I hardly recognise the road to Green Lake. Broken branches lie across our path and whole trees have been ripped out of the ground, roots and all.

It’s almost seven o’clock when we reach the caravan. We’re both shivering from the cold and I can’t wait to get inside where it will be warm and dry, and safe. Raffi walks up the steps, takes off his shoes and goes inside. I hesitate. I don’t want to leave Mystic outside.

‘Mystic can come in,’ Raffi calls, as if he knows what I am thinking.

Mystic shakes the water from his coat and bounds up the steps.

The inside of the caravan gives me such a surprise that I let out a little cry. From the outside it looks so small, but I can’t believe how spacious and beautiful it is inside.

The walls are made out of honey-coloured wood and the curved roof has intricate geometric patterns painted all over it in blues, greens, reds and yellows. There is a bench with stones from Green Lake, but I don’t see any kitchen or beds. I’m guessing everything folds away.

At the back of the caravan is a seat covered in bright cushions, and on top of the cushions, sitting cross-legged at a low table, is Raffi’s grandfather. He’s wearing a peacock-blue collarless shirt with a geometric pattern around the collar and cuffs. He looks up from his book and his brown eyes are worried but kind.

Raffi goes over and they speak in soft urgent voices. Then Raffi hands me two towels, one to dry myself and one for Mystic.

While I am drying Mystic, I subtly check under the table and peer into the darker corners.

‘Are you looking for the leopard?’ asks Raffi.

I jump. Does he read minds too? I lay a protective hand on Mystic.

Raffi smiles. ‘You need not fear Namir. He is my animal spirit.’

‘Your what?’ I say, wondering if I heard the words properly.

‘Namir, my animal spirit, lives inside me. When I let him out, only special people like you can see him.’

Relief floods through me. So that’s why Petal didn’t see the leopard. I am not crazy. ‘Who else has an animal spirit?’ I ask, curious.

‘We all do, but some people build a cage around theirs because they are afraid to let them out. Jaddi’s animal spirit is an old bear. Yours is rima, a white antelope.’

‘Rima,’ I whisper. My dream, Grandpa calling me Rima . . . now it all makes sense.

Raffi boils water and makes mint tea in a silver teapot. He brings it over on a small round silver tray. Holding the pot about twelve inches above one of the three glasses, he pours. The tea is like a ribbon of pale gold with silver bubbles on the top that pop silently. He gives the first glass to his grandfather, then fills the other two and sits down opposite me. Even though everything is so strange and new, I belong here.

The caravan is warm and the smell of mint is everywhere. I’m tired and rain-soaked, but I feel my energy returning. I can almost forget the storm raging outside, and Harry Arnold and Truss, and poor Kalila, hiding alone and scared in the woods.

‘Tell your grandfather that your caravan home is beautiful,’ I say.

Raffi adds a lump of sugar to his tea and smiles.

‘I am glad that you find it so,’ his grandfather replies. ‘It is good to drink and to talk while we become friends.’

I’m surprised that he can speak English. And even more surprising is his accent. It’s very proper and correct.

‘Jaddi speaks twelve languages,’ says Raffi.

‘Twelve!’ I say. I can hardly believe it. It’s hard enough speaking one.

‘Jaddi has travelled to many places,’ Raffi goes on. I notice that his manner is completely different when he’s with his grandfather – younger, less serious. He looks at his grandfather with love and respect.

‘I speak three and Jaddi is teaching me more.’ Raffi stands up, spreads a blanket over his grandfather’s lap, and sits down again.

‘Drink,’ says Raffi’s grandfather.

‘Thank you . . . um . . .’

‘Call me Jaddi. It means grandfather.’

I smile. ‘You remind me of my own Grandpa Truegood,’ I say. I look down at my hands. ‘Except he’s in a nursing home and doesn’t remember me.’

‘Your grandfather tries to communicate with you. Sometimes you block him with too many of your own thoughts,’ Jaddi says gently.

I’m shocked. ‘How do you know?’ I ask.

‘Your grandfather and I have lived a long time. We know such things.’

It’s strange, even though the wind is tearing through the woods outside, inside the caravan it’s peaceful and calm. I take a sip of tea.

‘Do you remember the eagle?’ Jaddi says.

‘Yes,’ I say, touching the scar on my cheek.

‘I am sorry that you were hurt. It was sending a message to my grandson – who can be stubborn sometimes.’

Raffi’s face reddens.

‘What kind of message, Jaddi?’ I ask.

Jaddi rearranges the rug on his lap. ‘It was showing him that you are the one we are seeking.’

I’m just about to ask what he means, when Jaddi smiles and holds up his hand.

