‘If you have the knack. Only some do.’ He flexed his fingers and dragged them through the air in front of her face. They trailed darkness, which he wiped away as he moved his hand back. ‘And I never said I would show you: I said I could teach you.’

‘Crows,’ she said. ‘Will you teach me?’

She was never very good at lessons, but this: this was different.

‘Let us say I teach you everything I know: what then? What will you use it for? Will you go out and conquer yourself a kingdom, and rule it as the Red Queen? Or will you be Mary and help protect the weak from the strong?’

‘Can’t I be both?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Crows. ‘Can you?’

He jumped up and walked into the ruined hall behind them.

‘But an empty belly has no ears. You cannot learn if you are hungry.’

She followed him in, avoiding the bird droppings by skirting around the edges of the room. She looked up: the crows had gone, and presumably they’d be back at nightfall. Sky showed through the broken beams above her head, and it didn’t seem safe.

Crows lit a candle – no matches, he just clicked his fingers at the wick until it caught – and rummaged through the meagre stores he had. His back was to her, curved in the act of searching, and she bent down to look at the candle flame.

It was warm against her face, and when she held her hand over it, she could feel the heat build until it was almost, but not quite, burning. It began to hurt, but she didn’t snatch her hand away. There was another way to stop the pain.

The candle flickered. She didn’t know if that was her breath or not. It flickered again, blown ragged, and she knew for certain it wasn’t.

Then the flame went out, the last gasp of the wick a tiny red coal in the darkness before it too winked out.

‘I …’ She sat back and fell over something. ‘Fuck. I did it.’

Crows snapped his fingers again and his serious face loomed. ‘Eat first.’

‘But magic,’ she said, scrambling to her feet. ‘I can do fucking magic.’

‘A child can blow out a candle, Mary.’

‘But you don’t understand. I’ve never been able to do anything. No one ever wanted me. Everything I touched turned to shit. My life was one big fuck-up, and whatever I did, I was always going to fuck it up further. I was trying, all right? I was trying to be better. I was trying so fucking hard, and there were always people like Nicholls with his fucking clipboard, ready to knock me back.’