NECKLACE

In sacrifice, may our hearts be pure.

Tenet Seven, The Book of the Binders

Anna had spent the first few days of the Easter Holidays relieved to be out of school and away from the guilt of the worsening rumours. But now the dreaded day had arrived and she would rather be anywhere but at home. The Binders were due. She was a tangle of nerves.

What if her magic escaped again? What if they sensed its darkness? What if it revealed the curse mark? Would they waste no time? Will I be forced to join their ranks today? It was strange – she’d never had to worry about having too much magic before. Part of her relished the thought of turning it on the Binders, watching their puckered faces burst open in shock, but the rest of her knew it was imperative that she revealed nothing, risked nothing.

The doorbell rang at midday on the dot.

‘Helen, do come in.’ Aunt’s voice feathery, welcoming.

Anna listened as they arrived one by one, exchanging polite greetings. She picked up the cakes and forced a smile, entering their lair. They cast critical gazes at her – the usual nine pinched faces, looking as if they’d been sucking lemons all night. There was a new face among them. A girl her age, big-boned with bristly auburn hair. Anna recognized her vaguely. Rosie. Mrs Bradshaw’s daughter. They had met once before.

‘Hi, Anna. Good to see you again.’

‘Rosie,’ Anna replied warily.

‘Anna, Rosie has recently gone through her Knotting,’ Aunt explained. ‘We thought it could be good for you to talk. Let Rosie put your mind at ease.’

Rosie smiled obligingly at Anna, wedged next to her mother on the sofa, her hair cut in exactly the same unflattering bob. They’d been much younger when they’d met before. Rosie and Anna had been sent to Anna’s room while the Binders conducted one of their meetings. Rosie had immediately tried to coerce her into doing magic, suggesting they send paper aeroplanes from the balcony into the wind, that they could write rescue messages on them to save them from the tedium of their lives. Anna had been too afraid to comply and Rosie had grown exasperated. Anna couldn’t imagine her becoming a Binder.

‘Would you like some cake?’ She offered the plate to Rosie.

Rosie looked at her mother. ‘No, thank you.’ She rested her hands back on her lap.

Anna continued to take the orders, trying to sift their babble from her consciousness and avoid any sudden movements or eye contact. If she could just escape to the kitchen, talking to Rosie wouldn’t be so bad; it could even prove useful.

‘Your hair looks lovely, Anna.’ Mrs Withering’s smile snapped around her like a trap. Anna froze. She’d hoped they wouldn’t notice her hair. Mrs Withering took a biscuit from the tray. ‘Homemade this time, I see? What an improvement. I’ve heard troubling news from your aunt that you are not yet sure about becoming a Binder. We’re all very concerned.’

Anna tried to keep steady. ‘Aunt has presented me with the decision and I am still weighing up my options.’

A few of the Binders began to laugh – high-pitched spurts. Mrs Withering’s smile screwed itself tighter. ‘Weighing up your options! How idealistic. The youth of today are presented with too many choices, if you ask me. Are you not aware of tenet nine, Anna?’

‘The fire never dies; beware smoke on the wind.’

‘You think we say it for fun? Wear our necklaces as accessories? Bind witches for our entertainment? No. We are here for a purpose. They say the Seven protect all witches but this – as we are seeing – is a fallacy. We, the Binders, are the ones who know what true protection means, who may be the only hope the magical world has left. Whispers divide; in secrets we thrive.’

Anna nodded. She had been treated to such speeches before over the years.

‘Have you ever heard the story of our founder?’

Anna shook her head. That she had not heard.

‘How about a demonstration?’ Mrs Withering clapped her hands together with delight. ‘Rosie, stand up. You can play the part.’

Mrs Bradshaw nudged her forwards and Rosie walked, without question, to the centre of the room.

‘Introducing: Agnes Mandilip.’ Mrs Withering pointed at Rosie, who pretended to tip an imaginary cap in response.

