Anita ran all the way to the hostel where Evan lived.

It had seemed odd when Anita first met him that a boy his age should be living in a hostel; but his home was in Wales, hundreds of miles away, and apparently his parents had made some kind of arrangement with the people who ran the hostel so that Evan could take a room there during the school term.

Of course, if her mum was right and Evan was a Faerie lord, then he’d probably fixed the whole thing with magic!

The manager was in her small office, off the main hall. She seemed surprised to see Anita, although she’d been there several times with Evan. Her desk was awash with forms and papers.

“Evan Thomas? No. He’s not been here since the school term ended. We’re full of foreign students doing a summer language course. It’s total mayhem.”

“Do you know about the accident? On the river?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Evan wasn’t killed?”

The woman looked taken aback. “No, he wasn’t killed. What kind of a question is that? You know he wasn’t killed. You were here with him at least twice after you both came out of hospital.”

A flood of relief. But the woman was looking at her suspiciously now.

“Are you okay?”

No, actually I’m a million miles from okay.

“I’m fine. Where did he go?”

“Home, I guess. His folks live in Wales, don’t they?” A raised eyebrow asked the question: How come you don’t know where he is? “Have you tried his mobile?”

“Yes. I’ve left messages.”

Understanding filled the young woman’s face. Anita knew what she must be thinking: Anita’s boyfriend had skipped town without telling her, and now he wasn’t taking her messages. Just another ruined teen romance.

“No!” exploded Anita, although the woman hadn’t said a word. “It’s not like that!”

The woman dropped her glance. “Sorry, I can’t help you. I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he gets your messages.”

Anita walked out of the office. She found herself out on the street again, sucking in air, feeling dizzy. She speed-dialed Evan’s number.

This time he would answer. She could hear his voice already.

Hey, sorry—I was in the shower. Yes, a really lo-o-ong shower. I’m fine. . . . Sure we can meet up. Yes, I love you, too.

She was diverted to voice mail.

She wandered the streets with nowhere to go. Home? No! That was an insane place now. Jade’s house? She looked around, orientating herself. Yes, she could go to Jade’s.

Her phone beeped.

A new text from Connor. I HATE THIS! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME! IF YOU DON’T GET BACK TO ME THIS TIME, I’M GOING TO CALL YOUR FOLKS!

She took a long, slow breath then searched out his number and pressed Call.

Anita sat in the train carriage, watching the houses flit by under a blue sky. Houses full of people living normal lives.

Connor had been wired when she’d called him. No. I’m not talking to you on the phone. You have to meet me.

He had given her brief instructions about where he would be, then he’d hung up before she’d even agreed to go all the way across London.

Odd thing, one more odd thing in a whole blizzard of odd things: When she got off the train at Denmark Hill station, she had the weirdest feeling she’d been here before although she knew she hadn’t. She was a North London girl, a Camden girl. South of the Thames was just one big sprawling suburban blur to her.

She followed Connor’s instructions and walked into Ruskin Park. What had he said? A bandstand by a pond. She walked the narrow, gray tarmac paths between huge rhododendron bushes filled with deep pink blossom.

The path led to a small oval pond where ducks swam and waddled, swarming noisily when mums with kids threw bread crumbs over the low black iron rail.

The bandstand looked as if it hadn’t been used for a long time. Chain-link barriers blocked the entrances. There were notices. KEEP AWAY. DANGEROUS BUILDING.

Anita walked twice around the pond before sitting on one of the benches to wait.

A middle-aged man in a suit sat at the other end of the bench, eating sandwiches and reading a magazine.

Where was Connor? He said he’d be here.

Anita had given herself a target. Get to the park without losing it. She’d held on to that. But deep inside her she could feel a big scream brewing—one that would shatter the sky like thin glass and crack the world open.

Where was Connor?

She glanced at the man’s magazine, needing to distract herself.

It was some kind of science mag. He was reading an article with the headline Longest Solar Eclipse of the Century to Pass over Europe. There was a photo: a ring of white fire with a black heart.

The opening paragraph of the article had large bold writing that she was able to read.

August 19. The longest solar eclipse of this century, lasting 6 minutes and 45 seconds in some areas, will plunge cities, including London, into darkness as it passes over Europe this Friday.

A shadow crossed the sun and she looked up.

Connor was standing over her.

His hair was wild, his eyes red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept for a week. There was a look on his face of pure desperation.

What had she done to him to make him look at her like that?

She stood up without speaking. The man with the magazine threw them a quick glance, then went back to his reading. Connor turned and walked away, and Anita walked after him.

