At the Littles’ grocery store, I say goodbye to Big Bobby. He’s worried about me, so I tell him everything will be okay. What I don’t mention is that I’m meeting Raffi in three hours’ time in the woods. I don’t think this news would calm him down.

I go home and change into dry clothes. There’s not enough time to nap even though I want to so much. If I close my eyes, I might sleep too soundly, and I can’t miss meeting Raffi. I look out the window. The rain is still pelting down. Through the trees of Hushing Wood, I can see the sky slowly changing from raven black to goose grey. Dawn is almost here.

I can’t stop thinking about the jinn and the story of the dragonfly. Is this the same dragonfly I’ve been seeing? I shiver at the thought. Luckily I have Mystic to protect me. I put my arms around him. My heart is so full of love for my wolf dog.

The story is in my pocket but I don’t dare read on. I’m scared that if I know the future, and it is not a good future, then I won’t be strong enough to fight the jinn. So I leave it there, burning a hole in my pocket.

Suddenly I hear a pitiful wail coming from the woods.

Is it Kalila? Is she in trouble? I hesitate at the window. It could be the jinn trying to trick me. Grandpa Truegood said not to believe everything I see or hear. He said to trust my heart. But my heart is telling me nothing.

I don’t know what to do. If it is Kalila, she needs my help. I have to go.

I climb out the window. Mystic takes off along the trail that leads to the Hollow Tree and I run after him.

Branches hang low, heavy with water after the storm. Mud on the track is like quicksand, sucking at my feet, making the going that much harder. In places I have to skirt around the edge of huge puddles that have spread out into the woods like small lakes.

The sound of a wild, angry river roars in my ears as I get closer to Fiddlers Stream. Mystic runs off down the embankment and I follow, sliding and skidding between the trees, more on my bottom than on my feet. Mud splatters my clothes, and my hands and shoes are caked with it.

I’ve never seen the stream this wild before. It roils and froths, eating away at the banks, uprooting trees and tearing bushes from the earth as it races downstream. The once crystal clear water looks like melted chocolate.

When I reach the Hollow Tree I see that its roots are submerged and the cavern inside is full of water. All my things have been washed away.

Mystic is upriver, prancing along the bank, following something in the water. Then I see the silver fox balanced precariously on a narrow log that’s jammed between rocks right in the middle of the river. She yelps and whines at the torrents lashing at her feet. There is no way to reach her unless I jump into the river and swim to her.

I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, ‘Kalila!’ But my voice is lost in the snarl and roar of the water.

Today is your birthday, Ziggy. You will soon be mine, the river sings.

Everything seems dreamlike. The woods are sliding away. Mystic’s frantic barking grows deep and lazy like a tape being played in slow motion. The trees too are whispering but I can’t hear their words.

A thin, wheedling voice winds around me and through me. Don’t go near the river, Ziggy Truegood. Don’t throw away your life. Now is the moment to take control of your own destiny.

‘My destiny?’ I hear myself say.

You can choose, the voice says. Live or die.

‘But Kalila . . . I must save Kalila.’

Well then, the river will take you both. Will you let it have its way? Run, Ziggy, run away now . . .

What do I do? Jump into the angry river and sacrifice my life to save Kalila? We would both die. Or I could turn and run. I could go back, meet Raffi at six o’clock as we planned, and pretend I haven’t been here. And by then it will all be over.

I shake my head as my heart and the voice battle inside me. I sway on the spot as if they are pushing me one way and then the other.

That’s right, save yourself, the wheedling voice comes again. No one will know. Raffi will never find out.

My eyes fill with tears as I turn and scramble back up the embankment. I hate myself. I am a coward. That horrible, shameful word bores into my brain. You are not true or good, Ziggy, I tell myself as I run.

Behind me, and growing more distant, is Mystic’s frantic bark.