What the hell is going on?

‘It is 1640. The town of Bury St Edmunds. Agnes is the town healer, famed across the county for her skills, revered and respected. Witch, they whispered, but no one probed too deeply; it was better not to know. Agnes took others on in secret – apprentices to learn her arts – gathering herbs, preparing ointments and tinctures, casting spells of healing. But times were changing. The Hunters’ influence was growing stronger, spreading across the country like black storm clouds from village to village, winds rising, smoke stirring – releasing their poison. The whispering grew louder. Witch, they said, witch! Witch! Fingers began to point, accusations bubbled up …’

In response to Withering’s words the Binders around the room raised their fingers towards Rosie, whispering, muttering. Rosie cowered and Anna could no longer tell if she was acting.

‘When they arrived they arrested Agnes and tortured her for nine days straight.’ Mrs Withering smiled. ‘Confess, they said, confess! Confess!’

The Binders began to chant: confess, confess, confess.

‘They wanted names! They wanted more witches to torture! Agnes tried to resist, but their methods were terrible and she screamed and howled …’

Rosie’s mouth sprang open and she began to shriek as if she were suffering the very tortures now. The performance was convincing – too convincing …

‘Stop it,’ Anna cried ‘Stop!’

But Mrs Withering ignored her and raised her shrill voice above Rosie’s. ‘In the end Agnes gave them the names of her apprentices. They hunted them down and brought them to her. She had to listen to them being tortured day and night. It was then, lost in the din of their screams, that she realized the error of her ways. It was her magic, her prideful magic, that had drawn the Hunters to their town, that had unleashed chaos and brought suffering on all those she loved. All she had was the cord her wrists were tied with. She managed to free them and with one last anguished wail she tied a knot in the cord and drew her emotions inside of her. Forever. She locked her magic away so tightly and so deeply that the Hunters would never get to her again.’

Rosie’s mouth snapped shut, slicing her scream in half.

‘No matter how they tortured her after that she remained silent. The whole town turned out for her hanging and as she dropped to her death – her feet kicking, her body writhing – Agnes did not make a sound.’

As Mrs Withering said the words, Rosie reached for her neck, fingers scrabbling – her clamped mouth shut. It took a moment for Anna to realize what was happening. They’re hanging her. They’re hanging her right here, right now!

‘Rosie!’ she cried. ‘NO! Stop! What are you doing?’ The women around her sat docile, stirring their tea and nibbling on biscuits. She looked to Rosie’s mother but she did not stir. They are all mad!

Rosie’s eyes bulged wide, her face becoming red, contorted. Anna could feel her pain as if it were her own. She raised her hands towards her and let go of her magic with a wail – Rosie fell to the floor, retching and gasping, her breathing returning in shuddering waves. Anna looked up and saw that every rose on the rose bush in the corner had opened – silent screams.

All eyes turned to look at her. Anna reached a hand into her pocket, clutching her Knotted Cord, trying to calm herself.

‘How curious,’ said Mrs Withering. ‘I felt something like magic emanate from you then, dear Anna. Not a knot in sight, either.’

I can feign confusion at least. ‘I – I didn’t know what was happening. I panicked and – and – that happened.’

‘I hardly think that counts as magical talent,’ said Mrs Dumphreys disparagingly.

‘Not talent, but some power.’ Mrs Withering eyed Anna. She turned to the room. ‘How can we be sure she will remain in control during her ceremony? That she will be ready to make the necessary sacrifice? Vivienne, I thought you said she was under control.’

‘She won’t panic,’ Aunt snapped. ‘Anna will be ready.’

Mrs Withering took a sip of tea, looking doubtful.

‘Now, are we done with this little demonstration? I think we have more urgent matters to discuss.’