They came to the far side of the bandstand. There were no people nearby. There was a wooden fence, then a row of trees that bordered a long sloping field of grass where dogs ran for sticks and families picnicked while rooks strutted and flapped. Connor turned to her. “What did you do to me?”

She swallowed, disturbed by the anger in his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His voice was shrill, like a valve releasing pent-up steam. “I lost two weeks, Anita. I want to know what happened. I want you to tell me what you and that other girl did to me.”

“You think two weeks is bad?” she said bitterly. “Try two months, Connor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve lost nine weeks, Connor. The last thing I remember, it was June tenth. You’ve got seven weeks on me, so how about you tell me what you know?”

As she looked steadily into his eyes, his disbelief gave way to a crumbling despair. “Nine weeks?”

“Yes. Why do you think I did something to you?”

“The last thing I remember is meeting you and that dark-haired girl at my flat,” Connor said, spitting words like shards of stone. “After that, nothing. Then waking up this morning in the back garden of the house where I live, wearing the same clothes and with two weeks of my life missing.”

“What dark-haired girl?”

“You said she was a school friend,” he said. “Her name began with R. It was a strange name like Rachel but not. Ruth? No, a longer name than Ruth.”

“I don’t know anyone called Ruth or Rachel. What did she look like?”

“Long black hair. Drop-dead gorgeous. She spoke funny. I can’t remember exactly. Like she was a foreigner.”

Anita shook her head. “I don’t know anyone like that. Why were we there?”

“You said you needed me to help you with medical stuff for a project you were working on over the summer.”

“No, that’s not right.” Then something her mother had told her stabbed into her mind like a poisoned dart. “Was the girl’s name Rathina?”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Yes! That was it. Rathina. What is that? Spanish or South American or something?”

“Not according to my mum.”

Princess Rathina Aurealis, the sixth daughter of Oberon and Titania, King and Queen of Faerie.

“Your mother knows her?”

Anita felt the hysteria bubbling to the boil in her head. But this time she was able to keep it under control. “According to Mum, she’s my sister.”

Connor gaped at her. “You have a sister? Since when? Was she adopted at birth by another family or what?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She gripped his arm. “What else do you remember from that night when I came to your place with Rathina?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to remember more.”

“No! You’re supposed to be filling in the blanks for me.”

But it wasn’t the empty spaces that drew Anita’s thoughts; it was another aspect of her mother’s lunatic story. Connor was a med student—he knew about illnesses and cures. “Did we say anything about a plague?”

Connor gave a choking gasp. “The plague,” he said breathlessly. “Yes. There was something. . . .” His face screwed tight. “People were ill . . . people who shouldn’t be ill. But no, I don’t remember anything else.”

“Try!”

He glared at her. “You think I’m not trying? You think I don’t want to know what happened to me?”

Be careful what you wish for, Connor—you might not be able to handle the results. It was clear he wasn’t going to be able to help her. He had seen her during the lost nine weeks—he had seen her with a dark-haired girl from her mother’s fantasy stories. They had spoken to him about the plague, the sickness that had come to the Immortal Realm of Faerie.

He was leading her down that same insane road.

She let go of his arm. “I’m sorry, Connor. I can’t help you. I have to go now.”

“No. Don’t go. You can’t go.” His voice was desperate. “I have to know what happened. What was that stuff about a sister . . . ? What sister?”

Anita shook her head, stepping back to put distance between them. “Don’t go there, Connor. You won’t like it. Trust me on this; you’re way better off not being told what I’ve been told.”

“You can’t leave me like this. I won’t let you!” He lunged forward and grabbed at her. “You stay here! You explain!”

She hardly knew what happened next. Some kind of fighting instinct took over. She twisted in his grip, loosening his fingers, and jerked her elbow into his midriff. He doubled up with a gasp and dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach.

“Oh god! I’m sorry!” Where had that come from? She’d never taken any self-defense courses, but she’d put him down like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She crouched at his side.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Winded is all.” He looked at her. “I have to know what happened to me.”

She helped him to his feet. “So do I.”

His eyes were haunted. “I’m so messed up, Anita! Everything is so messed up!”

“I know.” She looked into his face. “I’m going to find out what happened to us, and when I do—the moment I do—I’ll call you.” She held his gaze. “Trust me, please?”

“Like I have a choice . . .”

“And if you remember anything—anything—call me, yes?”

He nodded.

“I’m going now.”

She turned and walked quickly away. Connor called after her. “Anita? Have we both gone crazy?”

She didn’t look around. She didn’t answer. She began to run.

Her brain on fire, she ran wildly across the long sloping green field of Ruskin Park.