Forged from thick slabs of oak, the shutters were designed to protect the house’s interior from the squalls of hurricanes, which, when the house was first built, had been very common on the island. Or so Father had told her. Each room had a double set of shutters; one external, one internal. Desdemona hoped that this single barrier and the strength of her magic would be enough to protect them until this most unnatural of storms passed.

Together the sisters secured all three windows, locking the shutters snugly with their latches of pig iron. Celeste was now more afraid than Desdemona had ever known her to be. Seeing Celeste this way upset her, but she hid these feelings and tried to convince her sister that this was just another form of ‘playing night-time,’ as she liked to do in the dining hall.

They huddled together in the gloom and listened to the sound of tapping, so incessant, endless. Mother had evidently scrabbled down to retrieve her dropped weapons, for the chamber was now filled with the hideous pulse of blades rapping upon the panes.

“Don’t cry,” Desdemona cooed, desperate to calm Celeste, “hush.”

…taptap…tap

“She can’t get in. We’re safe in here.”

…tap…

“We just have to wait.”

…tap…taptap…tap…

“We’ll wait until she goes away.”

Celeste ran out of tears. She went silent. She slept.

…tap…tap…

“Can we go the scullery?” Celeste asked. Her voice was creaky. She was groggy and parched.

…taptap …

“No. The rest of the house is unprotected. We’re sealed in here. Just try to rest. It will be over soon.”

“Will it?”

“It will.”

…tap…tap…tap …

The summer day began to unwind into the ember-and-shadow palette of dusk. Celeste was lying with her head on her sister’s lap. The raspy shallowness of her breathing sounded grave to Desdemona’s ear. She stroked her hair and struggled to stay alert.

…tap …

“Celeste, do you remember when you called the stone statue ‘Queen’ and I asked you if Father had ever told you the story about the White Queen?”

She shook her head slightly against Desdemona’s thigh.

“Oh, it was one of my favourites when I was small like you. It’s called ‘The Lovers.’ Would you like to hear it?”

Desdemona looked down to see her sister nod once more.

“It was in another time; not the past, present or future, but a different time. There the disciples lived under the rule of the Black King. This Black King was benevolent but sad, sad because his nature confined him to the shadows. His loneliness soon became unbearable. So he went to the bank of a poisonous river, planning to drink a hearty swallow of the deadly water.