‘Considering everything going on right now, Vivienne, I think there is little more urgent than teaching Anna the importance of our history,’ said Mrs Withering. ‘You see, Anna, before she was hanged, Agnes passed on the secrets of her silence to her apprentices: how she had come to see the sin of magic, how she had bound it inside of her, how all the Unbound must be bound in their turn. Only one apprentice survived but it was enough to carry on her teachings and the noose that hung around Agnes’s neck became our symbol. Our Binders’ necklace. To remind us of her pain and dedication. We have carried her secrets for centuries, binding our magic, bringing witches into our fold and trying to prevent their return. But the magical world hasn’t listened and now the storm clouds are brewing again. But don’t worry, Anna.’ Mrs Withering smiled sourly. ‘You take your time. You make your decision. It’s not like it’s important, is it?’

Anna took a moment to speak. ‘Thank you. You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

‘Well, think fast. Summer is approaching. You don’t have long.’ Mrs Withering looked at Aunt with significance. ‘Silence and secrets.’

‘Silence and secrets,’ the room replied in unison

‘Go on, Anna. Take Rosie to the kitchen,’ Aunt instructed sharply.

Anna only just made it to the kitchen table before her legs buckled beneath her. Rosie poured herself some water from the jug, smiling cheerfully as if nothing had taken place. A few minutes passed in silence before Anna spoke.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Oh yes, fine.’ Rosie was still smiling.

‘Rosie, you know what happened in there wasn’t right. It was messed up.’

‘Pain paves the way.’

Anna breathed deeply. If the girl she’d known before was in there, she was buried deep. ‘You’re a Binder now, then?’

‘I am,’ Rosie replied. ‘The lowest of ranks, of course, but we must all start somewhere.’

‘What about your magic? Do you remember when we met before and you tried to get me to cast a spell with you, but—’

‘You wouldn’t. That’s why I told my mum that they didn’t have to worry about you. You’ve always been so disciplined, you’ve always had such self-control.’

‘But surely there’s no harm in the odd spell.’

Rosie’s smiled dropped and she spoke with a lowered voice. ‘Anna, no, magic is dangerous. Life is much simpler without it. You’ll be happy, trust me. It’s not like you can’t feel things any more, you just don’t care as much. It’s like looking upon the world with a new level of maturity. I’m very happy now.’ The smile returned, her eyes steady – blank.

‘The Book of the Binders says that during your ceremony you must be ready to make the necessary sacrifice. What is the sacrifice?’ Anna said urgently.

‘Wind,’ Rosie replied.

‘What?’

‘During the ritual the Binders have to generate magical energy that mirrors your own and then use it to bind the magic inside of you. For sin drives out sin and magic must be bound by like magic. My language was the wind and so they used that to bind me. I remember them drawing on the wind – windows banging open, a hurricane of air around me, petals flying …’ There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes as she recalled it. ‘And then – it was Knotted. Gone. Deadly still.’

‘Did it … hurt?’

‘Pain paves the way.’ Rosie smiled. ‘If you stay in control that will help. Weakness in feeling, strength in control.’

Anna couldn’t take any more tenets. ‘But I don’t know my language, so how will they bind me?’

Rosie frowned. ‘I don’t know. Presumably there’s a way of dealing with that scenario. Are you sure you don’t know your language?’

Anna shook her head, thinking of the seven circles. Is a curse my language? ‘No. Can they bind any language?’ Can they bind a curse? What will they sacrifice?

‘Yes. Any language, I think. Maybe they won’t bind you until you know what it is.’

Anna nodded sceptically. That was not how it felt when she was surrounded by the Binders. There was a hunger in their shrivelled gazes; they wanted to bind her, and soon. They knew something she didn’t. ‘So your magic is gone now?’

‘No. It lives here.’ Rosie reached inside her jumper and pulled out a Binders’ necklace from around her neck, just like Aunt’s. Anna could see the bruises blossoming beneath from her earlier strangling. ‘Or at least this represents the magic bound within me.’

‘Can you not still access it somehow?’

