One of the worst things about being put in an impossible position is that the world keeps turning. The sun keeps rising and setting. Time keeps passing. All you want is a moment to stop, to think, to work out what you’re going to do, but you don’t get a moment, because every moment is another moment closer to the moment where everything ends.

‘Do you want to do a run through, Pearl?’ Cardy asks me.

‘No,’ I reply. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it.’

I wonder if it’s too late to change out the song I’m going to play for Cardy’s concert tonight. The angry stuff I’ve been writing recently is good, so I was going to play one of those, but this whole ironheart thing has frozen my fingers.

Ironheart.

One whose heart is like iron: cold and cruel and one that will burn those it touches.

It felt so good to take my music back from the fairies. To make it mine again. To make it about me – my rage, my frustration, my pain.

But now they want to take my anger away from me, just like they keep taking and taking and taking everything else.

Of course, that makes me furious, but now anger makes me feel nauseous, because it makes me think about someone ripping out my heart and eating it so they can murder either a) Finn or b) everyone else.

Someone I know. They walk among us, after all.

I find myself looking suspiciously at every single person I walk past. Are they the one whose heart Kel ripped out before he waved it around outside my window? What kind of person would make that bargain? Did they get a choice? Was it someone I know? Or could it be some random stranger on the street, lurking, waiting to grab me and cut me open?

I try to tell myself I have time. The Riders might not be bound by much, but they’re bound by whatever the weird system of holidays the fairies have is, and they can’t ride until the summer solstice. I have time. I have time. This isn’t like when Jenny and Kel took Phil and I had, like, three seconds to work out what to do. December has only just begun and the solstice isn’t until nearly Christmas. I have a few weeks’ grace.

A few weeks’ grace to do . . . what?

Because there’s no way out of this. I might have a few weeks, but it feels like time is speeding up, like someone has broken the hourglass and sand is pouring out and flying everywhere. Whatever sacrifice the Unseelie made, they’ve clearly already made it, because the Riders have recruited their sixth person. I can’t stop them riding. If I let them cut my heart out, I die, and I’m forced to murder Finn as some kind of undead rage-zombie. If I manage to weasel out of being the ironheart, then someone else will get their heart cut out and eaten, and I’ll have two deaths on my conscience. Wouldn’t the Killer Girl Pearl people go nuts for that?

I look at him across the hall. He’s tuning his guitar, but he doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job of it, because his hair keeps falling in his eyes and he’s swearing.

Somehow, I’m beside him, taking the guitar out of his hands. ‘Let me,’ I say.

‘You know how to tune a guitar, Linford?’

‘I’m musical. I’ll work it out.’

He’s so close beside me that even though we’re not touching, I can feel the warmth of his body. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks. ‘After the thing last week? With the hospital?’

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Man, what did you do to this guitar? Your G-string is so tight.’

He starts laughing.

‘You know what I mean,’ I say. ‘It’s like you’re twelve sometimes, honestly.’

‘Come on, Linford,’ he says. ‘I know things are bad, but it’s still okay to laugh.’

As far as opportunities go to tell him the truth, this is a pretty perfect one. Actually, things are way worse than you think, I should say. A bunch of magical murderers with no hearts want me to join their squad for a night as a) their meal and b) a mascot, so we can kill you.

I should bring him up to speed. He should know. He deserves to know. It’s him the Riders are after. Everything in this is about him, and all I am is a pawn, something to be devoured and spat out. Literally.

This is not what I say, though.

‘There’s, like, twenty minutes before people start arriving,’ I say, strumming the guitar to check that it’s in tune.

‘Miraculously, I have worked out how to tell time,’ he replies. ‘I’m not that much of a moron.’

‘You know the storeroom behind the stage?’

‘The one where they keep all the exercise mats and stuff for PE?’

‘Do you want to go there? Now? With me?’

‘Linford,’ he says. ‘What are you asking me, exactly?’

I take off my iron ring and put it into my bag. ‘Just come with me, Finn.’

When we close the door of the storeroom behind us, the darkness is total. There’s only the barest crack of light visible, a yellow rectangle around the door reminding us that the rest of the world is there.

But in here, there’s nothing else. There’s just him and me.

I reach out. I find his belt. I pull him to me, hard.

‘Pearl,’ he says. ‘We should – we need to –’

‘We’ll talk later,’ I say. ‘Promise.’

His fingers find my face, stroking down the sides of my cheeks. ‘I don’t want to accidentally grow your hair back again,’ he says, his voice warm and ragged against my temple.

‘If you do,’ I say, tugging his shirt out of his pants, ‘could you grow it back blonde, please? I’m sick of having to dye it all the time.’

