Chapter 1
Dark clouds rumble in the sky, as hard, cold sleet slices through the air. A semi-detached house is silhouetted against the night sky and the moon looms above, its pale white light shining down on the silent street where all the houses look the same.
At number 13, a 14-year-old girl sleeps. Her eyes are closed, but there are fresh tear stains on her cheeks where she has cried herself to sleep and her hand is clenched in a strong fist, prepared to fight whatever comes her way.
The walls of the bedroom are a deep navy and the girl sleeps in an elaborate four-poster bed, with intricate detailing climbing the posts. The canopy is a striking purple, and is adorned with sparkling jewels which shimmer in the reflection of the candle sitting on the bedside table, casting an orange glow over the sleeping girl. On one of the walls, the candle provides just enough light to see a corkboard, covered in photos of a young man, similar in appearance to the girl who breathes quietly in the bed. In bold red ink, on a piece of yellowed paper amongst the photos is the name ‘Drake’.
With a crash, the oak door to the bedroom opens and a woman hurries over to the bed, before shaking the girl urgently.
“Rowena!” hisses the woman. With a start, the girl’s eyelids snap open, revealing midnight black eyes brimming with tears. Hastily, she wipes them away and looks at her mother, her jaw set in determination. Rowena’s mother envelopes her in a wordless hug, her long blonde hair shielding her daughter from whatever had come for them.
“The time has come, my darling,” whispers Catherine into Rowena’s striking red locks.
“No!” she replies fiercely, as her voice shatters with desperation. Catherine nods knowingly.
“You know what you need to do.” She doesn’t hesitate any longer, and gently pushes her daughter away. Rowena meets her mother’s kind, brown eyes with her own fiery ones. Suddenly, there is a crash from downstairs and the trance is broken.
Catherine shoves a rucksack into Rowena’s hands, which shake violently. Before Rowena can say another word, Catherine hands her the end of a rope: the other end has been tied around Rowena’s window ledge for as long as she can remember. Determinedly, she slings the rucksack over her shoulder as Catherine fiercely shoved her out of the window. For a brief moment, Rowena feels like she is flying, as graceful as a swan, but then the rope pulls taut as she hangs just below her bedroom window, out of sight of whoever is in her room.
“Mother,” says a slow, cold, menacing voice, “Long time, no see.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes. I do. This is your fault, Mother. All yours! Now it is time for you to pay the price.”
“Plea-” Catherine begins, but is drowned out by the deafening and unmistakable roar of lightning. Bright green light erupts out of the window and she hears a concluding thud coming from her room. Rowena searches desperately in the other houses’ windows, to see if the neighbours have woken. Somehow, they haven’t.
“Looks like I am running away from you for the second time, Mother,” snarls the voice, before a loud and threatening cackle. It seems to be a warning bell to Rowena, who is about to slide down the rope when the evil laugher stops abruptly. She dares a look over the windowsill and glimpses a figure dressed in all black with striking red hair and midnight black eyes staring at the photos of a man named Drake. It is like looking in a dozen shards of a mirror.