‘Oh no, it would be incredibly difficult for me to practise magic. If I tried to cast now this cord would strangle me and – as you’ve seen – that’s not a pleasant experience.’ She put the cord back under her jumper and joined her hands on her lap. ‘Of course, during training it is sometimes necessary.’

Anna stood up from the table, her insides recoiling. She didn’t want to be here any more, talking to this girl with her contented expression and her glazed eyes.

She began to pack the cakes away. ‘Do you know what they’re talking about in there?’

Rosie joined her. ‘Maybe I’ll just have one,’ she said, looking towards the doorway. She bit into a cake and then leant into Anna’s ear, icing on her lips. ‘They’re talking about the latest news stories. The questionable events around the capital.’

‘Have there been more?’

‘Oh yes. They’ve been keeping track. Only last week a local eco-pagan group were accused of carrying out perverted acts in Epping Forest. It wasn’t a big story, mostly covered by the local paper, but still, people were talking. Then there was a dispute between two neighbours in Hampstead Heath, one claiming the other killed her dogs with ‘black magic’. There are a couple of articles beginning to notice the pattern of strange events too – suggesting that the Faceless Women and their deaths might somehow be behind it all.’

‘But that’s not true. The Seven protect us.’

‘Supposedly, though they seem to be failing, don’t they? Anyway, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. The Seven’s deaths drew attention to the magical world and now cowans are noticing. That’s what matters.’ A piece of icing fell from Rosie’s lips. She leant forward again and whispered, ‘I overheard Mum on the phone. Apparently the seventh, the one who escaped, has returned …’

Anna’s eyes widened. ‘Has she said what happened? Who killed them?’

‘I don’t think so. The Binders will not be the first to find out anyway; they are not in direct communication with the Seven, of course. Why would we be? The Seven are a disgrace to the world of magic, the First Sinners; their actions may yet bring terror on us all.’

After that Anna could get no more from Rosie. She made strained conversation until she could take it no longer and pretended she had to leave to do homework. Aunt would be annoyed but that was the least of her worries – she had revealed her magic in front of the Binders. The punishment would be severe.

But Aunt did not mention the incident during dinner. It was there nonetheless, their every word stepping around it delicately. They sat sewing in silence and Anna couldn’t help glancing at the rose bush, the roses sealed once more.

‘Your magic showed its face again,’ Aunt said.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you lying to me?’

Anna’s needle halted. She thought of the coven, the spells, the letter to Nana Yaganov. ‘No, Aunt, about what?’

‘About this boy you like. Peter. You aren’t together are you?’

Anna hadn’t been expecting that. She shook her head, not having to lie for once.

‘You must tell me if you are.’

‘Of course.’ Anna had no intention of telling Aunt anything of her heart. Why does Aunt care? She’d always hated love as much as magic, but why?

‘Good. I will know the man who breaks your heart.’ Aunt continued to brush her hair. ‘These are dangerous times, Anna. If you decide to become a Binder, you must be ready. You must be in control.’

But she’d never felt less in control in her life.

Anna was losing hope. No letter from Nana had arrived. She’d spent most of the holidays cooped up inside the house with Aunt who was more suspicious than ever since the Binders’ visit – forcing her into emotional control sessions almost every night. Anna wasn’t sure she could take any more and time was running out, one knot at a time. Then one morning, a few days before returning to school, her hand landed on something crumpled in her sock drawer. She pulled it out and turned it over in confusion, realizing it was an envelope with her name on it. She tore it open.

Dear Ms Everdell,

You’re lucky I saw your correspondence – I receive a lot of fanmail. I’m busy from now until next year. However, I may be able to squeeeeeze in a visit this weekend. Find me at Cutz and Clips, Brixton Station Road, Brixton. Dress smart.