‘I love your hair,’ he whispers. His lips brush against my ear, and then his teeth close on my earlobe, a sensation that sends a thunderclap of sensation through my whole body. ‘I liked it when it was long, but I love it now. Short. Spiky. Wild. Like you.’

‘Don’t let me go,’ I beg. ‘Please, Finn, don’t let me go.’

Then his lips are on mine.

I tangle my fingers in his hair. We fall onto one of the exercise mats, him on top of me, but it’s not enough, not enough, he’s not heavy enough, there’s not enough of him for me to hold onto. I wrap my arms around him, wrap my legs around him, kiss him so hard our teeth clink together, but it’s still not enough. I can’t get enough of him. I can’t hold on tight enough. I can’t – I can’t –

‘Shit, Pearl, you’re crying,’ he says.

‘No, I’m –’ I try to swallow the massive sob that bubbles up in me, and fail miserably. ‘Just – Finn, please –’

‘Is this about sex? Because that time in the music room – I mean, we don’t even have twenty minutes. I wasn’t planning – I would never – if you didn’t want to –’

‘No. God, Finn, no. Just – don’t go. Don’t go.’

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘It’s all right, Pearl. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.’

That only makes me sob harder.

He whispers things in my ears. Beautiful things. Lovely things. Comforting things.

And all I can do is cry, as the boy they’re going to make me kill tries to make me feel better.

A group of Year Ten boys see us emerge from the storeroom, and they immediately start whistling and cheering.

‘Hey,’ Finn says sharply. ‘One more sound, and –’

‘One more sound, and I’m cutting you dicks from the program,’ Cardy interrupts.

The boys grumble, but they shut up and go away. ‘Are you two all right?’ Cardy asks. ‘Pearl, you look like you’ve been –’

‘I’m all right,’ I say. ‘I’m third up, right? After the Year Eight girls and their dance routine?’

‘Right,’ Cardy says. ‘And Finn, you’re in the second half, near the end. Are you sure you’re okay, Pearl?’

I nod, not trusting myself not to burst into tears again.

Cardy pulls his iron necklace out of his shirt. ‘I’m wearing it,’ he says. ‘Here’s hoping it brings us luck. Luck, and ticket sales. We sold a bunch in presales but I’m hoping for a big push on the door.’

‘Is that –’ Finn asks in a low voice as Cardy walks away.

‘Iron,’ I confirm. ‘I made him promise to wear it.’

‘Probably a good idea. I mean, Jenny was in his head for God knows how long, so who knows what else could get in?’

Oh God. I never told Finn Cardy was possessed by the Unseelie. Oops.

‘If the thing with Julian is anything to go by, if you’ve been possessed once, it’s a free-for-all.’

And then it clicks into place.

Irrational behaviour. Erratic reactions to iron. Random turning up and issuing threats and general dickishness.

Isn’t that exactly what you’d expect from someone whose heart has been ripped out and who is now being animated, by, like, ancient death-rage magic or something?

And that whole ‘this is for Phil’ train he’s been on. He’s like that eight-hundred-year-old Rider who found their heart and crumbled into dust. All that’s left of him is longing – and of course Phil would be the locus of that.

It’s Julian. Julian is the sixth Rider.

‘Linford, are you even listening?’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Um, Finn, I have to go get ready. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?’

I think he calls after me, but I’m already walking away.

There is a big difference between an ancient irresistible force and my ex-best-friend’s terrible ex-boyfriend. A big difference.

He can threaten whoever he wants. I am Pearl Linford and I am not going to let a shithead like Julian Bishop eat my heart.

I know, logically, that Julian being the sixth member of Team The Riders makes little to no difference. They’re still wild and uncontrollable and blood and terror and fury and whatnot, and just because he happens to be a dick I go to school with doesn’t mean he’s not now the living embodiment of chaos or whatever the hell it is the Riders are supposed to be. And the same terms that the Unseelie have set me still stand. Someone’s still getting their heart eaten, and if I manage to get out of it being my heart, I’m essentially becoming the Killer Girl Pearl people think I am.

But there’s something about being able to put a face to a nemesis. There’s something about knowing who they are. It makes them real: and when something’s real, you can take it down.

I am not going to be taken down by an enemy who hides behind Cardy, who hides behind Dave. I took down Emily – a fairy powerful enough for the Seelie to betrothe her to their precious lost Valentine baby, for heavens’ sake! – all on my own. They’re not going to tell me what to do.

When I’m performing my song, I find Julian in the crowd. He’s sitting about two thirds of the way back. He’s two rows behind Phil, and even from here, I can tell that he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at her.

It doesn’t matter. I sing directly at him, my fingers smashing into the keys, my voice rising up from that part inside of me which is lava. This is my anger. My rage. My blood, my terror, my fury. Mine. He can’t have it. He can’t touch it.

