Big Bobby punches out more plaster with his fist until it’s just big enough. He lifts me up and I crawl between the shelves. Then I tumble headfirst through the hole onto the dusty floor. Mystic whines but I tell him to stay.

Dell Hollow, Myths and Beliefs. That’s the first title I see when I sit up and shine my flashlight around. The hidden room is small, more like an anteroom, but it is filled from floor to ceiling with old books, newspapers and crumbling folders. There are other strange titles. The Book of Hushing Wood. Places of Magic and Power.

We look around in amazement.

Who do you think hid these books in the room and why? Big Bobby writes.

‘It must have been my Grandpa Truegood. He was the town librarian and the one who told me about this room,’ I say, shaking my head in wonder.

Big Bobby nods.

‘Maybe something bad happened so they had to be hidden away.’

I open The Book of Hushing Wood. There are chapters on Fiddlers Stream and healing plants and much more. There is also a whole section on The Hollow Tree. My tree! It says the tree is one thousand years old. And that the hollowed-out space inside the tree has the power to protect people. I smile in amazement. That must be why I always feel safe when I’m inside it.

I open the book called The History of Dell Hollow and begin to read. It’s so different to the history we have been taught at school. The town was much bigger once, with so many more shops on Main Street. The Corner Café used to be called Artist and Poet’s Corner. There used to be music festivals and dances in the street and outdoor art shows.

I show Big Bobby the black and white photos. We flick through them silently. Neither of us can believe this is our town, the same town. Then I see the photos of people playing and picnicking on the banks of Fiddlers Stream. And a rope swing tied to one of the branches of the Hollow Tree. Grandpa Truegood was right – people used to visit the woods!

‘Dell Hollow today is a lie,’ I say sadly. ‘This Dell Hollow was a wonderful place. People liked to play music, to dance, to make art and create things. They weren’t afraid of anything different. And they knew how to use their imaginations! I’ve always wanted to live in a place like that.’

Why does nobody remember? Big Bobby Little writes.

‘The jinn,’ I say.

Big Bobby shakes his head and mouths, I don’t understand.

‘I can’t explain it all now. But it has to do with my nightmares, with Raffi, and with something called a jinn.’

Then I see a book called The Book of Bad Genies. It’s at the bottom of a towering pile of books. Big Bobby helps steady the stack while I carefully remove it. Then he sits down with The History of Dell Hollow.

When I open the book, a yellowing sheet of paper, like parchment, slips out. On it, written in beautiful script, is a story called ‘The Dragonfly Who Laid an Emerald’.

I’m about to put it back when a word jumps out at me.

Kalila!

I begin to read, and as I do, wispy sentences echo in my head. I realise I have heard this before – it’s the fable Grandpa Truegood told me a very long time ago.

There was once a boy who lived with his grandfather and young sister. The boy loved his little sister so much that each day as he walked to and from school he would give her a gift. Sometimes it was a flower, or a poem he had written in class, or a butterfly wing he had found on the ground.

One day he could not find anything to give her. He searched through the alleyways in vain. He finally went home empty-handed and broken-hearted.

But just before he reached the front door of his house, he heard a small reedy voice. ‘I have a treasure for your sister,’ the voice said.

The boy looked down and there, on his neighbour’s window ledge, sat a beautiful dragonfly. It had big orange eyes and an emerald green body.

The boy looked at the dragonfly in surprise. ‘You said something about a treasure?’ the boy said.

‘If you care to wait a moment I will show you,’ replied the dragonfly. It stood up on its hind legs, waving its other legs in the air as if conjuring magic.

When it moved to one side, there on the ledge was an emerald as big as the boy’s little fingernail, set on a base of white jade. It was the most beautiful treasure the boy had ever seen, glittering and sparkling in the afternoon light. The boy knew deep down that it was not a treasure that he had found himself, but he pushed this flickering feeling away.

‘It is yours,’ said the dragonfly.

‘Mine? Really?’ the boy said. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘From a land far away,’ the dragonfly replied.

‘But what favour do you want in return?’ For the boy knew that most gifts do not come without a price to pay.

‘Simple,’ said the dragonfly. ‘Let me live in your house for one week. A roof over my head would be a fine thing, even for a short while. I grow so tired of the sand and the wind that blows off the desert.’

‘I did not know dragonflies like living indoors,’ said the boy. ‘But if that is what you wish, follow me, sir.’ It was such a small favour for such a magnificent gift. And he picked up the emerald, cradling the precious stone in his hand. Against the white jade, the emerald gleamed with the colour of spring.

The boy opened the door and the dragonfly buzzed into the house. It found an earthenware jar to perch on and looked around.

The little sister came running up to her brother. ‘What did you bring me today, dear Brother?’ she said.

The boy opened his palm, revealing the emerald.

The little girl squealed with pleasure and held the emerald up to the light to let the sun shine through it. ‘Look, Brother,’ she said, putting her eye up to the stone. ‘The whole world is green and beautiful.’

The boy smiled to see his little sister so happy.

An hour later, their grandfather arrived home.

‘Where is Kalila?’ he asked the boy.

‘I gave her an emerald and she went up to the rooftop garden to play.’

Their grandfather frowned. ‘Where did you get the emerald from?’ he asked.

‘A dragonfly gave it to me, Grandfather,’ the boy replied.

‘Did you let it into the house?’ His grandfather’s voice was urgent.

‘Why yes, that’s what it wanted in exchange for the emerald.’ The boy grew worried.

‘Silly boy! You have been tricked by a jinn.’

They hunted for Kalila in the rooftop garden and through all the rooms of the small house. But she was nowhere to be found. The jinn had taken her. All that was left was the emerald.

The grandfather told the boy to prepare the caravan. They were going on a long journey to find Kalila. But first they had to wait for the stars to appear in the night sky. One shooting star, the brightest in the sky, would show them where to go.

I look up, shocked. Surely the people in the story can’t be Raffi and his grandfather, Jaddi! And the shooting star . . .

But this room has been locked up for years. And Kalila is a silver fox, not a little girl. And how can this story be written down and put in an old book that’s been locked away for years, when it is only just happening.

It’s too fantastic. My brain is spinning.

I read on. ‘In the Land of Hushing Wood lives a brave young girl called Rima . . .’

My heart seems to stop, then flutters against my rib cage. What is going on? How can I be in the story too? I feel short of breath and shut my eyes. I don’t want to read on, I don’t want to know my end.

Mystic gives a soft growl that tears apart the whirlwind inside me.

Big Bobby and I sit up, straining to listen. But all I hear is the rain pounding on the tiled roof. What can Mystic hear that we can’t? Big Bobby indicates that we should go. I agree. But we still have to pack up the mess we’ve made.

I carefully fold up the story and put it in my pocket. Then we crawl back through the hole and into the library. One by one, we replace the books on the shelf to hide the gaping hole. It’s not perfect, but hopefully no one will notice.

As we walk in the rain past the town clock I look up and see that it’s two-thirty in the morning.

‘It’s my birthday,’ I say to Big Bobby. Dread settles in my chest.

Big Bobby knows what I mean. He puts his arms around me and squeezes tight. It will be all right, he mouths.