Nana Yaganov (the First)

This weekend! After languishing the days away in self pity Anna suddenly had no time to waste. She went straight to Aunt and asked if she could see Effie – please, I’ve done all my work, I’ve done all my chores, I haven’t been out all holidays, just one visit before school starts. Aunt took her time to decide, all day in fact, before angrily assenting and calling Selene to arrange.

Of course they were not meant to leave Selene’s house but when Anna arrived and showed Effie the letter, they left immediately for Brixton. Attis insisted on coming too: because the letter is clearly unhinged! Brixton was mayhem: a choppy sea of commuters, criss-crossing and colliding, motor-mouthed ticket touts, a man on a microphone preaching about Jesus the Saviour and a steel drum band brightening the evening with hot metal sounds. Effie cut through it all, as if crowds merely existed to part for her.

‘That’s the one.’ Attis pointed at a shop beneath the railway arches. Its sign was an electric lime green and its windows were cluttered with posters and special offers and a list of services. ‘Weaves, bonding, ponytails, cornrows, braids, plaiting …’

‘You sure?’ said Anna, trying and failing to imagine an ancient witch in a Brixton barbers. The door was open, a man standing on the threshold smoking. There were several men inside, talking and laughing. No one seemed to be cutting hair. Music blared.

‘Well, it’s the name on her letter, which doesn’t mean to say that it is correct.’ Attis stopped outside the shop.

‘You guys wait here,’ said Anna.

‘I’m coming in too,’ he said.

‘No. I think it’ll be better if I go in alone. I’ll be fine.’

Attis frowned. ‘I’m watching from the window then.’

Anna approached the man in the doorway. ‘Is a woman called Nana Yaganov inside?’

He gave Anna a long, hard look and then stepped aside. Anna walked into the rabble of loud voices and music, feeling entirely out of place.

‘Er, does anyone know a Nana Yaganov?’ she said, but no one appeared to hear her. A dog jumped off one of the men’s laps and barked at her. Someone turned the music down.

‘Boys, this girl is trying to say something,’ he yelled. The room quietened.

‘Does anyone here know a Nana Yaganov?’ Her voice sounded small.

‘Who’s asking?’ A cracked voice came from the corner. One of the men stepped aside respectfully and revealed an old woman sitting in one of the chairs. She was so small and stooped and wearing so many ragged layers of clothing that Anna would probably not have noticed her even if she’d been in sight. She spun round to face Anna, narrowing her eyes, which cut through her face like two deep crevasses in a mountain range of wrinkles.

‘I’m Anna Everdell. I wrote you a letter …’

‘Everdell.’ Yaganov said the word as if she were biting into it. ‘Yes.’ She turned back around, facing the mirror. Anna waited, growing more uncomfortable. One of the men stepped in front of the doorway, blocking her exit. ‘Are you here by your own free will or by compulsion?’ Yaganov croaked.

‘I don’t entirely know,’ said Anna. ‘Are you Nana?’

Anna could hear Attis trying to get through the door.

‘Nana Yaganov. The oldest witch in Europe and a curse expert, having cast numerous in my own lifetime and plenty in other lifetimes too. Come and brush my hair.’

Anna walked up to the old woman, the men’s eyes following.

‘Go on, don’t be shy.’

Anna picked up a brush, reflecting on whether this was the most absurd moment of her life so far. The old woman lifted herself up in the chair and Anna ran the brush through her hair – or what was left of it. It was grey and long and sparse, a purpled scalp peeping through. After she’d pulled the brush through carefully it tangled again almost immediately. She could see Effie peering through the glass window with a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look on her face.

Nana cackled wickedly. ‘One strand of my hair can break a man’s neck, do you know that? What pretty hair you have – maybe you can lend me yours?’

Anna looked at herself in the mirror, but now she was the one sitting in the chair and Nana was brushing her hair; with each stroke it was falling out – golden-red strands clogging the brush, dusting the floor, her own scalp beginning to show …

Anna screamed and Nana laughed silently. Anna looked away from the mirror and realized that she was still the one brushing and her hair was still intact on her head.