‘Let me explain, then you will understand,’ he says. ‘You are a child of light in the darkness,’ he begins. ‘When a bird dies, its spirit flies up to the heavens and becomes a star. That is why you rarely see a dead bird. The star is a messenger, which in turn becomes a bird and reaches out to us on earth. Birds, stars and people, we are all connected. It is a circle.’ Jaddi lifts his arm and makes a circle in the air. The glow from it hovers in front of us even though he puts his arm down. I watch until it burns away.

‘We called upon the stars to help us find Kalila,’ says Jaddi. ‘And one of them, the shooting star you saw the other night, led us to Dell Hollow.’

‘But there were three of you on the grass that day,’ Raffi continues. ‘I did not know who the child of light was until the golden eagle, the messenger bird, marked you. I am sorry about that.’

‘A child of light,’ I say under my breath. The words feel warm, as if I’ve grown into a new skin that fits me perfectly. Neither Jaddi nor Raffi talk. They understand that I need space to think about this, to take it in. I look at Raffi’s profile as he sips his tea – his aquiline nose, dark hair curling over his ears. He is a boy about my age but he has another whole way of seeing the world. I look at Jaddi who is wise and who, with the help of the stars and the birds, was guided here. I was the beacon that called them to Dell Hollow. Inside my mind I see a white light shining down from a star, shining down on me. For the first time in my life I know who I am.

‘But you set the trap that hurt Kalila,’ Raffi says, breaking into my thoughts. ‘We did not understand. Was the eagle wrong? Then we realised that it was the jinn that gave you this cruel-hearted idea.’

I nod. ‘That horrible voice inside my head. I will never forget it,’ I say. ‘It convinced me it was the only way to stop my nightmares. What is this jinn?’

‘The jinn is a creature who lives in a world alongside ours. You cannot see into their world, but they can see into ours,’ Jaddi says. ‘We are made of earth, they are made of fire. But not all jinns are bad. They can choose, like we can choose, to be good or to be bad. This jinn, the one in the woods, is a being with extreme power. He only became evil and dangerous after his child was stolen by a human. Now he lives for just one thing: revenge. He is the cause of all that is happening to Dell Hollow.’

‘But why Dell Hollow?’ I ask.

‘We are not completely sure. But it may be the emerald mine. Jinns love jewels, especially emeralds, and they love deep dark places. Once, long ago, there was something special about Dell Hollow – an energy that attracted people to live here.’ Jaddi pats my hand. ‘People like your grandfather.’

He pauses, and looks serious. ‘But I suspect it also attracted the jinn. He was wandering the world, looking for his child.’

‘What happened then?’ I ask.

‘When he came here, he must have tried to take a human child to replace his own. Someone fought him.’ Jaddi looks at me. ‘Perhaps your grandfather. And he succeeded. But before the jinn was driven away, he cursed the town, and the woods. People grew afraid of the woods and of everything outside of their own small world.’ Jaddi takes a sip of tea and gently sets the glass down on the table. ‘Later, after he had taken our Kalila, the jinn must have returned to Dell Hollow and hidden Kalila in Hushing Wood, where he thought nobody could save her.’

‘What the jinn did not count on was a child of light being born to the town,’ says Raffi. ‘Or that she would have a dog who is part wolf.’ He looks across at Mystic, who is twitching inside a dream.

‘Jinns and wolves do not get along, you see. You are a child of light and you have a protector. That has made it hard for the jinn to control you.’

Raffi points to a potted plant in the corner of the caravan. I hadn’t noticed the strange yellow fruit that looks like small hands. ‘That citron plant wards off jinns as well. So inside here, we are safe.’

‘You said the jinn came from another world,’ I say.

Jaddi nods. ‘There is the world you live in. But there are many other worlds. One is what you call the imagination. We call it the alamal mithal.’

‘But the imagination isn’t real,’ I say.

‘People only say that because their power of imagination is weak. When it becomes strong, your imagination can take you to incredible places. These are real places, although you cannot touch them with your hands.’ He taps his chest. ‘But you can touch them with your heart.’ He smiles. ‘True imagination is your door to a real world. Sometimes people glimpse this world when they’re not looking straight at it.’

‘I do see things out of the corner of my eye,’ I say excitedly. ‘So that is a real world?’

‘Artists, writers, musicians all have links to this world. Some great ones have passed from one world to the other and back again. That is how they create masterpieces.’

Jaddi must have noticed my confused expression. He touches my arm.

‘All this you cannot understand with logic,’ he says. ‘You have to understand it in here.’ He puts his hand on his chest. This action reminds me of Grandpa Truegood.

With his other hand he holds something out to me.