things, clashing memories, so I tend to keep this burning – it turns the scents of the room into the scents of your favourite memory.’

‘I see,’ said Anna, unable to hide the marvel from her face.

‘It only works if you’re witches, of course.’

Witches. They were witches and she was a witch – and it seemed perfectly natural that they might be talking in a magical emporium. In Dulwich. Anna resisted the strong urge to run from the shop and hide.

We shall not cast unless it is our duty.

‘That’s what you’ll find here,’ the woman continued, waving a shawled arm. ‘Antiques and memories. You like vintage clothes?’ Anna nodded and the woman ran her hand along a rail of clothing of all different shapes, colours and sizes. ‘Wear any of these items and you’ll experience the memory of the one who owned it before – the most powerful memory they had while wearing it.’ She pointed to a row of clocks on the wall. ‘All of them are frozen at the moment something life changing happened to their owners. I love the mystery of that, don’t you? Never knowing what it was that made them stop in their tracks. Those telephones’ – she pointed to a table of brightly coloured vintage phones – ‘have old conversations trapped in them. That typewriter only writes the ideas of the person who used to own it – I’ve created some very existential poetry on it. Do you see how it works now?’ She nodded, her exposition appearing complete. ‘Please, explore.’

Anna and Effie exchanged smiles and wandered around the shop. Anna picked up some photographs from a suitcase. She stared at one of what looked like a family standing in a higgledy line on a beach. The longer she looked at it the more she could feel the excitement of their day out, the silly laughter passing between them, the mischief of the youngest of the tribe who was kicking sand into the air, the mother’s love as she looked on her children fondly.

‘Can you feel it? They’re charged with the emotions at the moment they were taken,’ the woman elucidated again. ‘Fifty pence a picture or three for a pound.’

Anna nodded, feeling strangely wistful. She put the photograph down and moved to a row of hats. She tried on a rather ostentatious pink one and remembered exactly how beautiful a woman named Joanne had looked on her wedding day as she came through the doors of the church. She had no idea who Joanne was but at the moment she could have described her in intricate detail. She walked past several magic mirrors and saw not her own face but other faces staring back at her. In a daze of wonder, she wandered over to Effie, who was peering at a stuffed taxidermy of a cat. Anna briefly wondered what memories that could possibly hold when she spotted the snow globe next to it.

She picked it out from the pile. It was beautiful. All of London seemed to be inside it, an impossible complexity of dark stone streets and buildings: Big Ben rising above, alongside the London Eye, a miniature of St Paul’s, the Thames snaking through its centre – she could have studied it forever and still found more. She hadn’t shaken it but the snow was flurrying around inside. She looked more closely; it was hard to make out, but the snow did not look like the white glittery flecks of an ordinary snow globe, each one was of incomprehensible intricacy – a minuscule snowflake – a world in itself. The memory of a real snow storm?

‘Wow,’ said Effie. Anna had never heard her voice sound so soft. ‘I think they’re real. Actual snowflakes. I love snow.’

‘It’s amazing.’

‘I want it,’ said Effie, taking the snow globe from Anna’s hands and moving over to the counter.

The owner looked down at it. ‘Expensive tastes, I see. This is a rare object.’

‘You know my mother, no? Selene?’

‘I know Selene Fawkes, yes, and you, Effie Fawkes. I never forget a face or a name.’

‘She’ll sort out the payment, whatever it is.’

‘Will she now?’ The woman looked at Effie knowingly from beneath her hat. ‘All right, seeing as you were both drawn to it, I shall give it to both of you. Tell Selene I’ll be in touch.’ She began to wrap up the snow globe.

Anna looked again at the row of frozen clocks on the wall, feeling as if she was lost in time herself. The time! She looked at her watch – which was very much unfrozen and ticking – and saw she had eight minutes until her class started. She didn’t want to go. She had to go. ‘Er – Effie, we better get back.’

Effie took the bag from the shop owner. ‘Sorry, my friend here thrives on stress.’

‘And what’s your name?’ said the woman.

‘Anna, but I’ve got to go, sorry, but thank you, thanks, your shop is lovely,’ Anna called, heading towards the door.

The woman nodded, disappearing again into the back room. As soon as Anna was outside on the street, among normal smells and normal people, she was barely sure the woman had even existed. She looked back – the shop was still there, definitely still there.

‘I thought you were late?’ said Effie.

Anna shook her head. ‘I am! Come on!’

‘Come on? I give you a taste of the magical world and that’s all you have to say?’

‘Well.’ Anna smiled, slowing her pace a little. ‘It was sort of incredible. So small and yet …’ She thought how if you put all the memories held within the shop’s walls together, you’d have entire centuries, whole worlds to play with. To her, memories had always been something best left be, sewn shut and forgotten.

‘You see, didn’t I promise you fun?’

Anna laughed and Effie kicked at a patch of leaves beneath them. They scattered up into the air, swirling around them – around and around like the snow in the snow globe. Effie was doing it. Anna could feel the tendrils of it – magic. It tugged at her like nostalgia; made her whole body ache.

‘You can feel it, can’t you?’

‘No.’

‘You know why I like you?’

‘Honestly, no.’

‘Other than the fact I find your constant self-castigation hilarious, I like you because I can see the desire in your eyes, your lust for magic. I can see you want it more than anything in the world.’

Anna considered her words, watching the leaves blow higher. A crow had settled in the tree above. It cried, the sound high and grating, like a violin being played backwards.

‘Selene always said your mother was exceptional at magic. What are you so afraid of?’

Where could she begin? Her whole life was built on a foundation of fear. Anna reached for the Knotted Cord, trying to control her fears, to put them in order. Aunt. The Binders. Sacrifice. The Ones Who Know Our Secrets. ‘It’s complicated. My aunt is on edge at the moment—’

‘Forget your aunt! She’s filling your head with fairy tales! Wolves in the woods! I didn’t ask what she’s afraid of, I asked what are you afraid of?’

Anna let go of the Knotted Cord. She felt as if she feared everything and nothing all at once. ‘I don’t know.’ She watched the crow fly away, shrieking trouble into the air. Her fears were not her own and neither were her memories.

That night, Anna took out the photograph of her parents. She hadn’t looked at it since Selene had given it to her. Something about it troubled her. She glanced at her father’s face for only a moment and then returned her gaze to her mother. Her eyes traced her features and she felt nothing. She had been trained to feel nothing, to tie the sadness up in knots – blunt knots could not bruise. She wanted to tuck the photograph away and forget it existed, but Effie’s words came back to her – You must want to know more – like loose threads waiting to be pulled at.

Anna had always liked the fact that she had no memories of them at all. It had kept them at a safe distance. Kept the horror of it all at bay. But for just a moment, she longed for a connection.

‘Were you lonely?’ she asked her mother quietly, but her mother did not look lonely with Anna’s father wrapped around her and a baby in her arms. Aunt had always told her that friendship and love were just an illusion to help you sleep at night. You and I, we have each other, we don’t need anybody else. Anna had never thought she had, until now.

She put the picture back and imagined her mother holding her, feeling the heavy emptiness that came at night. Perhaps it was loneliness, after all.