Prologue

‘Kill the witch. Kill the witch.’

The girl is surrounded by snarling faces; an army of enemies baying for blood. A boy becomes a fighter pilot and shoots a round of bullets with his thumbs. For him it’s just a game. She can’t break through the barricade of linked arms and legs, a circle of them against us.

She won’t cry. Her throat is harsh, hot, but she won’t give them that. She picks up a stone and hurls it blindly. It hits a girl and the crowd breaks in slow motion. She takes her chance and escapes, running hard. Her feet pound fast against the earth, her heart pounds painfully against her chest, the pain in her temple pounding, pounding. She races through the clearing towards home.

They are soon at her heels. Rabid dogs slathering and howling.

‘Filthy.’

‘Dirty.’

‘Disgusting.’

Their hateful cries are caught up by the wind and chase her through the trees.

She’s getting closer to her home, deep in the woods, but the pack is getting closer to her. She can’t outrun them. She’s too young. They’re too fast.

Desperate, she crouches inside the hollow of a tree. Holds her breath, scrunches her eyes tight shut.

They find her. She stares into a sea of rage. This is what war is. ‘You’ve had it now, you filthy little…’

She doesn’t let them finish. She uncurls, stands up straight and raises her hand in the sign of a curse. She is no witch, but she has to make them believe she is.

‘Go on then, kill me if you dare, and I will return from the dead and haunt you all.’