He thinks he’ll eat my heart? He might not have a heart any more, but I’ll eat him. I’ll cut him up and devour him and pick my teeth with his bones and then grind them up to make my goddamn bread.

And then I’ll throw the bread at that Unseelie dick that’s been zombifying Cardy and Dave. Fairies hate bread, right?

I’m not going to be a disappointment. Not this time. They think the Riders can’t be resisted? They think no one can stand against them? They haven’t met me yet.

I will be the brick wall they run themselves into. I will be the building that stands and stands through earthquakes and fires and floods and the collapse of civilisations and never crumbles. I will be the planet that survives asteroids and dinosaurs and climate change and that keeps on turning, no matter how many different ways the universe tries to find to destroy it.

I will not be the virgin sacrifice, the girl that gets her heart cut out on some altar so some magic beings can be appeased.

Give me a hammer, and I will smash them into pieces.

Finn finds me at intermission. ‘You okay, Linford?’ he asks. His fingers brush my skin in that light, comforting, impersonal way you touch someone when you’re worried they’re going to break.

‘I’m great,’ I reply.

After. I’ll tell him everything after, about the Riders and the Unseelie and – and – and everything. After the performance. After my plan is more concrete. I’ll tell him after, but I will tell him.

‘You were awesome,’ he says, gesturing with his head to the stage.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m sure you’ll kill it. What are you singing?’

‘Not singing. Just playing. I don’t sing.’

‘I refuse to believe that you’re an actual magic person and you don’t have a good voice, Finn.’

‘No, it’s not that, it’s just . . . singing other people’s songs. I can’t, most of the time. The words aren’t true for me.’

‘Oh.’

‘I bet there are some songs I could sing for you, though,’ he says softly.

I look up at him, this boy who is also a hero, and something goes liquid and hardens within me at the same time.

Dying? Him and me together? That’s not an option.

‘I’ve written songs for you before,’ I say.

‘Really?’

I nod.

‘Will you sing them for me?’ His hand is on my waist, fingers splayed over my hip.

‘Not right at this second.’

A muscle jumps in his jaw as my lips brush the side of his neck. ‘Take off your ring.’

I do. I make a big show of putting it in my bag, and kicking the bag away.

And then we’re in the corner, him pressing me into the wall. His hands are on me and my hands are on him and he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him and there is no way, no way in the world, I’m going to let this boy die, not a chance.

‘We should talk about this,’ he whispers against my lips.

‘Not yet,’ I whisper back, and then there is no more talking.

I don’t know how long we’re there before someone clears their throat behind us. ‘Finn,’ Cardy says. ‘You’re up next. In about five minutes.’

‘What? Oh – yeah,’ Finn says. ‘Guitar. Music. Yes. Good.’

‘Yes, good,’ Cardy says, and even though it’s dark backstage I can see him trying not to laugh.

‘Can we talk, Linford?’ Finn asks, pressing a kiss against my temple hard enough that I feel teeth. ‘After?’

I nod. ‘Yeah. After. I promise.’

He flashes me a grin and then disappears.

‘Well,’ Cardy says.

‘Oh, don’t start,’ I say. ‘It’s – will you stop laughing?’

‘Come on, Pearl, it’s pretty funny. You two have been sworn nemeses, since, what, birth? And now – what is this? Is this a thing now?’

‘It’s – I don’t know. Stop asking me hard questions. And wipe that smile off your face, young man.’

‘I’m hurt. Here I am, your number one fan, and you’re treating me like this. Why I never.’

‘Number one fan? Really?’

He shrugs. ‘It’s kind of adorable, you and him.’

‘Just how I would characterise every relationship that begins with saving people from flesh-eating murderers and then detours into half-naked photos splashed all over the internet,’ I say dryly. ‘Adorable.’

‘A-ha, so it is a relationship.’

‘It’s – I don’t know. It’s complicated.’

‘What do you call someone you’re in an “it’s complicated” with?’ Cardy asks, as Finn walks out onto the stage. The bright lights shine in his hair, finding notes of red in the black. His long fingers wrap around the neck of his guitar. Even from here, standing in the wings, I can see his biceps move and my mouth practically starts watering.

‘Finn,’ I say. ‘Just – Finn.’

After. I’ll talk to him after. I’ll sit him down and tell him everything I know, and I’ll tell him I’m going to come up with a plan to sort it out. I’ll tell him I’m not going to let him die. I’ll tell him I’m not going to let them make me into the thing that kills him. I’ll tell him I’m not going to let anyone else die either. I’ll tell him I’m going to save everyone.

I’ll tell him that I – that he – that we . . .

I’ll tell him after.

Of course, there isn’t an after.