Katharine Corr - The Witch’s Kiss Trilogy

‘Hey, Merry?’ Leo was waving his hand in front of her face. ‘Shall we?’

‘Oh – sure. Let’s get it over with.’

They got out of the car and walked up to the front door. As they stepped on to the porch, Merry glanced up, and raised her eyebrows: three horseshoes nailed up now, instead of just one. They had three at home too, though she had never thought to ask Mum why. Leo raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but the door swung open of its own accord. He shot Merry a look of exasperation as they trudged forwards into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind them.

They found Gran in the kitchen. She was smartly dressed as always: grey tailored trousers and a pale blue cashmere sweater, silver drop earrings, her grey hair cut into a fashionable, spiky bob. Not a wart in sight.

‘Come here, the pair of you. Give me a kiss.’

Merry dropped a kiss on Gran’s cheek and stepped back, but Gran took hold of her shoulders.

‘I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since Christmas. Let me look at you …’ She scanned Merry’s face for a few seconds before pulling her into a tight hug. ‘Well, you’ll be fine. I’m certain of it.’

‘What do you mean, Gran? Why wouldn’t I be fine?’

Gran released Merry and shooed her towards the kitchen table.

‘Sit down. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

Once the kettle had boiled, Gran put three mugs and a teapot on the table. Merry poured out some tea and took a sip. It had the same strange taste she remembered; slightly bitter and grassy, though Gran had always sworn it was just regular PG Tips. True or not, somehow the tea was comforting.

‘So. You found the trinket box?’

‘Yes.’ Merry glanced at Leo. ‘It woke us up on Monday night. When I touched it I had a sort of … vision. A boy, on a throne. I’ve been having nightmares about him. And then on Tuesday night—’

‘He broke into the house, Gran,’ Leo interrupted. ‘He was in Merry’s bedroom. And the box is growing. What’s going on?’

For a moment Gran covered her eyes with one blue-veined hand. Sometimes, Merry reflected, it was easy to forget how old her grandmother actually was.

‘I didn’t know this was going to happen, Leo. It was all so long ago, I had hoped …’ She picked up her mug, staring into its depths as though she was trying to read the future. ‘I begged your mother to talk to Merry about it. But, over the last couple of years, I almost convinced myself that Bronwen was right: the evil would never awaken, and Merry would never need to be involved.’ She sighed. ‘I was wrong.’

Merry’s breath caught in her throat.

‘What – what evil? Mum knows? What does she know?’

‘And what about the box?’ Leo added. ‘How do we get rid of it? It’s following Merry around.’

‘Do you have it here?’ Gran asked.

Leo nodded and pulled the trinket box out of his bag. Gran touched it gently, running her fingers over the patterned lid in the same way Merry had done the night they found it.

‘Fifteen centuries have been and gone since this box was created. Just like the key you used to open it.’ There was a low whistle from Leo. ‘It’s made of willow wood and set with flint, for protection.’

‘Protection from that boy, Gran? Or from something else?’ Merry wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. There was something in Gran’s blue eyes that made the skin between her shoulder blades tingle. Someone walking over my grave.

‘The box itself does not offer protection. It is merely the canary in the mine.’

Merry and Leo stared at each other blankly. Gran groaned.

‘This is what comes of a modern education. It’s like a – an air raid signal, or the countdown to a bomb going off.’

‘You mean it’s a warning?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, you could have just said so,’ muttered Leo. ‘What’s it supposed to be warning us about?’

‘It is warning us that time is running out.’

Geez. Merry knew there was a time and a place for being cryptic and mysterious, probably, but this was definitely not it.

‘Please, Gran, can you just, like, lay it out for us?’

Gran raised an eyebrow.

‘Very well.’ She sat up straighter in her chair. ‘There is a powerful wizard, a master of dark magic, sleeping under the Black Lake. His servant – that boy – is already awake: he is responsible for the recent attacks. If the wizard himself awakes and escapes the lake, he will create an army of such servants: humans, possessed and controlled by dark magic drawn by him from the shadow realm. An army whose purpose is to destroy all love in the world.’

Merry swallowed.

‘Controlled by dark magic from the shadow realm? What does that even mean?’

‘The … things of the shadow realm are, as I understand it, more like … evil forces, powerless in themselves, until they are given a human body. Then they will obey the one who gives them human form, the one who gives them the chance to live out their desire to hurt, to destroy. No one will be safe. Your life, Merry …’ Gran faltered. ‘Your life is linked to an oath made by one of our ancestors. As a witch, you have already come of age, and you are currently the last of your bloodline. You will have to stop the wizard’s servant. And … destroy the wizard.’ She plucked a tissue from a nearby box and blew her nose. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling. I know this must be terribly frightening, but we’re all going to try to help you.’

Oaths – wizards – dark magic – Merry shook her head, trying to clear away the haze from her brain, the shreds of sleep. Because surely this was a dream? Surely her grandmother wasn’t actually sitting there and telling her that she had somehow ended up being responsible for – for what? Stopping the attacks in Tillingham? Fighting a wizard? Killing him?

‘But Gran, this is impossible. I’m not a witch, not a proper one. You know I’m untrained.’ Another thought occurred. ‘I can’t afford to mess up my exams this year either. I haven’t got time for this. I just—’

Leo stood, pulling Merry up with him.

‘I’m sorry, Gran, but this is crazy. If this situation needs to be dealt with by a witch, then you can sort it out. Or one of your friends. We’re leaving.’

‘Will the two of you please sit down. Right now.’ Gran didn’t shout. She didn’t raise her voice at all. But for some reason, both of them felt compelled to obey. Merry peeked at Leo’s face – he was just as surprised as she was.

‘I don’t blame you for being angry, Leo, but anger isn’t going to help your sister.’ Gran paused for a moment, staring at the two of them. ‘I think this would be easier if I told you a story. You’ve heard it before, though you probably won’t remember. It’s about the King of Hearts.’

Merry did remember, vaguely. It was a scary story: dark and sad. It had given her nightmares. She remembered Mum yelling at Gran about it. One of the many, many minor explosions in her mother’s relationship with her grandmother even before they had That Argument.

‘I remember a little bit – it was horrible. Wasn’t there something about a wizard, and a prince? Or was it a princess? And—’

‘And jars. Jars with hearts inside them,’ Leo interjected. ‘I remember it too. Mum got cross with you.’

‘Your mother is always cross about something. The point is, it’s not a made-up fairy story. It’s part of our family history. The most important part. The boy in your room …’ She paused to take a sip of tea. ‘The boy is the prince. His name is Jack. In many ways, he is the victim of the story. He is also the monster.’ Gran frowned. ‘Stupid of me. I knew something was happening when the attacks started – you know we like to make sure Tillingham stays mostly free of violence. But I just didn’t make the connection. You see, in the story, Jack didn’t merely attack people. He killed them. He cut out their hearts.’