‘Oh, you’re making heavy weather of it,’ said Nana, pulling the brush from Anna’s hand, ‘and I’m hungry. I’ve been starving since 1978. I need a good feeding before I tell you what you want to know.’

‘What do I want to know?’

‘Oh everything, everything. The dark side of the moon. Come on.’

With great difficulty, Nana stood up from the chair. Anna put a hand out to help but was batted away. Nana walked bundle-like through the room of men and out into the night.

Attis grabbed Anna. ‘You screamed.’

‘I thought I saw something – it was nothing—’

‘Where shall we go for breakfast?’ Nana interrupted.

Attis looked down at Nana; he must have been twice as tall as her. ‘You must be—’

‘No introductions. I know who you all are, knight in shining armour. Did you steal my trolley?’ She looked around, her eyes passing over Effie as if she wasn’t there. Effie frowned. ‘Oh, there.’ She dawdled over to the alleyway by the side of the barbers and pulled a large trolley from it. It was piled high with what were either her possessions or garbage; a fishing rod stuck out of the top.

‘This way, this way,’ she said impatiently, as if they hadn’t been waiting for her. She pushed the trolley down the street and stopped outside a murky café which on its sign claimed to provide ‘Genuine British Food’. Inside, it smelt of grease, the windows were dirty, walls wooden and bare, the tables utilitarian – their only decoration bottles of ketchup and mustard.

‘They serve the best shepherd’s pie since Ailis McConville’s in West Kerry, 1843.’ Nana descended into a seat. She was small and shrivelled but not frail; there was flesh on her bones and, despite her slow movements, there was a robustness to her. The waitress came over.

Nana scowled. ‘I’ll have a bowl of Cheerios and tea, black as a nun’s habit.’

The waitress smiled, looking unsurprised by the breakfast order at nine o’clock at night. The rest of them ordered drinks.

‘We’ve heard a lot about you, Nana,’ said Effie.

‘Well, I’ve heard nothing about you.’

Attis laughed.

‘Don’t know what you’re laughing at, pretty boy. You’ve got nothing to be cheerful about.’

He stopped. It was hard to do anything when Nana turned her eyes on you. They were dark caves, deep wells, black as a crow. Her face was shifting sands, one moment all chin and nose, mouth tucked up in gummy laughter, the next it had latched onto you, shrew-like and scornful, scissored with wrinkles. Anna had no idea how old she was – ancient, perhaps.

‘Nana,’ said Anna gently. ‘I take it you read my letter and you know that I’m here to find out more about my mother, Marie Everdell … and her death.’

‘The past is dead. Hurrah.’ The waitress placed a bowl of Cheerios in front of her. ‘Now this is life, look at them.’ She held a small Cheerio up to her eye. ‘Each a little germ of being.’ She put it in her mouth and sucked.

Anna pressed on. ‘I have been practising magic recently and I fear there’s something wrong with it. It points to a sign—’

Nana leant forward and sniffed Anna. ‘HO! CURSED!’ She held up her spoon and banged it down onto the table. ‘CURSED SHE IS. CURSED. Cut to credits. Cut to credits.’ Her eyes were focused behind them, as if she were talking to an invisible director. She made cutting motions across her neck. ‘It’s why your mother came to me. About her curse. Just like this. Begging. Afraid. CUT TO CREDITS.’

Anna could see nothing but the snarling face of Nana, the words erupting from her mouth. It’s true. I’m cursed …

‘Come on, Anna, let’s go,’ said Attis. ‘She’s a nutter.’

Nana chanted:

‘Jack, be nimble,

Jack, be quick,

Jack, jump over

The candlestick.’

A Cheerio slid off Nana’s thin, hairy lip. ‘Why don’t you take her’ – she made eyes at Effie – ‘and go have a smooch in the alleyway? It’s what you really want, isn’t it? Is it?’

