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was at the desk, looking at a
well-thumbed book of fairy tales. The page was open on Sleeping Beauty. Her finger rested lightly on the spindle in the picture.
    We jumped when the door opened and Mum looked in. Neither of us had heard her come up the stairs.
    ‘Don’t you think you two are in enough trouble already?’ she snapped. ‘Lights off, books away and no talking.’
    ‘Mum?’ Alice said in a small voice.
    ‘What is it?’ Mum’s voice was brisk. She’d calmed down now, but was still cross enough to be scary.
    ‘Do you believe in curses?’ Alice asked.
    The room was very quiet. Then Mum’s voice sliced through the silence.
    ‘No.’ She walked over to Alice and took the book out of her hands, closing it. ‘And neither will you, if you’ve any sense.’ She put the book down and placed her
hand on Alice’s cheek. ‘I can guess exactly what your father’s been saying to you. Filling your head with stupid ideas.’
    ‘But what if—’ Alice began.
    ‘It’s rubbish,’ Mum cut in. ‘I should know, because he told me the same rubbish, too, once.’
    Alice said nothing, but she turned her face away from Mum’s hand.
    ‘I know he’s your dad, Alice,’ Mum said, sighing. ‘And I know you want to get to know him. I won’t stand in your way – but I will say what I think, even
if you don’t want to hear it. Be careful of who you believe and what you believe in. Belief can be good, but it can also be dangerous. If a person thinks they’re cursed, then they
are.’
    When Mum had gone back downstairs, I couldn’t help but pester Alice in loud whispers to tell me more about the mysterious curse. But Alice refused to say, and to this day she’d
kept that particular part of the story to herself.
    ‘Alice?’ I said now, using my toes to prod her elbow. ‘Do you believe in curses?’
    ‘If a person thinks they’re cursed, then they are,’ she said, repeating Mum’s words.
    ‘Do you think you’re cursed?’ I asked.
    ‘Go to sleep, Midge. It’s too late to be talking about this. It’ll only give you nightmares.’
    ‘Alice?’
    ‘Mmm?’
    ‘The answer to the riddle . . . is it a pencil?’
    ‘Yes, well done. Now go to sleep.’
    I closed my eyes, happy I’d scored one victory at least. As for the curse, I made up my mind to ask her again in the morning.
    Only I never got the chance, because, when morning came, Alice was gone.

3
Black Cat

    W HEN I CAME DOWNSTAIRS INTO the kitchen the next morning, I found the house empty. There was no sign of Alice or Mum, but
someone had pulled out the rainy-day boxes from the cupboard under the stairs and left them on the kitchen table. Alice loved them – they contained all sorts of craft materials to keep us
busy when the weather was too wet for us to go outside.
    There was a note stuck to the fridge under a magnet. I took it off and read it.
    Alice and Midge , it said, I won’t be long. Don’t eat breakfast – pancakes when I get back! Love, Mum. PS Got the rainy-day boxes out to make Likenesses for the
Summoning.
    Pancakes! Now, in the light of day and with pancakes on the horizon, last night’s talk of curses with Alice seemed no more than a bad dream. I called her name, wondering if she could be
upstairs in the shower, but there was no answer and none of the usual gurgling of pipes when someone was in the bathroom.
    I’d woken alone in Alice’s bed which wasn’t unusual – if I slept up there, she’d often get up without waking me; she was as quiet as a mouse. But what was strange
was that the room was freezing cold. The heaters hadn’t been switched on, which was normally the first thing Alice did.
    I poured a glass of orange juice and sat down. Something warm and furry slithered past my ankles under the table, and then a dark shape slunk away through the kitchen door. ‘Morning,
Twitch,’ I called after it, peering into the nearest box as I drank my orange juice in one go. Inside was a jumble of wool and fabric scraps.