The Witch’s Kiss. Katharine Corr

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      This was no dream.

      ‘I would not willingly hurt you, maid, but you must be still.’

      Merry ignored him and slammed the back of her head against his face.

      The boy grunted, but his grip didn’t falter. ‘I’ve a blade in my hand. Unless you wish me to use it, be still!’ Something sharp pressed against the side of Merry’s ribcage. She stopped struggling. ‘Now, I am going to take my hand from your mouth. You will not scream.’

      Merry tried to remember how it had felt when she’d smashed the mirror earlier that day. If she could summon even a fraction of that power, force him away from her –

      The pressure from the knife-point increased. But she couldn’t feel the faintest flicker of magic. The repelling charm she was saying in her head might as well have been a nursery rhyme.

      ‘Agreed?’

      Merry nodded. The boy lowered his hand, placing it instead around her throat.

      ‘What is this place?’

      ‘Tillingham,’ Merry whispered. ‘We’re just outside Tillingham.’ She felt the boy shake his head. He didn’t seem pleased by her answer.

      ‘Where is Gwydion?’

      ‘I don’t know anyone called Gwydion.’

      The boy’s hand tightened slightly.

      ‘Then why do I know your face? Why am I drawn to this … this dwelling?’ There was anger in his voice, but underneath the anger Merry could hear panic. The boy was terrified of something.

      ‘Please, let me go. I don’t know what you want. I can’t help you.’

      ‘You’re lying. You must help me.’ The boy turned Merry around so he could see her face. ‘I know you. I remember little else, but I know you!’

      The bedroom door burst open and the light came on. Merry tried to duck as Leo took a swing at the boy with his cricket bat. He wasn’t quick enough. The boy shoved Merry towards her brother and leapt for the window. He paused and looked back at her, crouched on the sill for a moment, before jumping out into the darkness.

      Leo ran to the window and leant out. The next moment he was on his knees next to Merry, his arms around her.

      ‘It’s OK, Merry. He’s gone. God, I thought – I thought—’ He took a deep breath. ‘Who the hell was that? Was it someone from school? Did he hurt you?’

      ‘No, he didn’t.’ Merry clutched her stomach as a ripple of nausea shot through her. ‘He didn’t hurt me, not really. It was him, but it can’t have been. He’s not real. At least, I didn’t think he was.’

      ‘You’re not making any sense. I think you’re in shock.’

      ‘It was that man – boy – the one I’ve been having nightmares about.’ She shivered. ‘But you saw him too, didn’t you? I’m not – I’m not imagining it?’

      Leo shook his head.

      ‘Of course I saw him.’ He dragged the duvet off the bed and wrapped it round Merry’s shoulders. ‘I just tried to bash his head in, didn’t I? God, this is crazy. Maybe he just looked a bit like the guy in your nightmares?’

      ‘No. His clothes were exactly the same. Every last, weird, detail, right down to the stupid brooch thing he had on.’ She groaned, pressing shaking fingers to her temples, remembering how the boy had asked for her help, how certain he’d been that he knew her. None of it made any sense. And why hadn’t she been able to cast a spell? Sure it was a long time – at least seven months – since she’d deliberately tried to use her power, but even so …

      She swallowed; her throat was parched.

      ‘How did you know he was in here?’

      ‘The cats. The pair of them were on the landing, staring at your room and hissing, with their tails all fluffed up.’

      Merry closed her eyes and leant against her brother’s chest.

      ‘I’m not sure I can cope with much more of this.’

      ‘Let’s call the police.’

      Merry sat up again.

      ‘No. Let’s not.’

      ‘But maybe you’re psychic. Witches are automatically psychic, right? Which means he was the one who’s been attacking people. It certainly looked like he was trying to kill you.’

      ‘He wasn’t trying to kill me. And I’m not psychic.’ She winced and rubbed her side where the knife had dug in.

      ‘But—’

      ‘Please, Leo? The police won’t be any use.’

      ‘Why on earth not?’

      ‘Because I’ve never seen the guy before, but somehow I’ve been dreaming about him. If I tell the police that, they’ll just think I’m mad. Or worse.’ She yawned, suddenly feeling utterly drained. ‘I think … I think he must be linked to that trinket box. Gran will know what to do.’

      Leo groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

      ‘Well, if that’s true, you have to get hold of Gran tomorrow. This is all getting too dangerous.’ Merry could hear the anxiety in Leo’s voice. ‘And if he comes back, I am calling the police.’

      ‘I don’t think he will.’

      ‘Since you’ve just told me you can’t see into the future, you don’t know that. Come on.’ He gathered up her duvet and pillow. ‘You’d better sleep in my room until Mum gets back on Sunday.’

      Leo insisted Merry went to school the next day; he said she would be safer there, and he told her to stay at school and study until he could come by and pick her up at six. When they got home he went straight upstairs and nailed her bedroom window shut. Merry, unconvinced that nails would help, went through her mother’s address book and found an old mobile number for Gran; the call went straight to voicemail, but she left another message.

      Early the next morning, in the dim greyness just before dawn, Merry heard singing outside Leo’s window. Chanting, really; voices rising and falling along different harmonic lines that somehow combined into a single, sombre melody. She couldn’t make out the words. Pushing the curtain aside and peering through the glass, she saw a group of women standing with their arms raised. Some of them seemed to be holding things: bunches of twigs, stones, a metal bowl on a chain with smoke coming out of it. As Merry watched, one of the women knelt, pulled out a knife and started carving a shape in the lawn underneath the window.

      ‘Oh, my – Leo!’ She shook him awake.

      ‘Huh? What?’

      ‘There’re people downstairs in the garden – I think they might be witches. They’re singing. And one of them’s messing up Mum’s lawn.’

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