Attis snarled and then pounced across the table, his hands pulling Effie’s face towards him and then they were kissing – their mouths hungry for each other, his hands tearing off her shirt.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Effie. Anna blinked and saw Attis still sitting next to her, looking pale.

‘Oh, you’re going somewhere, Effie Fawkes, nowhere good. Fear drives you even now. I see it inside you like a mad clock. Will his arms be there to hold you? Or will they hold another?’ She smiled a black smile.

‘Just tell us what you know. Unless you truly know nothing at all.’ Effie jutted her chin out defiantly, but then her eyes went wide, her mouth slack. What are you showing her?

‘Now she’s getting clever. Bright and sharp as a mirror, ho!’ She looked back to Anna.

‘Do you know something?’ said Anna, hanging onto her questions like dinghies in an ever-expanding sea. ‘About this curse? Please.’

‘Curse. Not a fluffy word, is it? It’s endless, deep as the earth itself. A tiny prison. I know every curse that has ever been made, Everdell. I see them even now, drenching this world like black rain, nourishing the soils of our nightmares.’

Attis exhaled loudly. ‘This is pointless, Anna.’

‘You’re pointless. Your whole existence is pointless,’ Nana snarled at him. ‘But you know that already, don’t you?’ She smiled a terrible, pitying smile. Attis looked down at his hands.

‘Count out my change,’ she snapped at Anna, emptying her purse all over the table, copper and silver coins running everywhere. ‘Little piles, please, little piles. Orderly as soldiers.’

‘They say you know the Seven,’ said Effie, as Anna began to organize the coins. Anna didn’t recognize half of them; one was definitely a shilling and several were from foreign countries.

‘They say a lot, these people:

‘The more he saw the less he spoke,

The less he spoke the more he heard.

Why can’t we all be like that wise old bird?’

‘Are they dead? Are they going to come back?’ Effie pursued.

‘Protectresses of heaven. Nature in female form. Keepers of the languages. The good within us all.’ Nana cackled. ‘Oh, the Seven will be back. Too late now though, isn’t it? They’ve really messed up this time.’

‘What do you mean too late?’ Effie asked.

The coin Anna was holding burned suddenly into her flesh, leaving a brand there. She called out in pain. Attis reached out to her, but then it was gone, nothing there at all.

Nana turned to her, eyes feeding greedily on Anna’s fear. ‘We should all be afraid, for they are returning.’ Her voice was low and slow now, as if it were coming from somewhere else. ‘All of us. Witches. Women. Souls who question the way things are – free-thinkers, deep-thinkers, the cows who hoped to jump over the moon. All are at risk. Especially the cursed.’ She pointed a spindly finger. ‘Your red hair is enough to mark you out.’ She leant forward and grabbed a chunk of it. ‘If the dark days come again, shave it off, shave it all off.’

Anna felt a pure terror take over her soul.

‘Fear not, dear. You have the bone structure for baldness. Must be off.’

‘Wait. Who are returning? The Hunters? Why are the cursed at risk?’

Nana began to laugh, smacking her tongue against her lips. ‘You already know, Anna. A story. Just a small story. Small as a key. People think stories are harmless but they are the most dangerous weapon mankind has.’

‘What story?’

‘Ah! The usual kind. A prophecy. The Hunters have always loved a prophecy. Gives them a sense of purpose, a reason to shine their boots.’

‘What prophecy?’

But Nana had stood up from the table, scattering the piles of money Anna had sorted. She gave the waitress a ten-pound note from her pocket and left.

‘She’s crazy. Don’t bother,’ Attis shouted, but Anna followed her out onto the street.

‘Nana, what is my curse? I can’t get anywhere until I know that.’

‘How does the wolf know what its teeth are for?’

‘How is that meant to help me?’

‘If I help you, you won’t learn.’ Nana reached for her trolley. ‘Study your dreams, then, for they are free. Follow them to the edge of the woods and beyond, where your name isn’t Anna and curses croak like frogs.’

Anna grabbed the trolley with both hands as Effie and Attis came out of the café. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you help me.’

Nana smiled a jagged tear of a smile. ‘FINE.’ She threw her hands up in the air dramatically. ‘Three questions. You can have three questions for three truths, for truth is golden in these days of darkness. Soon all will be lies.’

Three questions hardly felt like enough but Anna took her chance before it was gone. ‘What is my curse?’

‘If I tell you now you’ll never escape it. I shall give you a riddle instead.’ She cleared her throat. ‘The truth is within the leaves. The mirror within the mirror. The mirror is the key.’

Anna repeated the words in her head. They made as much sense as everything else Nana had said. ‘How do I stop it?’

‘Curses take but a moment to cast and a lifetime to live out – most probably a short one. There are only two things in this world which can break a curse. The magic of the one who cast it in the first place, or a spell more powerful. Sadly there is little as powerful as a curse.’

‘Did my mother die because of the curse?’

‘Oh yes, oh yes, as you will too. Play with love and you’ll play with death.’ Nana cackled and her open mouth was an abyss. Anna was filled with a fear she could not escape from – how could she escape from what she didn’t know?

‘What does love have to do with anything?’

‘Oh, everything. All curses begin with love.’

Anna thought of Aunt’s hatred of all things love, her warnings, her sudden interest in Peter … Did their family curse begin with love?

Nana shuffled closer and whispered in her ear: ‘All you need you already have. Now let an old woman be.’ Anna saw Effie and Attis reflected in the shop window behind her. He was strangling Effie to death, as her father had strangled her mother.

Anna spun around, begging that the nightmare vision would be gone.

‘What is it?’ Attis said.

‘Nothing.’

She turned back around but Nana was already halfway down the street, people jumping out of the way of her trolley.

They walked away in stunned silence, Anna’s mind still lost in the dark tunnel of Nana’s eyes.

Attis began to chuckle, an unnaturally high sound compared to the deep river of his normal voice. ‘I hate people who say I told you so, so I’ll try and find a different way of putting it. I was right. The woman is bonkers. High-security institution bonkers. Curses and prophecies and riddles. Anyone can spout that kind of rubbish, Anna.’

‘She was powerful, you have to give her that,’ said Effie, glancing between them. She looked pale. ‘Those chimera visions she did – did she do them to you guys too?’

They rounded the corner onto the high street to be met by a battery of people. Anna dodged out of the way, thankful for the distraction – she didn’t want to answer Effie’s question. She didn’t want to have to describe what she’d seen. What did Effie see? Anna turned and found Effie’s eyes. They stared at each other in a moment of silent battle. They would never say. Anna remembered Effie and Attis’s bodies writhing as one, Attis’s hands around Effie’s neck – the kind of thoughts that did not go away.

‘She had a flair for the dramatics,’ Attis agreed grimly. ‘Anna, I hope you’re not actually considering the things she said.’

‘What? That I’m cursed? That there’s no hope? That I’m going to die?’

‘In a nutshell.’

‘The truth is within the leaves. The mirror within the mirror. The mirror is the key.’

‘That riddle will send you on a wild goose chase, probably a dangerous one. Now, there’s a great pizza place just inside the market, I suggest we drown our sorrows in melted cheese.’

‘I’m going back home. I need to clear my head,’ said Anna, beginning down the tube steps.

Attis grabbed her hand. ‘Don’t. If you go home now you’ll be worrying all night.’

There was a loud cough from behind them. ‘I’m going home too.’ Anna dropped his hand and turned to find Effie, arms folded, at the top of the stairs, blocking a trail of people trying to get past. Anna didn’t think she’d ever heard Effie say she was going home on a Friday night.

‘I want to re-emphasize: melted cheese,’ said Attis, but Anna was already halfway down, the splintered rumble of the train ahead bringing Nana’s laughter back into her head.